StuckInTheSixties Offline

70 Single Male from Napa       149
         

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WC, Religion, and "Pervs" Part Three

More of the wit and wisdom of JJ73 and his sidekick pinkado ... this text was captured by my NAMELESS FRIEND the day after our confrontation. Enjoy!

JJ73: Hi Joker my mate.

JokerBoykilla: heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeey JJfrom

BIG DADDY MACK: wadd up joker

JokerBoykilla: heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeey big mackfrom

pinkado (VIP Member Lvl. 5) joined the room

BIG DADDY MACK: hey pink

JJ73: wb baby.

JokerBoykilla: so wuz gpon here

JokerBoykilla: *hoin

JokerBoykilla: *goin

pinkado: wwwaaaa, my computer has alzymers, it forgets im on line and stalls

JokerBoykilla: lol

JJ73: lolPink.

JJ73: >>>>runs and junps in lillys lap.

nataLieeh (Super VIP Member Lvl. 6) joined the room

pinkado: hee hee

JJ73: Smuthers baby with kisses and hugs.

BIG DADDY MACK: man so whats everyone doinb

JJ73:

JokerBoykilla: just chillin MACK

BIG DADDY MACK: same here and rollin up one

JokerBoykilla: sweet

BIG DADDY MACK: Yeah

nataLieeh: i have bruises n i dont remember how i got them

pinkado: im just after havin dinner and im stuffed

asianlover1226 (Super VIP Member Lvl. 6) joined the room

asianlover1226: hi

BIG DADDY MACK: wadd up lover1226

asianlover1226: asian is fine

BIG DADDY MACK: ok



MY NAMELESS FRIEND ENTERS THE ROOM HERE (NOTE: WHEN YOU ENTER A ROOM, THERE IS TYPICALLY A SHORT PORTION OF PREVIOUS TEXT AVAILABLE TO REVIEW, HENCE THE PRECEDING SECTION.)



Welcome to the chat

This is a CLEAN room without bad word filtering.

BIG DADDY MACK: hey (NAMELESS FRIEND)

(NAMELESS FRIEND): hmmmm

BIG DADDY MACK: what

(NAMELESS FRIEND): so jj and friends what do you think of that stuckinthesixties guy??

Meg (Respected Member Lvl. 4) joined the room

pinkado: shoot him

BIG DADDY MACK: hes dumb

Meg: hi.

BIG DADDY MACK: hgey meg

BIG DADDY MACK: hey

Meg: how are you?

BIG DADDY MACK: im great u

(NAMELESS FRIEND): jj????

Meg: i'm good, thanks.

BIG DADDY MACK: np

Adult Personals - Signup Here

asianlover1226: did you say no perverts allowed

Meg: so, what are we all talking about?

BIG DADDY MACK: whos a prevert

(NAMELESS FRIEND): im just waiting for jj to answer the question

(NAMELESS FRIEND): no one is a perv

BIG DADDY MACK: ok

pinkado: i am also the room monitor here so if i see him i will shoot him, bang bang, hee hee

JokerBoykilla: wat?????

asianlover1226: im a pro-vert

asianlover1226: im good at it

nataLieeh left the room

BIG DADDY MACK: ok

Meg: then i'm liking this room. i'm sick of pervs

BIG DADDY MACK: shit i aint no prev

Meg: lol

asianlover1226 left the room

pinkado: big daddy are ya stoned again

BIG DADDY MACK: yeah y

Meg: lol

BIG DADDY MACK: always

Meg: i wish i was

BIG DADDY MACK: im always stoned when im here

JJ73: He's always Stoned big!!! More then me.lol

Meg: haha

(NAMELESS FRIEND): well i see jj isnt going to say anything

pinkado: daddy you have a prob, hee hee, the prob is not enough smoke, hee hee

JJ73: Yes l am

JJ73: Hi (NAMELESS FRIEND).

JJ73: lol pink.

(NAMELESS FRIEND): i mean answering the question

BIG DADDY MACK: i no theres never enough

Find a hot date for tonight

BIG DADDY MACK: hey i will be back in like 15 mins have to go take a shower and shave

Meg left the room

JJ73: ok Big
.
JJ73: Hb.

JJ73: Big you going to have cold shower.lol

pinkado: lol, bold jj, hee hee, just coz you had to take one, hee hee

pinkado: so jj was stuckinthesixtys in yet?

JJ73: Yeah and he has a forum called GOd and Pervs.



NOTE TO READERS: I DO NOT HAVE A "FORUM" OTHER THAN THE BLOG THAT YOU ARE READING AT THIS MOMENT. ALSO, THESE BLOG ENTRIES ARE CALLED "WC, RELIGION, AND "PERVS." CLOSE, BUT NO CIGAR, JJ.


JokerBoykilla: wuz up wit the HEE HEE lol

pinkado: ha ha lets go in and abuse him

JokerBoykilla: who JJ lool

JJ73: Suckinthe sixtys.

(NAMELESS FRIEND): wow all he did was ask you guys questions

JJ73: Stuckinthesixtys.

BIG DADDY MACK left the room

Find people near you that want to go out tonight

JJ73: Me and Stuck and Pink had abig arguement with him lastnight.

pinkado: ya stuck is a closit gay we think, lol

JokerBoykilla: who big

JokerBoykilla: iam lost here

(NAMELESS FRIEND): from what i could tell it was a disscusion no argument, a debate rather and you guys just didnt answer

pinkado: no stuck in the 60's

JokerBoykilla: hey is 00's

pinkado: you should have seen him last night, kept asking about pervs


NOTE TO READERS: A REVIEW OF THE PREVIOUS TRANSCRIPTION WILL PLAINLY SHOW THAT I DID NOT KEEP "ASKING ABOUT PERVS."


JJ73: (NAMELESS FRIEND) he came back later.

JJ73: I think 60 is gay and likes me.

JJ73: I had to have Pink answer for me.lol

JokerBoykilla: lol

(NAMELESS FRIEND): i did see and he was just asking questions, all he wanted was for you to defend your position hes curious,

(NAMELESS FRIEND): its called a debate, or disscusion and hes not gay

pinkado: ya but come on, he kept going on and on and on and on and on, and when we asked him to drop it he wouldnt

Find Sexy Guys in your neighborhood

(NAMELESS FRIEND): hmm

JJ73: (NAMELESS FRIEND) when u were here yes.But when u left he came back.


NOTE TO READERS: JJ73 IS BLATANTLY LYING HERE. I DID NOT RETURN TO THAT ROOM. A REVIEW OF THE TRANSCRIPT WILL SHOW THAT I WAS "KICKED" (SUSPENDED) FROM THE ROOM, WHICH MAKES IT IMPOSSIBLE TO RETURN TO THAT PARTICULAR ROOM FOR THE NEXT 24 HOURS. OOOPS! THAT WASN'T THE MOST INTELLIGENT LIE EVER TOLD, WAS IT? (LAUGHS)


JokerBoykilla: yo i think that gurl cant talk she is to scared

pinkado: who cant talk?

JokerBoykilla: (NAMELESS FRIEND)

JJ73: Ok (NAMELESS FRIEND).

pinkado: oh right

JokerBoykilla: she come in tha room n she doesnt talk

JJ73: Who?

(NAMELESS FRIEND): i dont recall you ever asking him to stop just making fun of him for asking questions about pervs any how im out

JokerBoykilla: (NAMELESS FRIEND)

JJ73: Bye.

pinkado: bye

JokerBoykilla: bye lol

JokerBoykilla: bye lol

Welcome to the chat

This is a CLEAN room without bad word filtering.

WC, Religion, and "Pervs" ... Grrrrrr! Part Two

If you haven't, you really should read 'WC, Religion, and "Pervs" ... Grrrrr! Part One' before reading any further.


Part Two:

I had an encounter with JJ73 and his sidekick pinkado. Here's the text, read and enjoy:


JJ73: >>>>>>jj sits by Pinks fire.

pinkado: *hands wine to jj*

pinkado: hey where everyone going/

pinkado: ok then, were all alone jj ha ha ha

JJ73: Yes.

JJ73: Yes.

JJ73: Youmake me happy Pink.

pinkado: hey were chatting to eachother in two rooms, lol

pinkado: do you think we have split personalities?

JJ73: Maybe.

pinkado: lol

JJ73: I thiIt makes us interesting.

pinkado: lol ya

JJ73: lol

pinkado: lol hee hee hee

Welcome to the chat

This is a CLEAN room without bad word filtering.

pinkado: hello stuck

StuckInTheSixties: Hey JJ ....

StuckInTheSixties: hi pink

JJ73: Hey.

pinkado: how ya doin

StuckInTheSixties: I've been wanting to ask you a question or two JJ

StuckInTheSixties: Jj?

StuckInTheSixties: JJ? Oh, JJ?

JJ73: yeah.

StuckInTheSixties: Can I ask a question or two to you?

Find Beautiful Women looking for love

JJ73: Yes you can.

StuckInTheSixties: First question: Are you a Christian?

JJ73: IO fear God.

JJ73: I

StuckInTheSixties: that didn't answser my question. Let me articulate it differently: ... have you accepted Jesus Christ as you personal saviour?

JJ73: yes.

StuckInTheSixties: OK...now ....

StuckInTheSixties: one moment...

StuckInTheSixties: what method would you prefer for the execution of "pervs"?

pinkado: castration

StuckInTheSixties: Jj?

JJ73: Ask Pink

pinkado: yes ask me

StuckInTheSixties: thats not a method of execution ... that's necessary for someone with testicular cancer...

pinkado: i speak for jj tonight as he is busy refillin my wine

JJ73: >>>>jj in Pinks kitchen.

pinkado: it is if you let them bleed to death

StuckInTheSixties: Then we'll wait for JJ

pinkado: why is my opinion not good enough

JJ73: God will punish them and Pink.

pinkado: i think jj agree's with me

pinkado: well stuck?

