Borda's girlfriends carry heavy tool belts. The real star of the show is the toy factory from whence this fine array of devices originated (located somewhere in China, no doubt, and operated by thousands of ancients grinding out dildos in their dusty Mao jackets). In the hands of L.A. professionals, these multi-colored translucent amusements are driven home like nails. Vaginas are jabbed with ice-blue dongs, quivering flesh is swabbed with purple twists and all available poopers are plugged with red rockets. There's even some mildly ferocious manual stimulation when Summer clasps her hands together in prayer position and immerses them into Tara up to the third knuckle. And once the strap-ons are in place, the plastic scrotums flop resoundingly. On the negative, there's nothing girlish or friendly about their couplets and triplets - no effort wasted in getting acquainted, nor much sisterly conspiracy in the way they munch each other's rugs. Girlfriends gore each other without a pang of pain or pleasure as if they were only channeling acts directly to video. The only important player is Paige Sinclair who takes her time, knows what she's doing and knows what she likes.