I’m not sure what we’re watching, but it definitely is colorful. Saturated reds and blues and greens; each room of this castle—I think it’s a castle, maybe it’s a chateau—seems to have its own primary color. The director went through a lot of gel filters.
         After a prologue in which some people were chased around and killed, two sisters (blonde and brunette) came to this place as guests, or because their car broke down, and found another pair of sisters (redheads) living there. At a dinner party there were men as well, from the nearby village or estate. Some of the men dress very old-fashioned; some of them are very modern for the period, really far-out. There’s a psychedelic rock band playing over by the fireplace. A hunchbacked weirdo lurks.
         Fog.
         I don’t know what languages the actors were originally speaking; this copy is dubbed into English. They’re having a creepy conversation now: The men (who are much older than the ladies) are talking about female sexual awakening. One of them tells a story of a girl he knew when they were both fourteen; I can’t exactly follow what he’s saying, but whatever it is it’s inappropriate in the 21st century. Inappropriate for any dinner party anywhen, I think, even Italy (are we in Italy?) in the 1970s.
         Flowing nightdresses, braless breasts, candlesticks and circular stone stairways, moonlight in a rainbow of colors. A dungeon. Instruments of torture. I sneak a glance over at my girl: Is she bored? No, she seems into it. I run my hand up her thigh and she doesn’t stop me. Elsewhere in the theater, people crunch popcorn. I have a hard-on and everything smells like butter.
         One set of sisters is flogging the other two. Red slashes on their bare backs. Blood-covered tits, the shadow of pubic hair behind the diaphanous gowns. Shrieks that sound more like sex than pain. The men, from behind their dark glasses, watch with no expression. Some parts of this movie I think are meant to be a dream, but which parts?
         The hero arrives. I’d forgotten about him. A swordfight, not a very good one, but spirited. The combatants travel from the yellow library down the green stairs and into the saturated day-for-night blue of the overgrown cemetery. I lean over to kiss her behind the ear. She turns my way and sticks her tongue in my mouth. The rest of the movie is a blur.
         When the lights come up we hurry out to ocean salt spray and the whish of the waves. The boardwalk is nearly empty. The moon is full and everything is either very white or very black. We sneak down near the water by the pilings and I pull off her panties and eat her pussy with my feet kicking in the surf. At one point she stops me, says wait wait, there’s someone, but whatever she saw I don’t see it so I go back to work. When she’s ready for it I stick it in—and after all that we’re a total mess of sand and seawater and missing underwear drifting on the tide.
         What was that movie? she asks. I laugh. We lay there and look at the sea, which is green and getting greener. A cloud filters the moonlight into blue and the streetlamps on the street above us shine bright yellow. She makes a coughing sound and I reach over and she’s really wet—and then I look at her, and then everything around us is red and getting redder.
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