StuckInTheSixties: JJ...If you are calling for execution, what is the method you would prefer? Hanging? Stoning? Firing squad?

StuckInTheSixties: What method?

Find Sexy Women in your neighborhood

JJ73: I'm to crazy.

pinkado: lol

StuckInTheSixties: Its not really that complex of a question ... haven't you thought this out?

JJ73: Bury them up to ther necks and make a camp fire. With there heads as the stones.

pinkado: lol ya

JJ73: Thats a vietnameese torture.

pinkado: why this so important to ya stuck,

StuckInTheSixties: Ahh....I see. Next question: Do you think Jesus would be the one to flick his Bic and light the fire were he to be here?

JJ73: Nope and punish me.

JJ73: It's asin to kill.

StuckInTheSixties: Please articulate that a little more

JJ73: But you asked.what if l had the power.

coolprateek (Established Member Lvl. 2) joined the room

coolprateek left the room

StuckInTheSixties: Nope

pinkado: killin is a sin, no matter what the person did

StuckInTheSixties: OK...So let me see if I understand your position...

pinkado: thou shalt not kill

pinkado: ever

JJ73: I would not do it in the first place if Jesus was here.Leave them up to him.

pinkado: read your bible

pinkado: ya jj's right

StuckInTheSixties: Ahh.... but if you're a Christian, don't you think the presence of Christ surrounds us?

JJ73: And l'll stand there with Pink Laughing.

pinkado: yes, so ya cant kill or you will go to hell

pinkado: lol

StuckInTheSixties: Or do you think it's only necessary to follow his teachings in his actual physical presence?

JJ73: I know he's here.

pinkado: is this the third question or still the second?

pinkado: lol

Find a hot date for tonight

StuckInTheSixties: Or do you think it's only necessary to follow his teachings in his actual physical presence?

JJ73: I know he's here.

pinkado: is this the third question or still the second?

pinkado: lol

Find a hot date for tonight

StuckInTheSixties: OK...so, you would be willing to kill a "perv" even though you consider it to be a mortal sin ... is that correct?

JJ73: And he will punish the evil.

JJ73: No.

pinkado: no i wont kill, god will get him in the end

JJ73: I would kick him out of my room.

pinkado: he said he will

JJ73: lol

pinkado: lol

StuckInTheSixties: Then who should be the one to carry out the execution you call for?

pinkado: we never called for an execution

StuckInTheSixties: JJ did

StuckInTheSixties: look at the caption for this room

pinkado: no he didnt, you just assumed that he did, you asked how would ya do it, not if we want it done

JJ73: Yeah meaning Jusus will take care of them.

pinkado: hypthetical conversation not actuall actions

StuckInTheSixties: Ok

StuckInTheSixties: I have another question if I may

pinkado: go for it

StuckInTheSixties: What constitutes a "perv"?

pinkado: wow, are you a perve, coz you go on about them enough, whats with the fixation

StuckInTheSixties: How do you define a "perv" JJ?

JJ73: Unapropriate advances.

pinkado: answer my question, why the fixation, why you want to know about it

StuckInTheSixties: Thats somewhat vague, could you elaborate?

Everyone else already have a date for tonight - Find yours now!

StuckInTheSixties: Im not fixated on "pervs" pink

JJ73: He's wondering if Jesus will punish him.

StuckInTheSixties: Im interested in JJs point of view

pinkado: you ask questions but dont answer them, why, are you scared of the answer

JJ73: Ok then.

pinkado: why on this subject?

pinkado: all your questions are on this subject

StuckInTheSixties: Its out there in the public view, I saw it, and I'm interested

JJ73: well now you know.

JJ73: Jusus will deal with them.

pinkado: what about global warming, its out there too and your not talking about that

StuckInTheSixties: Your definition of a "perv" is " Unapropriate advances." That could mean almost anything

StuckInTheSixties: could you elaborate, JJ?

pinkado: so why no other topics

pinkado: are you gay?

StuckInTheSixties: lol...no, totally straight arrow

pinkado: are you a perve?

JJ73: Yeah like a guy wanting to do things to me that l dont want.

JJ73: Or vise versa.

StuckInTheSixties: ahh...I see

pinkado: good now pick a different topic

StuckInTheSixties: so...its a matter of homosexuality ... is that correct?

pinkado: coz this one is old

JJ73: nope there's a lady in the room.

Click here to find a hot date for tonight!

JJ73: If anybody disrespects her too.

pinkado: hey your user name suits you, you really are stuck in the past, who cares anymore, i dont see you jumping up and down about homeless or starvation

StuckInTheSixties: Is it not possible for you to speak in a manner that is unoffensive to a "lady"?

StuckInTheSixties: on this topic?

pinkado: or the rainforest dissaperring

StuckInTheSixties: or are these questions just a bit too difficult for you?

pinkado: see your a freak coz your obsesed with this, move on dude

BIG DADDY MACK (Super VIP Member Lvl. 6) joined the room

pinkado: no

BIG DADDY MACK: wadd up

StuckInTheSixties: Jj?

pinkado: daddy kick this man

JJ73: I mean if someone made anunapropriate advance towards a woman l would act the same.

pinkado: ok, people are here now, drop it

pinkado: daddy how ya now

BIG DADDY MACK: good and stoned and drank like 6 beers

pinkado: cool, good man, wish i was you

BIG DADDY MACK: lol

pinkado: six beers, your a rebel, hee hee

StuckInTheSixties: Still pretty vague... if I was to wink at a woman, would you consider
that "anunapropriate "

pinkado: stuck stop now, people are here

pinkado: i will kick ya if ya dont

pinkado: so daddy what ya get up to, anyother room fun

StuckInTheSixties: It seems my questions are making you uncomfortable ...

JJ73: No sixty.

pinkado: no your being annoying

StuckInTheSixties: Interesting, since they are really not all that difficult

StuckInTheSixties received a kick vote from pinkado!

JJ73: Try to pic up Pink then.



NOTE TO READERS: At this moment, my friend (who shall remain nameless) entered the room.



Welcome to the chat

This is a CLEAN room without bad word filtering.

StuckInTheSixties: No, I doubt if she's my type

StuckInTheSixties has been suspended

StuckInTheSixties left the room


NOTE TO READERS: I quickly messaged my friend, and she was able to quickly copy this text and pass it on to me, thus we have continuity even though I was kicked!!!!

pinkado: yay go jj

pinkado: your the best jj

JJ73: She'll ripp your nuts off.

JJ73: Maybe you like nuts.lol

pinkado: whoop whoop hey (nameless friend) how ya doin

pinkado: daddy what ya up ta

Adult Personals - Signup Here

Nameless Friend: hmmm

pinkado: so (nameless friend) how ya doing

JJ73: He's gone.

JJ73: lol

jasper606 (New Member) joined the room

pinkado: jasper het dude



As I anticipated, JJ73 isn't really interested in any sort of intelligent discourse on the purported subject theme of his room. It's nothing more than a billboard, a billboard of hate by a small-minded person. I'll continue to post pics of his rooms for your amusement. Feel free to pass on my sentiments and good will to JJ73 and pinkado if you run across them! (laughs)

WC, Religion, and "Pervs" ... Grrrrrr! Part One

JJ73, one of our members of WireClub, has daily been throwing up a room which apparently isn’t meant for chatting. It’s being used as his own personal billboard of hate. (See the photo at the bottom of this entry ... make sure you click to expand it.)

You see, JJ73 is a Christian, and as a Christian, he wants you to know that he hates “pervs.”

Usually his billboard of hate carries the name of Jesus on it, but it also sometimes carries the name of God. His message to “pervs” is either that they should be “executed,” or “persecuted,” both of which can be found with a great deal of frequency throughout the Bible, and, I suppose, the Koran and other religious works. That is the nature of most established religion. If you don’t subscribe to it, then you are, in the eyes of God, unworthy, and therefore deserving of JJ73’s proscribed fate.

Although JJ73 seems to have a thing about “pervs,” it’s his religion, and the advertisement of it, that seems to be what’s on his mind. It would be quite simple to just have a non-religious themed chat room, and put the same anti-“perv” captions alongside of it. But he insists in linking the two.

I have, on numerous occasions, entered his rooms with the express purpose of challenging him as to what his views are, and what his intention is with the creation of his bile-filled rooms of religious hate. When it has the word of Jesus on the title, I enter with the purpose of asking this question:

Would Jesus take part in the “execution” of a “perv”? And furthermore, what constitutes a “perv”? And who gets to determine just what it is that constitutes a “perv”?

You see, from the point of view of many, most of the chat that goes on in certain rooms, for instance, the Room of Shame or the Nightclub, could easily be considered as “perverted.” From the point of view of many religious fundamentalists, of all stripes, anyone who doesn’t share their point of view is “perverted.” I, myself, have been accused of being “perv” without the utterance of a single word, simply because my age is well above the average WireClub member. (See other blog entries of mine.) I find it incredibly ironic that JJ73 wants to "execute" and / or "persecute" "pervs," when I believe that many would agree with me that his own actions and views could very arguably be considered perverted.

I have entered JJ73s room repeatedly with these reasonable questions … but I am never answered. His profile is always appearing over there to the right, showing that he is, indeed, in the room. But he never answers me. He never answers Private Messages that I leave for him. I always term my inquiries in a civil manner, so as to not present myself as some angry, raving person. I also have refrained from sending him personal communications. JJ73 is either not interested in using his room of hate for the purpose that this website is designed for … dialogue, chatting, talk … or, as I have alluded to, he has no intention of talking about his views, he only wants the free space to erect his billboard of hate. Either way, it demonstrates an irrefutable fact: JJ73 is a coward.

It is tempting to run to Administration, who might very likely remove these hate rooms. But I think it would be better to be able to confront that coward, in a civil fashion, without curses, invectives or expletives. But judging by his actions, I doubt that JJ73 could argue his way out of a paper bag.

