“friends of mrs poindexter” begins with golden sunrise spilling over her naked body. Still half-asleep, she slides a hand beneath the sheets, fingers slipping through slick folds with lazy confidence. The lens of “friends of mrs poindexter” stays intimate, catching the way her back arches and toes curl as the rhythm quickens. Quiet gasps turn into desperate whimpers until her entire body shudders in release. “friends of mrs poindexter” is seven minutes of pure, unhurried self-love that feels like stealing a private moment you were never meant to see.