In the quiet of her room, my girlfriend finds an unexpected source of ecstasy. A bottle of Coca-Cola, meant for refreshment, becomes her secret lover. She traces its curves, feeling the condensation drip onto her skin. She teases herself, letting the cold glass graze her nipples, her belly, her thighs. She gasps as she pushes it between her legs, the pressure building, the sensation overwhelming. It's not enough, she needs more, she needs to feel filled, stretched. She's never wanted anything so badly, so desperately, as she does right now, with just a bottle of soda and her own imagination.