Stop in and see JJ73. Let him know what you think.

???

????

Our Special "Thing"

Our Special “Thing”

Our Special “Thing” can’t be defined
Boyfriend / Girlfriend doesn’t come to mind
We’re best of friends, but more than that
It’s heavenly, the times we chat

Our Special “Thing” is wonderful
That it exists is heaven sent
There is no doubt, it’s magical
When I’m with you, I’m so content

Our Special “Thing” will never end
And furthermore, I would contend
That ‘til the end of all my days
My love for you forever stays

Our Special “Thing” was born of pain
Its just part of our history
And doesn’t really have a name
So simply love it has to be

Our Special “Thing” is so unique
It has its very own mystique
Its different then anything
It’s ours alone my sweet darling

My Short Stories

Below is the third of three short stories that I've written during the time that I've been a member of WireClub. It is followed by the first story that I wrote, which was posted here about three weeks ago.

While these stories are works of fiction, you will recognize that I've utilized many things you may be familiar with as fellow WireClub members. In the three years since they were written they've become hopelessly dated as cam-to-cam computer communication has become commonplace.

At some time in the future, I may also present the second story, which is currently undergoing revisions.

I hope you enjoy reading them. I sure enjoyed writing them.

Short Story #3: A Near Miss

A NEAR MISS



“Okay, honey. You take care of yourself, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

“k baby”

“Oooo! I’m excited!!!!”

“im gonna do u good baby”

“I’ll bet you will!”

“ecstasy baby!!!!!”

“(laughs) OK. I can’t wait!”

“me neither”

“I have to go, honey.”

“yeah i know sigh”

Good night sweetheart. I miss you already.”

“me 2”

“Bye bye.”

“bye”

Pamela clicked the “X” up in the upper right corner of her messenger, and watched it disappear. This was her “Windows Live Messenger,” as it was properly called by the mega-company that manufactured the software. That window on her computer had become her good friend. She had acquired another good friend, as well, and she had just disconnected from him after spending hour after hour that night using that window to speak with him using text typed by the keyboard of her computer.

She was older than Jake. She wasn’t just older than Jake, she was older by quite a measure. She was old enough to be his mother. She just didn’t care. It didn’t matter to her in the least. It didn’t matter that she had just met him that night. This young man made her feel good again, made her feel better than she had felt in almost three years.

Pamela Mason was a widow at thirty-nine years of age. Although she had a very good life living in the Napa Valley in Northern California, until recently, she had been a very sad widow. Almost three years now. Almost three years since fate had stolen her life away from her. Two years, ten months, and twelve days since her beloved Matt had left this earth. And now, she was planning to engage in a peculiar type of sexual activity … cybersex … with this lovely young man she had met online. It would happen tomorrow night.



Pamela’s marriage had been a classic story. She and her husband had been high school sweethearts. She had fallen for head-over-heels in love with Matt in her senior year English class. She had been studying, and when she looked up from her book, caught eyes with Matt. He had been staring at her, and as their eyes met, he quickly averted his gaze. She could see him flush from across the room. It gave her a physical sensation, a tingle, the stirrings of a young woman who was blossoming in both body and mind. She had actually felt it. It felt good. It felt sexy.

She’d had sex before. It had been the previous summer, when her then boyfriend pressured her into it. It had been awful. But Pamela was bright. She read a great deal. She was interested in things, many things, including her changing body and her changing emotions. Even though the sexual experience had been thoroughly disappointing, even disturbing, she knew intellectually that sex was a good thing. She knew it emotionally, as well. She was sure of it. She felt it in her heart, and in those other places.

Pamela was a reader. She loved reading books, and she found herself sometimes reading cheap commercially produced romance novels. Those books depicted love and sex. She had sought out other books, non-fiction books, about sex. Although her one experience with intercourse had been clumsy and wholly unsatisfactory, she was still interested. And when Matt quickly looked down from her eyes, and then turned red, Pamela felt a distinct rush, a physical feeling … down there.

She had turned her attention back to her study, but for only a few seconds. She looked back up at Matt. He was staring straight at her, with an odd, very intense look on his face. This time his gaze remained riveted on her. It was Pamela’s turn to flush, to quickly look downward in discomfort. When, a few seconds later, she looked back up, and Matt’s eyes were still locked on, her flush intensified. But when he smiled at her, in that moment, she melted.

She wanted desperately to speak with him after class, but strangely, he was nowhere to be seen. She looked for him as she hurried to her next class, and again after that class, and the next, and for the rest of the day. She thought she saw him across the campus for a moment, but it was someone else.

Her heart leapt when, after purposefully racing to English class the next day to await him, Matt casually walked into the room. She was disappointed, however. He didn’t even look in her direction. It felt to her that she was invisible. As the class progressed, she fell into a small depression, feeling even a bit humiliated. She found it hard to concentrate on her work, and struggling to focus on the paper she was supposed to be writing, she involuntarily looked up in his direction.

He was staring straight at her, a wry smile plastered on his face, radiating warmth at her like the spotlight in a darkened theatre. She was instantly lifted. She knew! She knew! It was his way of flirting with her. He was harmlessly teasing her, and she instantly understood it, and he instantly understood that she understood it. She started to laugh, only partially stifling herself. The other students looked up in puzzlement, and the teacher himself shot her a blistering look.

She understood with crystal clarity that Matt had purposefully kept his eyes off of her when he entered the classroom. He knew she would be waiting for him, and this was his concocted plan, his dramatic little way of demonstrating his attraction to her. It was a moment of perfect romance, one that they would remember, recount over and over as their lives lengthened and turned into the perfect marriage. They would even give it a name: “the look.”

As the class ended, they walked straight to each other, smiling, and then both suddenly bursting out into laughter. The other students gave scant notice, as they were all on their ways to the next class, and engaged in their own friends and social lives. Pamela and Matt stood right outside of the classroom, talking to each other. It was absolutely natural, with none of the awkward stammering that usually accompanies the first conversation of a high school romance. It was the first in the succession of a million conversations that would follow. When the bell rang, and they suddenly both realized that instead of going to class, they had simply forgotten that the rest of the world even existed. They again laughed. Matt leaned over to her, and gave her a short, sweet, lovely kiss on the lips, smiled, and then turned and ran. She simply stood there, dumbfounded, not moving, completely smitten by this beautiful young man.



They didn’t even have to discuss whether they were “going steady.” They were in love, they knew they were in love, and any idiot who looked at them could see that they were in love. They graduated at the end of the year madly in love, moved on to State College together madly in love, remained madly in love through those four college years, and were madly in love on their wedding day shortly after graduation.

She had been a liberal arts major in college. He had studied business. Somehow, they both found intense interest in the other’s contrasting studies. They both found intense interest in sexually gratifying the other, as well. Their sex lives had begun near the end of that senior year in high school. She loved him for going easy on her in the sex department, letting her decide when it was the right time. While her first sexual experience had been a huge disappointment, sex with Matt had been beautiful right from the very first time. They would become perfect lovers, practiced in the art of pleasure, and never would become the slightest bit jaded as spouses often do. It was perfect from the start, and it stayed that way.

Pamela had given birth to their son almost nine months to the day after their college graduation. At her insistence, they gave him his father’s name, Matthew Jacob, and called him Matthew, Matt Junior, or Matty. As their son grew, his father called him “son.” His mother called him “Matthew.” He was a wonderful son, who was academically accomplished. Like both of his parents, he became somewhat of a bookworm. Pamela and Matt both had great pride and satisfaction that their son seemed to be far more literate and expressive than his peers. At the same time, Matthew was somewhat of a goofball, quick to make a silly remark that would cause any in his presence to laugh. Pamela and Matt would watch Matthew exhibit this goofiness, this very intelligent goofiness, and they would exchange looks with each other of sublime satisfaction. Their son was a special one, and they knew it.

Matt wound up putting his business education to work as the distributing agent for one of the many local wineries in their area. Pamela found employment in real estate, and eventually, would receive her realtor’s license. Their life as a family of three was perfect.

Until that day.



Pamela had received a phone call from the California Highway Patrol. There had been an accident. When she arrived at the emergency room, Matt had been dead for over an hour.

The investigators would put the pieces together. It was no one’s fault. A large deer had run out onto the roadway, Matt had attempted, unsuccessfully, to avoid hitting the animal, and as a consequence, his car had slid on the wet pavement, catapulted over an embankment at nearly the posted speed limit of fifty-five miles per hour, and had struck a large oak tree squarely on the driver’s side door. He didn’t have a chance, and had died on impact.

Somehow, Pamela had managed to continue to live, if you could call it that. As deep as her love had been for her husband, so too was the depth of her mourning, her crushing sense of loss. She was strong, she was able to somehow pick up the pieces of her life, reassemble them, and move on. The sense of loss never diminished, it simply became easier to live with as time passed.

It was so much easier because of Matthew. She had Matt’s son. He was a good son, had been devoted to his father, and had been rock solid throughout the ordeal of Matt’s death and the aftermath. Not only was Matthew intelligent and gregariously charming at fifteen, but he was already mature well beyond his age. Pamela often marveled at her son, and was convinced that she could not have gotten by had he not been there to keep her head above water.

And so, they persevered, now a family of two. They both appreciated the fact that as a family, they had always been close. Now with only the two of them, they were that much closer. There had always been a sort of “friendship” between Pamela, Matt and Matthew, instead of that separation that existed between many of Matthew’s friends and their parents. The sense of “friendship” that existed between Pamela and her son became even stronger, intertwined within the regular relationship between a mother and son.

Conversations about Matthew’s various girlfriends in school came easily to them. The dreaded “sex talk” was easy, comfortable, and embarrassed neither of them. Pamela had studied a bit of psychology, and was aware of the notion of oedipal relationships. Her relationship with Matthew hadn’t even a hint of such a thing. It was simply that along with being mother and son, they were also the best of friends. Thus it was also easy for Pamela to talk to Matthew about the feelings of loneliness, of longing for the love that comes from a husband or lover.



