I found Jocelyn on the Tiffany Mathew’s dating website in August of 2011—she appeared to have a penchant for muscle relaxants and extramarital affairs. The service had been criticised for having been “built on the back of broken hearts” and many saw its monetised promotion of adultery as a moral outrage; and I must say that I too include myself within that class. The homepage was filled with revolving assessments from member experiences, mostly boasting of their success with infidelity. One anonymous Canadian female (40’s) stated that she liked the potential of “connecting with a man of a different culture or someone taller” but ultimately she was looking for “Something that my husband will never be.” She reassures us, at the end of her insight “that it is all okay.” Another female in her 40’s, this one from the US, more simply wrote: “I cheated on my husband to find companionship and to feel happy and alive again.” The Tiffany Mathews dating service was a self-styled operator for these sorts of affable rendezvous. Their mission statement was the concern of when “monogamy becomes monotony” and the extent of their commitment to this anxiety is demonstrated by their trademarking of this catchy aphorism.

If you look for such things on Wikipedia, you’ll find Jocelyn is 8854 on the list of 10,000 most commonly used passwords. This particular Jocelyn was ninth down the page of infinite Jocelyn’s, but the first Jocelyn to make this severe lapse in judgement. Overall, the Tiffany Mathew’s dating service specialised in providing a platform of access for the discreet. Jocelyn however, as I masturbated to her pornographic phone recordings on her gmail account, struck me as the antithesis of the site’s habitual user. By that I mean, discretion did not appear to be among her primary concerns. She appeared to have needed very little encouragement at all in cuckolding her husband, Martin, as she appeared to bushwhack any persons from the masculine spectrum of the Tiffany Mathew’s user database—seemingly without any rudimentary prejudice.

The first chain of emails I located with large suspect media files were to one such user, an Arabic looking man by his profile picture, whose moniker was just a series of numbers— which to all appearances was lacking in any sequential formation. After some fairly half-arsed further digging, his IP address revealed he was active in Saudi Arabia, where the practice of adultery could be met with a good stoning. Although no such punishment had been dealt out in decades, there must have been some other cruel and unusual penalty in its stead. I reason this was most likely the motive for the weak attempt at online anonymity, and a rather crude effort by my standards to safeguard one’s indiscretions from any would-be or wannabe potential extortionists.

It is worth stating that I had absolutely no interest in this pursuit. After all, I have very limited financial impulses. It is only Jocelyn right now, and no other that exists to me. The video is taken with the phone mounted on a tripod, offering the viewer a P.O.V of Jocelyn’s cunt, as if kneeling at the end of her bed. She frigs herself in quick clockwise rotations, stopping only for a moment every three or so seconds before resuming. She moans no one’s name, allowing me to close the gap between my imagination, and the reality of the explicit and intimate images in front of me. Her head lies to the side with her left cheek against a pillow, much of her face hidden beneath straight, mouse-brown hair that flees an unfolding crown of invading grey. I wish hard for her to extinguish a puff of air to clear her face as I look down at the progress bar that is nearly at its climax, and prepare for the impact of conclusion; when the image will fall still and I will rejoin the world, alone. In the last ten seconds she moves her left hand across to her right breast and in doing so moves her head a few inches; the weight shift causing her hair to fall down to the pillow, she pulls her soft chin to her right shoulder in an unexpected vulnerable moment, a brief final still exposes pale grey eyes that look dead in the lens.