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A true story of sex, multiple orgasm and, surprise. Money. Enough to pad a king sized bed, lie down on it with your salary man, snuggle up and...

Scene I: The Revelation

Am I sorry? Should I be? I'm not. One day when I was in the street, I looked up and read on a big electronic billboard crowning a building, and blinking off and on, as glorious as a vision from heaven or a commandment sent down from God: Samsung Means to Come. I stopped in front of the building and said to myself: That's a good idea. That's why Samsung is great: Because it has great ideas. Because Samsung teaches us how to live. (I also asked myself in passing: Why didn't I learn in school how to come? And come. Is that why so many Koreans study abroad?) So what now? I mean, uh, how do I come? (Or is it "cum"?) And I walked away pensive at the mysterious sagacity of the multi-national, and in a hurry to consult my mother-in-law. From that moment, my life changed for good. That night I didn't sleep. One idea kept me awake: How to come with Samsung. In the morning I called in sick, and walk up to a security guard on whose building I had read Sam Means to Come blinking off and on, day and night and I asked him: "Is it true that Samsung wants me to come? And if so, how? How do I come with Samsung?" The security guard looked at me like I was crazy, and just walked away. I yelled after him: "Hey, sir, there's a big electronic billboard on top of your building that says: Samsung Means to Come and I tried to make him follow me outside to show him the sign. That's when he came and threw me out. I said to myself: What a jerk. I went to the office after all and sat down to write a letter to Samsung Consumer Information to ask it how to come: "To whom it may concern: I would like to come with Samsung. Would you be kind enough to tell me by letter, e-mail, fax or telephone, the correct way to come?" And then I waited with patience... No answer. So I waited with impatience... Still no answer. I said to myself: What's going on? And from then on, at home and in the street, in the office, in the kitchen and in church, in the restaurant, and in the neighborhood public bath, in front of my colleagues, my mother-in-law, and my husband especially in front of my husband, especially when he fucked me, and poorly, I had only one thought: How can I come with Samsung? Samsung Means to Come. And from then on, for my colleagues, for my mother-in-law and for my husband, especially my husband, especially when he fucked me, and poorly, I had only question: How can I come with Samsung? I was obsessed. Mad. I was mad. With my obsession: To come. And come and come and come again (and again). And why? Because Samsung had told me to come. But how? How do I come? The response was immediate as my heart-beats: I come with Samsung. But how? Vicious circle.