For the first year and a half after Matt died, Pamela wanted nothing to do with romance. She was still mourning, still far too vulnerable to even consider going on a date or something. She knew that she was a very attractive woman, with an appearance of being far younger than her thirty-nine years. Her friends at times suggested that she “climb back on the horse,” or “get back in the game.” She resisted these suggestions vociferously. She couldn’t even bear the thought of romance, let alone actual sex, with another man.

But time has a way of slowly changing a person, as surely as a river slowly cuts a course through solid rock on its way to the sea. Eventually, and with encouragement from Matthew, Pamela began to consider the possibility of actually having some sort of relationship with … someone.

She let one of her friends “fix her up” with a man, a local building contractor. He was a very nice man, fairly intelligent, and a decent conversationalist. But there was no spark of any sort. They had a couple of dates. He made a reasonably respectful sexual overture on the second time out, but she politely refused. She still just couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping with someone besides her beloved Matt. She wondered if she ever would.

The river of time is relentless, however, and some months later, she went out on another date. This time it was with a man who had been a prospective property buyer, but had wound up buying some vineyard acreage from a competing realtor. His name was Brent, and he was handsome. He was also sweet in disposition, and very, very charming. She accepted a dinner date with him, and she had actually enjoyed it. He had made arrangements for a private room in a very elegant and expensive restaurant in the nearby town of Sonoma, and the candlelit dinner had been lovely, the setting quite romantic. The conversation flowed fairly easily, and he was sympathetic as she embarrassed herself by gushing on about how her life had been since the loss of Matt. Brent had been very patient with her, and she appreciated it. Even though there seemed to be a bit of spark, she was relieved when he refrained from trying to seduce her. They agreed that there should be a second date, and that she would be the one to decide where and when.

Matthew’s teenage love life was blossoming too. He had a new girlfriend, Jenn, who was very sweet, very pretty, and every bit as brainy and mature as Matthew.

Pamela was happy for Matthew and his lovely new girlfriend, and it reminded her so much of her beginnings with Matt. She would watch them interact with equal parts of happiness and melancholy. On one occasion she surreptitiously watched as Matthew kissed Jenn tenderly, and as he kissed her, reached down playfully and gave her a gentle pinch on the ass, causing Jenn to give a quiet, very cute little yelp and bat his hand away with a laugh. Jenn then came into his son’s arms and kissed him fully, a lover’s kiss, a somewhat sexually charged kiss. It broke Pamela’s heart, because Matt had done the exact same thing to her, and she had reacted to it in the exact same way.

But watching her son that way also had another effect on her. It made her miss those feelings, the physical touch, the wonderful, light stirring in the pit of her stomach … oh, she remembered it. She longed for it. She needed it, and she needed it badly. She acted upon her longings immediately. She made a phone call to Brent.

Brent answered her call, but seemed just a tiny bit strange. He quickly asked her if he could call back in a few minutes. She readily agreed, and waited excitedly in anticipation. She was going to sleep with this nice man. She wanted to feel him, feel his body, to feel him inside of her. She was tingling already.

The few minutes dragged on for nearly an hour. Pamela restrained herself admirably from impatiently making a second call. When the phone rang, she grabbed it so quickly it flew out of her hand and skittled across the floor. She laughed at herself, dashed to the phone and breathlessly picked it up and answered it.

Brent was charming. He seemed to have a way of talking to her that was assuring. She had no hesitation asking him if he would take her out to the coast, to the town of Stinson Beach, where she’d already booked a bed and breakfast for the next night. Brent curiously seemed a little reserved, and hesitated, but then assured her that he’d love to take her to Stinson.

Pamela was slightly puzzled when Brent arrived in his pickup truck rather than the BMW she’d seen him with previously. It had been nice to ride with him in that fancy car, listening to Sheryl Crow on the stereo, during their first date. He explained that it was being repaired, and she gave it no further thought. The truck had seen more than a few miles, and had a broken cassette deck instead of the slick sound system that the Beamer had. She didn’t care. She was focused on Brent, on her anticipation, on sex. She was damn ready.

The drive out to the coast was pleasant enough. The weather was warm and sunny, and she enjoyed his company. She was thrilled when he reached over and placed his hand on her knee, giving it a tender squeeze and showing her a soft smile as they drove. Her hand went directly on top of his, a demonstration of acceptance of the overture, the tiny preview.

Upon arrival to the B&B, they immediately jumped into the sack. It was … strange. It was good, but it was … strange. This was the first time Pamela had had sex since Matt had died, and the first, other than Matt, since high school. “Christ!” she thought. “This man is only the third person in the universe I’ve ever had sex with.” It had helped that even though Pamela was inexperienced in terms of numbers, she was very experienced in terms of technique. She and Matt had been true-blue with each other ever since that day in English class, but they had been adventurous lovers. They had tried everything they could possibly try with each other, and they had enjoyed it. Pamela put that experience to good use with Brent, and really opened his eyes.

It was only hunger that finally drove them from the room. They dined at a local café, took a short nighttime walk on sandy Stinson Beach, and retired back to their room, where they proceeded to try their best to break the bed. Eventually sleep overtook them. Pamela awoke during the night, silently listening to the deep breathing of the man next to her in the darkness. It was strange. It equally comforted and disturbed her, leaving her with a peculiar feeling that was somewhere in the middle between those two. She had a little trouble falling back to sleep, but eventually slumbered.

She surprised Brent again in the morning. They showered together, and she fairly attacked him, greedily taking him in the hot spray and steam. She really missed the feeling of having a man, having him inside of her, making love. She didn’t really know how much she had missed it until that shower.

After the paid-for breakfast (it was a B&B after all), Pamela and Brent left for another walk on the beach, this time in the bright sunshine. They held hands, and Pamela felt like a schoolgirl again. She loved the feeling. She could feel it physically, in her body, in her soul. She could feel it.

Eventually they made their way back to the B&B. They had made plans to go into Sausalito for the afternoon, to walk along Bridgeway and look at the shops and such, but Brent begged off, saying that he had better be getting back up to Napa to take care of some sort of business. They retrieved their belongings, and climbed back into the pickup for the drive back north. Pamela felt bubbly, talkative, almost intoxicated, but noticed that Brent was pretty quiet, almost moody. He was polite enough, but seemed distant. The hint of foreboding invaded her consciousness. With about forty-five minutes left in the drive, they fell silent, and Pamela lost herself in her thoughts, thinking of the sex, thinking of Matt, thinking … thinking …

As they pulled up into Pamela’s driveway, she was feeling … insecure. It had been so … gratifying, physically. And for a good part of the excursion, the two of them had been connected, the conversation flowing naturally, the laughter filling them both with comfort. Brent’s hand went to the door latch to let himself out, but Pamela stopped him, gave him a quick cursory kiss, and let her self out of the truck. A small sense of disquiet invaded her as she carried her overnight bag to the front door, and watched the truck back out and pull away.

As she unlocked her front door, and let herself in, she heard some sort of sound … what was it? Something in the back of the house …

“Oh, shit!” she thought loudly in her own mind. It was the sound of Matthew and Jenn. “Oh, Christ!” They were having sex, back there in Matthew’s room, in her house. She flushed, and stood there, confused, unable to move, transfixed by the sound. “Should I go back there and knock on the door, and interrupt them? Should I leave? What am I supposed to do now?” she thought.

What she did was to walk into her kitchen, pour herself a glass of Chardonnay, sit at the table, listening to the soft din of sex coming from down the hall, and sip. And ponder … her life … her son … Brent …

Soon, the sound of squealing young laughter spilled into the house as Matthew’s bedroom door opened and the two young lovers came out. They froze when they entered the kitchen, seeing Pamela sitting at the kitchen table, sipping her wine.

“Mom!? What are you doin’ here!?”

Jenn’s face turned bright red. “Um … hi, Pamela.”

Pamela smiled, raised her glass in a sarcastic salute. “Hi Kids. Whatcha up to?”

Matthew looked serious for a moment, and then laughed, and Pamela joined him. Jenn remained silent, but managed an embarrassed smile. They sat at the kitchen table and talked. Pamela quizzed them about protection, condoms, pregnancy, STDs, the whole “sex talk” compendium. Satisfied with their answers, she essentially gave them her blessing. Remembering that her own sex life had started at the same age, Pamela could not bring herself to being a hypocrite, not even with her own son.

After the kids left, she occupied herself absently with catching up on her paperwork, paying a few bills, and other mundane household chores. She continued to be preoccupied with Brent, their night of lovemaking, and the slightly troubling ride home. She was still filled with the thrill of sex, particularly in the context of her personal life. She went back into the bedroom … now, her bedroom, but she still thought of it as “ours,” and accessed the deep end of the bottom drawer of her dresser, rummaged for a moment, and then retrieved a battery powered vibrator, phallic shaped, that she and Matt would occasionally put to use.

It had rested there, dormant, hibernating. Its last use had come a month or so before the accident which had taken Matt from her, and had remained there ever since. There were still batteries in it, but they were dead. With increasing urgency, Pamela walked briskly to the kitchen, where she rummaged through the “junk drawer,” finding a set of the proper sized Energizers. She prayed it would still work after nearly three years of neglect. Twisting the bottom, which functioned as a switch, she breathed a sigh of relief when it buzzed to life.

Switching it off, she sat there on the edge of her bed, holding the device, simply staring at it, thinking of Matt. Smiling, she recalled that it had been given a name: the “Hitachi Big One.” The name had come from a tape of a Frank Zappa concert that Matt loved, and how Frank had teased a woman in his band during the concert about her “Hitachi Big One.” She wondered where the tape was, and then realized that she didn’t even have a cassette player any more. She sighed, looked at the device, smiled, whipped off her pants and panties and began to pleasure herself.



