You slip into a bodystocking and have sex over the Net…. Then it’s over. But it isn’t. It’s never over until you say so. You surf back in an choose a virtual partner from a limitless menu. You take Helen of Troy against a green maize of a billiard table, you rape Isis, Madonna, Donna Haraway. You get fucked by Pan, Christ, Foucault, the Devil himself. Whatever turns you on: shitting on your lover or being shat upon. Killing your lover at the moment of orgasm or being killed yourself. You do whateer you want at any time, without consequences or regrets.
From the Cyborg Manifesto at Adbusters