A masochistic roadblock strikes.

The grinding continued, the sweet moans filled the filthy little apartment, but soon gained a bitter strain. Girls were soft, pliant, and as much as both Lisas could enjoy them, they could not love them the way they loved men. That softness raised them up, but would not take them over the edge. In time they began to grind harder, trying to find some harsher friction they needed; Younger Lisa pushed down more on her Future Self's leg, crushing it into her breast, straining the limb, while Future Lisa reached up, gripping her Younger Self by the neck and squeezing. Men had treated her roughly, brutally over the last 10 years, and yet she still came from that dominance. Yet neither could properly simulate it.

It was Younger Lisa who hollowed in frustration, breaking away and throwing herself down on the messy bed and clutching at her temple. Her head throbbed, her pussy ached, tears streamed down her face and she was too young, angry, and dumb to understand who and what she was really mad at. Future Lisa rolled over on top of her, cooing and soothing, pressing their lips together in a desperate, soft, pathetic kiss.

"I miss Jake!" Her Younger Self wailed, needy and alone, the sound tearing at Future Lisa's memories with a painful resonance.

"I know Sugarplum, I know," she kisses her again, drawing her out of the nightmare her dreamlike state has collapsed into once more.

It is then, and only then, that Younger Lisa truly opens her eyes and takes in the near mirror image that hovers naked above her.