Pamela went to work the next day, and was actually able to focus on her job, rather than on her convoluted emotions. Around lunch time, however, she gave in to temptation and called Brent’s number on her cell phone. She listened to his voicemail recording, and left a quick message, telling him how much she enjoyed their time together, that she was anxious to see him again, and asking him to call her soon. That evening, when she hadn’t received a reply, she again succumbed, and left a second message for the day. When several more days passed without a reply from Brent, she began to harbor some real insecurities, and wondered to herself if she had somehow done something wrong.

She was shopping in the local Whole Foods market, her favorite, when she spied him in the wine aisle. Impulsively, she walked up behind him, surprising him with her warm greeting. He flinched as she gave his back an affectionate stroke in her greeting. His expression was one of being aghast, alarmed. Brent stammered, his eyes wide, trying to say something. From the corner of her eye, Pamela caught the sight of a lovely woman, very attractive, who turned the corner around the display from one of the local wineries, and walked up to them. The woman reached up, touching Brent’s arm.

“Hey, honey,” the woman said demurely.

Brent started, jerking spastically, nearly dropping the bottles he was holding, his eyes widening ever further.

Stammering he managed, “Cathy, this is Pamela, the realtor that showed me the land up Silverado Trail.”

“Hi, Pamela, nice to meet you.” She extended her hand to Pamela, and as they shook hands, Pamela flushed, her gaze landing on the wedding ring on the left hand as Cathy gave her one of those two-handed handshakes. Her eyes jumped to Brent’s drawn face, then to his left hand, also now wearing a ring, and then to Cathy’s face, which was just now registering that something was amiss. Pamela pulled herself together in a blink, and forced herself to warmly reply.

As they parted, she couldn’t restrain the impulse to sneak a quick peek back at them. She could see the now obvious look of hurt, disdain, sadness, anger beginning to sweep over Cathy. It was all clear. Brent was a philanderer, and his wife was aware of it. Pamela had been used like a piece of Kleenex. Tears sprung involuntarily from her eyes, and she quickly wiped at them with the back of her hand. She simply set her hand basket down on the floor in the middle of the aisle near the French bread, and as quickly as possible, strode out of the store and climbed into her car.

She wept uncontrollably for a good ten minutes. “Oh, Matt! Oh, baby! Oh, god! Oh, Matt, why did you have to leave me!?!?” She wept and sobbed, shuddering, crying out loudly in pain, pounding on the steering wheel until her hand hurt. “Oh, Matt! Matt! FUCK! Why!? Why!? Why!? Oh, god, whyyyyyy!?” From the corner of her bleary eye, she caught the sight of another shopper, a man with his wife, returning to their car a couple spaces away. She saw as he reacted to her loud wails, and ducked his head for a better look as he scrutinized the situation. Luckily, he simply looked over at his wife with a serious expression on his face, unlocked the car for them, and left Pamela alone with her pain and anguish.

Pulling herself together, she found a paper napkin in the glove box, wiped her eyes, blew the snot out of her nose, and then simply sat … staring at the car’s instrument panel … just staring, nearly catatonic. After an eternity, she woke up, shook her head to clear it, started her car, and drove home.



Pamela was numb for several weeks after that terrible afternoon in the grocery store, but she pulled herself out of this funk, shook it off, and moved on. Ever the pragmatist, she decided to salvage what good there was to be had from the experience. After almost three years she had climbed back on the horse. She remembered what that stay in the B&B had been like, and how thrilled she was when she climbed into that steaming shower demanding that man’s body. Despite the fact that he was a rotten, cheating philanderer, she still had gotten a great deal of pleasure out of fucking that bastard. The last thing she was going to do was let that experience cause her any more grief. The last thing she was going to do was decide to become a female eunuch. Damn it! She had enjoyed that bastard’s body. She had enjoyed the sex. She wanted more.

As time passed, one of her friends suggested going online to find “hot singles in your area,” that sort of thing. At first, she dismissed the idea as ridiculous. But then, a co-worker told her that her sister had actually met her husband online, and had been happily married, raising two kids, for nearly ten years now. “Hmm…” she thought.

And so, Pamela went online. She began to poke around, seeing just what sort of things might be available. There were many, many dating sites, but she had … concerns. She didn’t particularly like the idea of going online just to be able to meet someone face-to-face. What if she didn’t like the guy? She’d be sort of stuck, then, wouldn’t she? It would be different than meeting someone in real life, getting that face-to-face impression, and then deciding if it seemed like something worthwhile to pursue. But not one to give up easily, and having her curiosity piqued, she continued to occasionally poke around the web.

It was about this time that Matthew, who had graduated his high school with honors, found himself a single guy again. The breakup between him and Jenn wasn’t particularly dramatic. It was just one of those things. They had gone steady for the better part of a year, and had then drifted apart. He had received a substantial scholarship to nearby Sonoma State University, and was working a summer job. Pamela was so proud of her son, and was glad that he seemed to shake off the breakup. The two of them had talked about it, and for a short time, Matthew had been hurt that Jenn had decided to move on.

In keeping with the unique mother/son relationship Pamela shared with her mature-beyond-his-now-nineteen-years, she confided with him when asked about Brent. She was impressed that he didn’t take the stance that one might expect, to be angry at that bastard, to feel a desire to get at the man who had hurt his mother. Matthew was as pragmatic about is as she was, and was just happy his mom had moved on.



The desire for flesh and blood contact continued to pester Pamela, and she decided to go ahead and take the plunge with an online dating site. She picked the site almost at random (they were all pretty much the same thing anyway), and after a bit of searching profiles of “hot bachelors in the Napa area,” made email contact with a lonely businessman from Concord. The met for a lunch date. He was nice enough, and even better looking than the photo he’d provided for his dating “profile,” but there was simply no spark … nothing, and they both knew it. There was no following date.

A second attempt faltered when she had followed her intuition, and backed out before actually meeting the guy. The third try resulted in a date much like the first one, although this man was just plain unattractive, not physically, but in his demeanor. She simply didn’t like him at all.

There came a day when she found herself submitting a meager bit of information needed to join a membership in an online chat site. This one wasn’t “find-a-date” oriented, but rather, a “club,” just a place for adults to meet and chat online. You were supposed to be eighteen or older in order to join, but Pamela wondered just how in the heck that could be enforced. It looked kind of dumb, but she decided to check it out. The next day, she came back to it … and the next day after that as well.

She found herself … fascinated by this curious online “community.” And as she got familiar with the members of this community, it seemed less … inane … and seemed more … valid. The behavior of these online people ranged from the stupidest, vainest, meanest, and vilest to the sweetest, kindest, most intelligent she could imagine. At times she found it very compelling.

Pamela found the anonymity comforting. Each member had a “profile” page that could be examined by others, and she was willing to display only a certain amount of her personal information, that she was a single, straight non-smoker, for instance. But she fibbed on her age, claiming to be five years younger then her actual age of thirty-nine. She also chose to list the obviously fictitious city of “Anytown, California,” and refrained from adding a photo of herself as many in the club did. Instead, she used a picture of Minnie Mouse to represent herself, and she also adopted the name for her identity.

In this weird online environment, there was sex aplenty. There was an ungodly amount of flirtation. Even though she was ostensibly at least twelve years above the average age of these people, the women were greatly outnumbered by horny men, and she was being constantly hit on, mostly by young guys, who wanted to talk “dirty” or “naughty,” and wanted her to assist them with texted fantasy as they masturbated in front of their computers. So this was what they called “cybersex?”

She began to indulge. She had her “Hitachi Big One,” and found herself occasionally putting it to use. It was a far cry from flesh and blood, but damn it! It felt good! And as the days passed, and she got more inured to the weirdness of it, she began to enjoy it. “What the hell,” she said to herself. “I’m going to be doing this anyway. This is fun! It feels good! So what if it’s weird.” Pamela didn’t indulge very often, really. But every now and then, she would just pop into the site’s “Naughty Room,” wait for almost no time at all, and as various male club members would hit on her, flirt with her, propose engaging in cybersex with her, she would either politely rebuff them, or occasionally, take the walk down Fantasy Street.

It was here in the chat club that she learned about Microsoft’s Messenger. She learned that the experience cybersexer used the messenger, for its complete privacy, rather than using the “private” chat rooms on the website.

There were also lesbians and bisexuals that approached her. On one occasion, she felt adventurous and let a very pretty lesbian in her mid-twenties prattle on with graphic details about what she’d like to do with her. She was curious, since she’d never had the experience of making love to a woman in her real life, but found herself devoid of any real sexual stimulation by the chat.

Usually, the age of the prospective partner was of paramount importance. The site was filled with young studs, crude with their language, extremely direct in their approach, and often seemingly oriented with hip-hop culture, something that Pamela had no taste for. These young foul-mouthed paramours held absolutely no interest for her. She was much more comfortable with the far fewer older members of the community.

Very rarely, a young suitor would come along with a bit more savor fare, and she would flirt with him a bit. She actually enjoyed the fact that young men would be attracted to an “older woman.” But the younger men who approached her with a romantic or sexual overture were always gently rebuffed. She was comfortable taking that step only with someone that was at least as old as her fictional age of thirty-four.

But then, somehow, one of these young ones captured her imagination. Contrary to her normal policy of politely rejecting younger men, one night she took an immediate and intense interest in a rather unusual twenty-one year old. He was just barely an adult, but she found … something … in him that captured her imagination, and attracted her to him. Somehow, he reminded her of Matt. Not only that, he actually had the same name … sort of.

It was that chat room name that initially got Pamela’s attention. He went by the name of “JakeTheSnake,” and Jacob was Matt’s middle name. It was just a coincidence, she knew, but she somehow was taken by that fact, and warmed by it. She just liked the idea of her late husband’s middle name being attached to someone she seemed to like.

