The camera flicks on and focuses on a small bedroom. There is a window on the far wall but, showing through the gap in the curtains, you can see black paper taped with brown packing tape to the window frame. There is no light coming into the room despite the time stamp on the feed showing it to be 10:23am.

The walls of the room are painted a beige color and free of any personal items. However, there is a lighter square of painted surface over the bedhead which hints of that maybe, sometime in the past, a large framed picture once hung there. The bed is a small double, made up with a dark pink, plush cotton, 1970's style bedspread. It hangs to the floor with its little rope tassels touching the brown carpet. At the head of the bed is four pillows all in slightly different colored cases, like they were once the same but were washed and used at different times. The headboard is blue-green velvet, princess style with covered buttons puckering the surface. There are two buttons missing.

The camera seems to be sitting on a shelf and is no more than a meter off the floor. Somewhere off to the left side of the view, a door shuts and there the soft click of it catching. A person comes into frame, she is standing, and her head is cut off by the top of the camera angle. Her body turns back in the direction she's come from, her hands clench by her sides, then she turns towards the view frame and but doesn't move for almost a whole minute.

She releases a deep breath as she lowers herself to sit on the bedspread. She frowns as she stares at the lens. She is dressed casually in faded blue denim jeans, blue t-shirt and no jewelry is showing. Her hair is a mousy brown, tied up off her face in a way that implies she did it quickly without a mirror. And her face is free of makeup which shows her skin to be clear, pale and free of any blemishes or marks.

Swiveling again towards the place she entered from, she braces as if she is about to get up, her arms ready to push her up off the bed. Instead she freezes, as if she's heard something that the microphone has failed to pick up, then relaxes back to a forward position. Her shoulders drop as she looks at the floor.

"He's told me that I have to make a personal journal," she whispers without looking up, "He said that it needs to be a private confessional of my inner thoughts and emotions."

She looks off to the left before glancing at the camera. She frowns then drops her eyes again.

"He wants me to be honest and open about what I'm thinking and that he won't look, it will be confidential, until after the research phases have been completed. He seems to think that this will give him an in-depth uncensored insight into my thoughts, and that viewing it during the week could affect the outcome."

She looks towards the left side of the room again.

"I'm not sure what he meant by that, but I suppose if I criticize him then it would change the way he approaches me," she glances up to the camera again, "He's told me to start with talking about the interview process, my motivations and how I got to this house today, while he's setting up the lighting and the cameras."

"It feels silly," she bites her lip, "Talking to myself. And I feel stupid. I know he's going to listen to this but I can't help feeling like he's standing at the door listening in. I can hear him in the other room. It doesn't even matter if he's listening now, because eventually he'll watch this recording. I'm just being paranoid."

She looks at the door, exhales and then shakes her head.

"Sorry," she mumbles, "I should start."

She closes her eyes as her hands rub the plush pile on the bedspread up and down.

"My friend Penny told me about the advertisement," she smiles at her friends name, "She wanted to apply but they were looking for untouched, naïve, innocent girls, and she doesn't tick any of those boxes. It said it was a research study about the psychological effects of becoming a sexually active woman."

"It didn't say anything about the methods he'd used to achieve that," she shrugs, "And I can understand why he wouldn't. It was quite shocking when he first told me. I thought it would be a long-term study tracking the subjects grow and develop. I thought I'd be filling in questionnaires, doing regular interviews and keeping a journal of my experiences. It didn't even guess that he was expecting me to commit to a week of going-for-it in his apartment."

She sighs, shake her head, then laughs softly finishing off with a shrug.

"Why did I do it? Why did I agree to this?" she lifts her eyes to stare into the lens as she asks the camera, "I don't know. I'd already done all the testing, the interviews, and sighed a whole heap of legal forms, when he told me about what he had planned."

"Don't get me wrong," she raises her hands, palms facing the camera, "I was tempted to walk out, at that point, and maybe a sensible person would have. I can't really say why I didn't. I mean it's insane, right? Agreeing to this?"

