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"Commence the intercourse," instructed the voice.

She stared at it. She stared at it so, so hard. Perhaps if she stared long enough, she might change the voice's nature. Maybe change the way that it spoke. What the hell was wrong with it, anyway? Why did it always have to be like this?

"What are you looking at?" it remarked, irritation inherent in its sonorousity. "Start fucking with me!"

She wanted to tell him that you cannot just 'start fucking'. What is wrong with a little kiss, at first? A little tiny bit of exchanging saliva? What is wrong with that?

He became fidgety. Whole body started shaking. "Make love to me, otherwise I will experience epilepsy!" he warned her.

"You have to take me out, first," she said, and at this he became surprised. It was as though a whole new concept -- that she had a voice, and could speak.

The machine started to break down. It became rudderless, due to losing some fins. It began to skid. It started skidding. Skip, skip, skid.

'Skidding.