JakeTheSnake was, in fact, a very nice guy. He was smart as a whip. He actually knew how to speak intelligently. He did tend to use a lot of the younger person’s vernacular, which wasn’t too bad. He, like Pamela, was somewhat anonymous, with his visual image being a sort of fantasy painting of a serpent with a woman. It was a very beautiful painting, quite erotic. And as it turned out, he claimed to be from San Rafael, less than an hour away.

She sheepishly had to admit to herself that she was attracted to this nice young man. She spent almost four straight hours talking to him. Pamela found herself drawn, in particular, to his sense of humor, which was really pretty goofy, but also very quick, witty, and extremely intelligent. Quite a bit of that time they spent examining the other occupants of the room and giggling at their antics. But then they left the chat site for the more effective MSN messenger. The flirtation became more and more erotic, graphic, and sexual as the hours went on. Jake finally came right out, and although he exhibited a fair amount of grace in doing it, asked her directly if she would be interested in cybersex. To her surprise, she immediately decided to herself that indeed she would. But it was late, she had to be up in the morning, and although the computer was in her bedroom, she was at least a tiny bit inhibited by the fact that her son was only several feet away, on the other side of her bedroom wall, in his own room, apparently watching TV or playing a computer game, she could tell by the soft din of sound coming through the wall.

She agreed with Jake that they would cyber, but asked him if they could put it off until the next evening. He readily agreed, and they decided to break off for the night. She was amused and in a funny way, really warmed by the fact that they had quickly begun calling each other by affectionate pet names, “Honey,” “Baby,” “Sweetheart.” Reluctantly, she said goodbye, and clicked out of the messenger, and shut her computer down for the night.



Her mind was wandering the next day while she was at work. It amused her that she was looking forward so much to being online with this brand new friend of only twenty-one years of age, and was almost breathlessly awaiting her “date” with him. She was only slightly troubled by the fact that she had, in fact, told a small lie to this young man. Her profile claimed that her age was thirty-four, when in actuality, she was thirty-nine. It was a small untruth, but she was a tiny bit uncomfortable with the thought of lying to someone she cared about, and she knew that she cared about JakeTheSnake. Smiling, she also wondered if perhaps he was also fibbing about his age. If he did, she considered, it would be in the opposite direction from her own fib. He would claim to be older, and more “manly,” rather than going younger, and slightly more “girlish,” as she had done. She laughed inside at the thought of having a cyber-date with a man even younger than the rather fresh twenty-one JakeTheSnake claimed on his profile.

Mentally shrugging, she realized that she simply didn’t care, and this amused her. Laughing out loud at this thought, she simply focused on her eagerness for the date. She embraced her eagerness. She embraced it enough that she even changed the batteries in the “Hitachi Big One” for this night. She wanted it to be good. She was planning to put on some nice music for the event … she was thinking Bonnie Raitt or Miles Davis, and she was going to light a few scented candles in her room, turn down the adjustable light switch to dim the lights, and really make it as romantic as such a weird and peculiar thing could somehow be. She’d even be wearing her prettiest short nightie, a lacey pink number, with no undies.

At the appointed time, sure enough, JakeTheSnake popped up on her computer screen in his messenger window. She greeted him.

Minnie Mouse: “Hi Honey!”

JakeTheSnake: “hey baby”

Pleasantries were exchanged, as well as a little bit of small talk. Then they began to drift conversationally toward their planned destination. The talk began to heat up a bit, until finally, Jake asked Pamela if she was ready to do it. Laughing to herself, she decided to make a very bold statement.

Minnie Mouse: “Baby, can you hold on for a minute? (laughs) I want to use my vibrator tonight, and I need to go into the bathroom and get a little bottle of lubricant for it.”

JakeTheSnake: “ha ha ha u gonna get that thing all slippery? ooooo!!!!!! SEXY!!!!!”

Minnie Mouse: “Just give me a minute, OK Honey?”

JakeTheSnake: “OK … I need to pee too”

Pamela laughed. She then swiveled her chair away from the computer and purposefully strode to her door. The bathroom was directly across the hallway from her bedroom door.

As she hurriedly swung the door open and took a step toward the bathroom, Matthew’s door, almost adjacent to hers, swung open simultaneously. They nearly collided.

“Oh, sorry Honey,” Pamela said, her face flushing just a bit. She self-consciously realized she was in her fancy little nightie. Matthew was dressed in only a t-shirt and his boxers.

Then, in a moment when time seemed to stand still … when her head seemed to explode … she saw the bulge in Matthew’s thin boxer shorts. Her eyes leapt up to his face. He looked like he’d just seen a ghost. His mouth was hanging open. He was frozen. She was like a statue. And after a few moments, without a word or gesture, both Pamela and Matthew simultaneously back-pedaled through their respective doors, and both closed the doors simultaneously, both rather hard, both almost slamming them.

Her pulse was pounding as Pamela dizzily sat back down at her computer. She looked at the messenger, where the names “Minnie Mouse” and “JakeTheSnake” both showed.

“Oh, Christ!” she cursed internally. “No! No! No! … It couldn’t be … could it?”

She suddenly knew … but refused to accept. “Nooo … no, it couldn’t be.” Drawing a deep breath, she sat down, and typed.

Minnie Mouse: “Jake?”

After a long pause …

JakeTheSnake: “yeah?”

Pamela sat, looking at her computer for an eternity. She typed.

Minnie Mouse: “Matthew?”

There was no reply.

“Oh, god!” she said out loud. In an instant, she was in her closet, quickly putting on her bathrobe. She heard a crash and thud in the room next door as something fell over.

She slowly … carefully … opened her door. Matthew’s was still closed. Pamela carefully stepped to Matthew’s door, and with the lightest touch she could muster, tapped on it twice. “Matthew?” she softly said. There was no reply. A little louder. “Matthew?”

The door opened. Her son was now dressed in his jeans. She could see past him at the sight of the tower rack that held his CD collection laying on its side, the discs spilled out over his floor, and beyond that, the computer, with a very familiar looking greenish window showing on it.

Matthew’s face was white. His eyes looked like saucers. His expression was one of being aghast. Pamela took in this shocking panorama, and suddenly burst into tears, accompanied by a loud sob. Instantly, Matthew had his arms around her, the arms of a son around his mom. There was nothing … absolutely nothing … sexual in the feeling of Matthew comforting his mother. She cried into his shoulder as she hugged him desperately. He hugged her tightly, wordlessly, and let her cry. She let it all go. The loss of Matt. Her loneliness. Brent, the philanderer. The whole thing. After a minute or so, she slowly stopped.

When she released her son, and looked into his face, she saw nothing but empathy, soothing empathy. They locked their gazes for a long moment … and suddenly, simultaneously … they both began to laugh. And laugh. And laugh and laugh and laugh.



Six months later, Matthew was off at college, and Pamela was still a single woman. She was happy, however. She was dating a very nice man … a very single man, by the way, and she was actually wondering if she was beginning to fall in love with him. He was a real man, flesh and blood, although she had met him in one of those computer dating websites.

She sat down at her computer, logged into her favorite chat room, and went directly into the “Naughty Room.” It was the appointed time, and there he was, waiting for her.

Minnie Mouse: “Hi Honey.”

JakeTheSnake: “hi mom”

It was their private joke. It was just another facet of this unique relationship between mother and son, which had always been a little different because of Matthew’s maturity level and the death of Matt. With Matthew being away at college, they used the chat room as a means of communication. It amused them. Pamela asked him how his studies were going, and then they each told the other the details of their respective romantic lives. Matthew had a new girlfriend. Pamela had a new boyfriend.

Pamela and Matthew had each other … and the loving memory of Matt.






(end of story, but continue reading …)

To readers of this story:

I am very interested in any comments that readers might have about this story. I attempted something here, and I will only know how successful I was with feedback from readers. Obviously, there is a big surprise for Pamela and Matthew when they discover each other’s online identities. I tried to construct this story in such a way that the reader would also, of course, be surprised. But I included a number of what I hope are indications, hints if you will, of this, within the story. The idea was to achieved a sort of balance, to have the readers be completely surprised with the revelation, but then, to be able to recall those indications, and say “Ah-hah!” to themselves. It was a tightrope walk, to provide those clues strongly enough for them to be recalled, but not enough so to dilute the surprise. Without reader feedback, I will have no idea how successfully I accomplished this. With that in mind, I have a couple of questions for the reader:

Was Pamela’s surprise (Matthew is also JakeTheSnake) a complete surprise to you, as the reader?

After the surprise, were you able to recall the several indications (hints) within the story that Matthew is JakeTheSnake? These indications are:

> When Matthew is born, Pamela insists that he be named after his father, and he is named Matthew Jacob; when she meets JakeTheSnake, she is pleased that he uses her husband’s (and her son’s) middle name

> Although they are Mother and son, Pamela and Matthew have always also been “friends”

> Matthew had always impressed Pamela with his maturity beyond his years, and his sense of humor, which was both goofy and intelligent; JakeTheSnake has these same traits

> Pamela is a tiny bit guilty for fibbing about her age on her chat room profile, and she wonders if JakeTheSnake has fibbed as well


There was also another tightrope walk in this story, a sort of moral or ethical one. There is a component to it, the very notion of something from the sexual realm existing in the relationship between a mother and her son, that is bound to cause a certain amount of squeamishness in some readers. It caused me a bit of discomfort, myself, and I’m the author! I strove to make it quite understandable that despite the unusually strong “mother/son as friends” quality of their relationship, there was no sexual attraction, no oedipal aspect within their love for each other. Although the notion of this sort of relationship is, in a way, the foundation of the story itself, I wanted to make it plain that the story is not, in any way, advocating or romanticizing such a thing. It was a fine line to tread, to bring up the notion, yet to carefully, and not clumsily, avoid any sense of normalizing it. Without reader feedback, I will have no idea as to how successful I was in walking this tightrope.

