I'll strip away your hard veneer/And see what I can find/I know you're dying to (You can touch me if you want)/I know what's good for you (You can touch me if you want)/But you can't stop
Or: Part Three of How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love Getting Off Online
I realize that thus far I’ve only written in generalities. You may be looking for more details on how this stuff works; maybe so you can know what to expect if you decide to try chatting for yourself. Maybe because you’re just curious. So, okay, time to delve into some specifics.
Logging into a chatroom with a definitively female user name will, almost to a fault, net you at least one or two immediate whispers. In my experience these initial overtures have ranged from the simple (“hello”) to the reprehensible (“come over here and lift that skirt up RIGHT NOW, you little cunt”). With just a teeny bit of experience, I could peg the guys who sent these messages to every female who entered a room. And I was so not interested in them. I needed a filter of some kind; such a name so that if someone didn’t recognize it I could immediately weed them out. (I had already weeded out anyone who wrote to me using Internet shortcut language (e.g., “r u busy?”). Yeah, I was getting my freak on online, but I still had some standards. So, I picked a new name, that of a favorite fictional character. Anyone who recognized it would at least get in the door. I’ll get back to what has happened with my new name later. First, the weirdness of the physical description.
While I admit to being initially attracted to the person who described themselves as a tall, thin, red-head, it was his ability to write vividly and in a way appealing to me that kept me engaged with him. I couldn’t understand the myriad of men who asked for, nay DEMANDED my age and physical description right off the bat. I mean, what possible difference could it make? One would never be 100% sure of the veracity of the information given; wouldn’t it be easier to just imagine that the person on the other end was exactly what you were most attracted to? And location. Why in the world [exactly] would you care where someone was? I can certainly understand wanting more of this kind of information after establishing a relationship, but right off the bat? I was burnt at least once by this need for info. Someone I had actually approached because of his screen name (that of a favorite literary vampire), completely cut the conversation off after I told him my age and vital statistics. I have to tell you, that stung. And I found it terribly rude. While I would have been disappointed either way, had he had the balls to say to me that I wasn’t his type, I would have understood. His way? Ouch. Just not very nice, but I don’t suppose I should expect an online sex chatroom to be a paragon of civility.
But, to play the game, I continued to give a physical description of myself that was somewhat vague, but accurate. Sometimes I revealed my exact age, and sometimes I hedged around it. In what was probably the most disturbing chat exchange thus far, I made the mistake of asking “what age do you want me to be?” His reply? “Oh, I think around 11.” Aaaaiiiieeeee! No need to be polite; I terminated that conversation immediately. I know that stuff is only pretend, but I will have no part of it.
And here is where I get stuck. The story past this is where things get more specific, more revealing and make me feel more vulnerable for the telling. I’ve tried to start this part many times and I come up blank. Not sure where to begin, how to tell it accurately and how to tell it with the least fallout, but with the most honesty. I guess I just have to dive in.
Things were still going swimmingly, though I was becoming more discerning regarding my chat partners. New screen name in hand, I entered a room I had spent very little time in (its name, a rather vulgar group sexual act, scared me) as I was having no luck elsewhere. Almost immediately I was greeted with my character’s alternate nickname: “Hiya, _____.” Furthermore, the greeter had a good screen name, which to my mind meant it was neither obvious (Horny Hubby, UKWanker) nor boastful (10inches4u) nor incomprehensible (Papi!) nor just boring (Bob). In fact, it was a funny name, and there was a dearth of humor in the chatrooms. For our purposes here, I’ll call him T.Rex. So it was a double thrill that ran through me at that moment. When I asked if he was a fan of the source of my name [heretofore to be known as ‘It’] his reply sent a shiver up my spine (I wish I was exaggerating, but I am truly a geektastic fan). Not only was he a fan, his actual job had a rather significant involvement with It. Oh!
I’m pretty sure we were already private at this point, but I can’t exactly remember how fast we got around to the real business at hand. Knowing what I know now, it was probably quite quickly. T.Rex engaged me immediately; it was a little eerie how he hit a few of what you might call my hot buttons right off the bat (I mean, geez, I don’t like to think I’m completely typical). I seemed to be pleasing him and it was hot, detailed but completely unself-conscious, prolonged, and very successful on my end. He was a kind of man I hadn’t encountered much in real life: utterly charming, silver-tongued, sexually confident and a natural seducer. And he worked with It. I didn’t have a chance.
Up until this point, I hadn’t told Steve about my new online life. He obviously knew that I was on sexual overdrive as he was [mostly] benefiting from my almost constant state of arousal. The online stuff, even when it ended in self-healing, just made me ache for the real thing and he was [mostly] happy to oblige. I was a little embarrassed by my new habit and at this point I’d been doing it for a couple weeks and it would be hard to explain why I had waited so long to tell. But I really, really, really wanted to share my excitement over meeting (such as it was) someone even peripherally involved with It. Still, I hesitated.
One evening I had been chatting with T.Rex more casually than usual, expecting Steve home any minute and not wanting to get into a detailed encounter. I told T.Rex I couldn’t really play, but he, in his devilish way, persisted. At this point, Steve was sitting on the couch with me, reading. Against my rather, ok, weak entreaties, T.Rex was writing me messages that were making me squirm and I had to stop myself from gasping several times. I was excited, I was a little guilty and I knew I had to tell now. So, when I got offline, I did. And since Steve is my soulmate (yeah yeah, it’s sappy but it’s true) and truly the most sexually liberated man I’ve ever known, he was completely down with my new habit. I don’t know why I was worried.
And I still find myself stuck when it comes time to get further into my online life. Next time, then.