"Maybe I am insane," she says the word with a soft laugh as she shakes her head, "It sounds silly now but at the time I rationalized it by thinking I'd come too far to leave. I'd jumped through all the hoops. I'd signed all the documentation, done all the work, and my friends knew that I was in the final selection process. If I walked away then I would have wasted all that time and, because of the confidentiality agreement, I couldn't tell anyone why I didn't take the job. They would think I'd been rejected."

"Rejected," she repeats the word with a grimace, "Who am I fooling? I didn't get here, into this situation, because of the fear of admitting that I'd been rejected, I've had too much practice at that. I've never won anything. I've never been picked for anything. I'm always at the back of the line. No, being rejected wasn't the problem."

"I'm here because I wasn't rejected," she smiles into the camera, "He chose me. He selected me over the other applicants. And, if I'm being honest, that's the only reason why I'm here. For the first time in my life, I was needed. For me, that's something I can't ignore. I was never going to walk away, not then and not now. No matter what he asks from me, I will do it because he wants me."

She exhales and looks left again.

"And now?" she frowns as she slowly turns back to the camera, "I'm scared. I know what he's going to do to me, and I know that this isn't normal or sociably acceptable for this man to do this. But I can't help feeling slightly excited by what he has planned. And that's what scares me."

She pauses still staring at the camera.

"Is it wrong to feel this way?" she asks with unblinking eyes, "Does it make me unclean or unholy? I want this man. I need him to teach me how to please, to dominate me, and to use me for his own satisfaction. I want him, his body and his sex. Is that so bad?"

"Maybe it is," she shrugs, "But that's where I am. There's no backing out now. I'm here."

She looks at her hands then glances left before her eyes return to the camera.

"It's going to hurt, isn't it?" she whispers, "I've heard that it's painful. He's already told me that part of the process will involve preparing me for it. I'm not sure what that entails but I hope that it works. What happens if I can't get over the pain? What if I spend the whole week suffering every time he does-it to me? I'm told that the pain is temporary, but what if it isn't?"

"I've heard that some women don't feel pleasure from sex," she grimaces, "It's probably my luck that I'll be one of them."

She pauses then giggles.

"I wonder if he has a big one or a small one? You know, down there. They come in different sizes, don't they? Would he be insulted if I ask how big it is? Do you think that the size will make a difference?"

She looks down at her lap.

"I'm sure it would. It would make sense," she nods, "If it's small it will probably hurt less but not be as good afterwards."

She laughs softly but then stops mid-chuckle.

"What happens if he's too big?" her eyes widen, "What if he doesn't fit? Is it possible for a man to be too big and not be able to get it all in? Or be too wide to even fit through the entrance? Do you think he'll kick me out if I can't fit him in?"

She scrunches her face as she looks at a point well behind the camera.

"No, that won't happen," she frowns, "I'm sure that he would have tested for it if he was that big. He wouldn't go to all this trouble if there was the chance that we couldn't do it."

She places both hands over her cheeks as she closes her eyes tightly.

"How embarrassing," she exhales, "I hope he doesn't look at this. I'm such an idiot. I'm sorry for corrupting your research with my jabbering. I'm sure that your 'thingy' will be the perfect size."

She brings both hands to cover her mouth as she laughs.

"I can't believe I just said that," she closes her eyes still sniggering into her hands, "I'm talking to myself about your 'thingy'? Please don't watch this, just fast forward over this bit."

"Gawd, I'm so hopeless," she shakes her head, "Should I start again? He said not to touch the camera, so I don't think I can. I'm just going to have to trust that he doesn't look at this until afterwards."

"Well, that's it," she exhales, "I think I've embarrassed myself enough for this recording. That's all I can bring myself to say. And it sounds like he's finished in the other room. I'll record more later."

She pushes herself off the bed then pauses, half off the bed, and looks into the camera like she's forgot something.

"Oh," she whispers, "And I'm sorry. I've read the introduction you want me to say on the first recording. I'll do it, but it's not entirely accurate. But then again, I didn't swear to tell the truth, did I?"

She smiles into the camera, "Bye."