Thanks again for reading this story. Your feedback will be of great value to me.

Short Story #1: The Exotic Tribulation Of A Lonely Man

(Originally posted on December 11, 2008)

The Exotic Tribulation of a Lonely Man


Ben was lonely. He was a lonely guy. He was alone. There really wasn’t anything wrong with Ben, but he had pretty much just given up on love. At thirty-nine, he was resigned to living his life as a solitary guy. There was no one there but his cat, Cloudy. At least she loved him.

He’d tried to get a little action, something to fulfill that human need for contact, companionship, sex. But he’d given up. Bars … that had just plain sucked. He’d tried a dating service … two dates and three hundred bucks later, he’d quit that too. The two dates were utter failures. On the first, a restaurant lunch meeting, the chemistry was just completely absent. In fact, that had been the main topic in whatever uncomfortable conversation they had managed to make. His second date was just a dolt. She was obsessed, talking incessantly about her fucking dog, a Yorkshire terrier, a Yorky, and who gives a rat’s ass anyway? She’d actually invited him home with her, dropped less than subtle indications that she wanted him to hop into the sack with her. She wasn’t bad looking, but the idea of following this woman into her Shrine of Yorkshire Terrier Devotion was just more than he could bear. Nope. Not gonna happen.

A few other attempts here and there had come up dry. He only gave momentary thoughts about hiring a hooker or something, not actually any kind of consideration at all, just a quick thought that invaded his mind before being disposed of. With his luck, anyway, any hooker he approached was certain to be part of an elaborate police sting operation, and he didn’t want to wind up on this week’s episode of “Cops” with his face pixilated. There was also the fact that payment for sex was simply contrary to his personal sensibilities. He had no moral qualms, but he’d never paid for it, and never would.

But he had found … something. It was in a plastic and metal box that sat on his desk. It had a window on it, a pane of glass that looked into all corners of the world, all facets of life, and many, many people. Ben had found companionship. Ben was online.

Ben was a computer dork. He simply didn’t possess the aptitude for it, even though he was a pretty smart guy. He always somehow managed to click the wrong button and fuck things up. He had checked out a few porn sites, but they all wanted the same thing from Ben: his credit card number. Nope, Ben wasn’t going down that street.

But he’d heard about chat rooms, and was intrigued. Sex with strangers online. Hmm. Being a lonely guy, he worked out with the right-handed gratification shuffle with a fair amount of regularity anyway, and what the fuck, having strange women text him messages of “your cock is huge” and “fuck me now” was sort of exotic, particularly for a lonely guy. Not only was there horny people masturbating all over each other online, but there were other interesting people as well. He’d made quite a few real friends online, only a few of whom were men. Ben was drawn to the women, like a bee to the colorful petals of a flower.

Ben had become the regular visitor of a site with the dumbass name of Connections. It offered free chat. Free was important, again the credit card issue. Connections offered access to a number of various rooms. Everyone had a nickname, or “handle.” You could join in with the horde of chatting masses in the main part of a particular room, or you could peruse the list of individuals there at the moment, and approach anyone for a personal private chat. The standard chat room setup. He found comfort in the anonymity of the whole process. Most of the denizens of Connections provided a photo – a pic – to go with their personal profiles. But Ben preferred to be without a face. There was no shame in being a lonely guy if no one actually knew who you were.

It was Sensuality Lounge that attracted Ben. That room was where most hookups occurred. He loved flirting with the ladies in there, occasionally getting into a cyberjackoff with someone or other. And there were actually a few really nice women he’d become acquainted with, drawn to.

He had begun this little pastime with a rock-solid intention of not actually meeting anyone in person. Besides, they were scattered across the globe. There was LuckyLeann, from Liverpool, FairyGoddess from New Delhi, Swordstress from Perth, Dynah from Kuala Lumpur, GoGirlGo from Baton Rouge, MsWhistle from Vancouver, and many, many more. Their ages ranged from the legal cutoff of eighteen to well over fifty. BettyBB was from Toronto, and at fifty-seven, she was a good talker, obviously experienced, and very horny. Ben liked BettyBB. She’d become a good pal.

And then there were cams. Wow! Girls with webcams! On more than a couple of occasions, Ben had had encounters with willing young participants who had been so kind as to cam him. The images of these ladies permeated his consciousness. Like any normal, healthy guy, Ben enjoyed the image of a naked curvy body, and having one live on his computer screen … well, it wasn’t the touch and feel of a woman, but it was good, that’s for damn sure. His first cam encounter had been young, eighteen, and a stunning woman. She had given him a memorable time, stripping very slowly and teasingly, taking time to get the cam just right, and finally, laying on the bed and using a vibrator on herself. The image wasn’t perfect, but it was good enough, and it was live. His ejaculation was the most intense that he’d had in years. The cam was a powerfully sexy tool. The sessions in which he’d been cammed had left him elated for days afterward. He was even a little concerned. The experiences had been so … enticing, so … real. He found himself daydreaming about it, remembering, anticipating the next time. Someone was willing to give him, asking for nothing in return, the live image of their body, and often, their body doing very nice things.

Yes, Ben loved cam sex. He had to admit to himself that he had a particular thing with the cam. There was no way he would ever relinquish his own anonymity with his own cam, and he felt only a grain of guilt on that issue. The cam girls he’d been with seemed not only willing, but eager, to provide that lovely stimulation for him. He had almost … almost crossed his self-made boundaries about using the credit card, as there were many, many cam shows for sale on the internet. But he had never paid for sex in his life, and he had the fortitude not to start down that path.

And then, there was Roxy. She was special. Her handle was CuddlyR, but Ben had become close with her, and they had actually exchanged real first names. Roxy. Like Ben, Roxy refused to provide a pic for her image, so he hadn’t the slightest idea of what she looked like. In fact, he didn’t even want to know. It was Roxy’s personality, her attitude, which attracted him. There was something about her that he found intensely sexy. He knew her age, thirty-two, that she was single and currently not involved.

He also knew she was local, living right there in the same county, less than twenty minutes away.

Roxy was flirtatious, but not particularly raunchy. She loved to drop double entendres on Ben, and was so damned clever with her words. They spent much of their online time laughing at one another. He was intensely drawn to her, and their conversations, liberally laced with bits of saucy flirtation, flowed easily and comfortably. It seemed they could talk about anything to each other, anything at all. At times their conversations took on a confessional tone, as they described past events in their lives, their longings, their personal pains, anything and everything. The both reveled in the freedom of anonymity, amazed that they could somehow be so comfortable sharing things that were so personal, with little or no inhibitions.

There was no cyber sex in the relationship, and Ben was comfortable with this. They had both confessed to having done it, and had even mildly contemplated the idea, but they both realized that they felt more comfortable keeping things just platonically flirty, at least for the time being. He found that the flirtation they shared was every bit as gratifying as any sexual encounter he’d had … well … maybe with the exception of his cam experiences. He really did like those cam encounters, he had to admit.

They obviously were attracted to each other, and had discussed the fact that they were so geographically close, yet both had readily agreed that at least for the time being, their relationship would continue to be limited to the window on the desk. Ben had come into the whole proposition of online chatting with that iron-clad rule: no personal encounters, just online. He wasn’t really sure why that was so important to him, he just knew it was. Roxy had the same conceptual firewall about face-to-face meetings as he did, and they had been content to spend hours and hours with each other in Connections, and then, after he’d managed to download the software, to communicate with each other with their MSN Instant Messengers, together, away from the distractions of other people in Connections.

But things were changing. The idea of actually meeting this woman in the flesh had started as a tiny consideration, and now, was becoming an obsession. He asked himself, “What if she’s really Two-Ton Tessie, or simply the ugliest woman on the face of the planet?” He’d easily come to the answer to that question. He simply didn’t give a flying fuck. He liked Roxy. She liked him. He was lonely. She was minutes away. Rapidly, Ben’s desire for the cloak of anonymity was dissolving. He had been considering asking her to meet him in person, the thoughts revolving through his consciousness, over and over again. The desire was growing exponentially, and he was going to pull the trigger and ask her the next time they chatted. His work at the office had suffered all day as he anticipated his scheduled online rendezvous with Roxy at eight o’clock. He was going to ask her tonight.

Ben had stopped in a café for dinner on the way home. He didn’t want to think about menial household things like preparing a meal. He was concentrating, focused on only one thing. When he got home, he had more than an hour to kill before the appointed time. He tried to do a little paper work, but his mind and his eyes kept wandering back to the computer, the window, the portal that opened from his world into Roxy’s, from hers into his. Finally, he took a shower, just for something to do. It refreshed him, and gave him the feeling of preparation, like he was getting ready for a date.

At ten minutes of eight, Ben sat down at his desk, making sure the computer was ready, drumming his fingers in nervous anticipation. There was a glass of red wine at hand, a nice mellow zinfandel, his favorite, yet another preparatory token.

Cloudy gracefully hopped up onto the corner of the desk, looked at him and offered a soft mew. She took a step in his direction, coming closer to the keyboard as well. Ben stood up, lifted Cloudy, and placed her on the little pillow on a nearby bookshelf, her favorite spot. He preferred she stay away from the desk right now. She rotated one revolution on the pillow, and curled up comfortably. He smiled, reached over and gave her a little head scratch. She stretched her neck, pushing against his hand affectionately. He drew in a deep breath, waiting. He was ready.

Ben’s eyes were riveted on the clock that existed in the lower right hand corner of his computer. 7:58. “Come on, come on,” he thought frantically. “Come on.” The clock refused to answer. Another sip of zin. “Come on …” A change! The digit flipped … 7:59 … “Come on, COME ON, dammit!” The room was silent. He could feel his heart beating, a soft light fluttery feeling in his chest. The clock. His eyes were on it like a hot beam of laser light. The clock. “Come on!” His hand nervously twiddled the mouse, spinning the cursor around on the screen, tracing circles, his index finger poised over the button …

Click. All three digits changed. 8:00. At exactly the same moment, an orange bar appeared on the task bar inches from the clock …the orange bar flashed, blinking … on it were these words:

ROXY - Conversation

In a nanosecond, Ben zipped the cursor down onto the flashing orange, clicked, and then waited … it would only take a second or two … Poof! There was the window … there was text ...

~~ Hi baby!

“YES!” he screamed out loud, startling Cloudy. She flinched, and gave Ben a look of annoyance before resuming her curled position on her pillow. His hands flew over the keyboard …
~~ Het babu!

“FUCK” he shouted, quickly stabbing at the backspace key. Cloudy grimaced.

~~ Hey vavy!

“Goddamit!”

Slowly, carefully …

~~ Hey baby!

… and the “enter” key to transmit the words. The reply came.

~~ i missed u baby!

Ben smiled. She always started off with that phrase. He typed his standard reply.

~~ I missed you more.

It was a trite beginning, but he knew where this conversation was going to go, and he was going to take his time, get the flow going, pick the exact right moment to make the overture.

~~ how was ur day?

He smiled. She always used all of the various little chat acronyms. He hated them. They bugged him. He didn’t care, this was Roxy.

~~ Another day, same old shit … LOL

“Laughing out loud.” It was the single acronym that he had adopted, and with Roxy, it was used over and over. He liked the fact that their conversations were relaxed enough to pepper them with the occasional expletive. It was, after all, the way he talked in real life.

The small talk continued for a while, and Ben relaxed just a bit. He loved chatting with this woman. He’d been doing this for months now, and the comfortable routine of it soothed him, lessening his nervousness. He nursed his glass of zinfandel, reached over to stroke Cloudy again, and continued the chat, words of no importance or consequence, just the warm comfort of Roxy’s company.

After a time, the conversation took on a more affectionate tone, mildly flirty. Ben was familiar with the feel of this. It was a main part of what he found so enticing about this woman. It also seemed to be the opening for a graceful steering of the conversation to his purpose. He typed:

~~ Um, Roxy …?

The very moment he tapped the “enter” key to transmit his words, a text line from Roxy appeared as well.

~~ ben, i need to talk to u

“Hmmm…” he thought, raising an eyebrow. He answered:

~~ Go ahead, honey …

~~ Ben, there’s something very, very important I need to discuss with you. We’ve been talking online to each other for some time now, and I’ve been waiting for the right time for this. I think the right time is now.

His mouth dropped open slightly … what was this? Another thing was instantly apparent … the little annoying acronyms , the clipped sentences, the chat room-esque feel of her words had suddenly disappeared, supplanted by very articulate and complete sentences, with caps and punctuations … what was going on?

With a slight trepidation, Ben answered:

~~ Go ahead Roxy

~~ Ben, there’s only one way to tell you this, and that is to just come right out and tell you in plain words …

“Whatever it is, this is going to be something heavy,” Ben thought to himself.

~~ Ben, you were chosen. You were chosen by me. You were chosen for something special …

“What the fuck …!?” The thought was a quiet one, contemplative, devoid of annoyance, full of mystification.

~~ Ben, I’m involved in a project, a very special project. It’s sort of a blend of performance art, sociology, and charity work. It’s very, very sexy …

Ben’s mouth dropped completely open now. He stared at the words appearing on the screen. “What is she talking about? Performance art? Sociology? Charity? Sexy? It makes no sense …”

The screen then showed this text:

Roxy is inviting you to start viewing webcam. Do you want to Accept (Alt+C) or Decline (Alt+D) the invitation?

“WHAT!? A CAM!? WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING!?!”

There was only the slightest hesitation. Ben swung the cursor up to the text and clicked “accept.”

The small Messenger window expanded, adding the cam window to the right of the text window. The image was fuzzy white, suddenly resolving into a face, her face, the face of Roxy. She was lovely. Her hair was pinned up on her head. It was dark, and wisps of hair were hanging along the sides of her face. Ben could see a sort of … ethnicity … what was it … Caucasian mixed with … Asian. Wow! Roxy was a stunner!

She looked straight into the lens, and smiled. Ben felt a lightness, a fluttering, an almost disturbing sensation in his chest. He could feel his pulse in his temples. She had the most wonderful expression. It was in the eyes, the eyes. She looked downward, and was reaching for something. She stepped back from the cam, more of her coming into the view. He could see that there was some sort of stand, like a microphone stand or something, and a computer keyboard attached to it.

As she leaned over slightly and typed, Ben quickly examined her in the cam’s field of view. Roxy was fairly slender, willowy, and was wearing a simple white cotton blouse, several buttons open, just a little bit of white lace showing inside of it. Oh, yeah. Her stance over the keyboard gave him a peek down her neckline. She had on one of those … feminine things … a camisole? … yeah, one of those sexy bedroom –looking things a girl wears over her bra and under her clothes, with white lace showing on it. The field of view was wide enough to show the waistband of a pair of jeans, worn low on the hips. Text began appearing along side of the cam image.

~~ Ben, are you there?

He closed his gaping mouth, shook his head slightly, and smiled. Then laughed. He typed.

~~ Yes, Roxy. You’re beautiful! What in the world are you doing?

She laughed, and looked heavenly doing it. He laughed with her. He was dazzled.

~~ Camming you. I know how hung you are on cam girls.

She laughed again, and Ben laughed with her.

~~ But you can’t see me …

~~ Ben, I don’t care what you look like. I simply don’t care. I think you know me well enough by now to know that doesn’t matter to me.

~~ Roxy, you are so amazing! What are you doing?

Her smile lessened, and took on a tone of determination.

~~ Ben, this is very complex. I’m going to have to start at the beginning, okay?

He was really confused now.

~~ Sure, go ahead.

She reached below the keyboard, and adjusted something, raising the keyboard up to a level that made it more comfortable to type. Her hands were flying over the keyboard.

~~ I’m involved in a sort of project. It’s personal, something which I’m involved in with a couple of friends … partners, actually.

“Hmm?” he thought, “What does that mean?”

~~ As I said, it sort of combines performance art, sociology, and … we like to call it “charity work.”

His mind registered nothing but confusion. Patiently, he waited for the next line.

~~ You were chosen by me to possibly be a part of our project. I chose you on the basis of the many long conversations we’ve been having. You know me now, Ben. You know how much I have come to treasure the time we spend talking to one another.

He smiled, and typed.

~~ You know how much I love our conversations too, Roxy.
She glance up into the camera, at first with an undecipherable expression, then with a smile, a lovely warm smile, appearing on her face. She typed …

~~ Hush, Ben, let me talk. This is important. Just hit the “k” key every once in a while to let me know you’re staying with me, ok?

She looked up into the camera, and smiled again. Wow! She was REALLY pretty! He laughed. She was getting him to abbreviate. He hated to abbreviate. He laughed.

~~ k

~~ You were chosen by me, Ben, because you were the kind of man we wanted, that I wanted. I’ve talked to many, many men in Connections, you know that. We’ve both talked about that to each other. Well, you were different. You were smart. You refused to learn the acronyms.

Ben laughed.

~~ You were what we wanted. What I wanted. A real human being. A good man. A real man.

He smiled. He was perplexed, but he liked those words.

~~ Ben, I must confess something. When we first met in Connections, you sent me an email, some silly, funny picture of a very fat woman and a very thin man.

He thought for a moment … “Ahh, yes, that dumb pic that everyone was forwarding to each other …” He had gotten it from his sister. He looked at the message again, reading the first part. “… confess something …?” he thought.

~~ Ben, when you sent that silly picture to me, it was sent from a different email address than the one you’ve used every other time.

Like most people, Ben had several email addresses. He’d been using his Connections email address with Roxy. He remembered now. He forwarded the silly picture from his main Hotmail address, the one he used for online purchases and things like that. Hmmm….!

~~ Ben, that email had your full name attached to it. I used it to … investigate you a little bit. For instance, I know you live at 515 Sixth Street.

~~ Ben flushed, an uncomfortable hot rush of blood entering his face. Suddenly the phone rang. Shit! He had meant to turn it off. He picked up the phone. He heard a click and then a dial tone.

~~ Ben, did you hear that? That was me.

“What!?” He actually felt a little chill.

~~ Ben, forgive me. It was necessary, a necessary little evil. I didn’t probe much, Ben, only a little, only as much as necessary.

“What in the fuck is going on!?” That seemed to be the theme of this night.

~~ Ben, I want to introduce you to someone.

“Huh!?” Roxy was looking straight into the camera. She reached out a finger, and tapped “enter” sending the next line of text.

~~ Ben, meet my friend Josie.

Roxy moved slightly to one side, and the figure of another woman joined her in frame. She was beautiful, as well, with a curly mop of light brown hair, ringlets, falling to her shoulders, a very lovely look. “Josie!?” he thought. “Who’s Josie?” She was wearing a sort of preppy look, tight beige cotton pants, and a white polo style top under an open, matching white cardigan sweater. The buttons of her top were open, and Ben could see something lacy under there as well. She looked very … designer.

Josie put her arm over Roxy’s shoulder, looked directly into Ben’s eyes through the lens, smiled and waved. They both then looked at each other and laughed, exuding warmth. He could almost hear the laughs through the window of mystery. Josie was gorgeous! And now Ben noticed something else. The image wasn’t like that of any of the webcams he’d seen, fuzzy, washed, somewhat blurry. This was a sharp, focused, crisp image he was seeing, with vivid colors. What the hell was going on!? As Josie simply smiled into the camera, Roxy turned her attention once again to the keyboard.

~~ Ben, Josie is a partner of mine. We’re both a part of this project. I chose you, and Josie chose someone else. She chose him exactly the same way, and for exactly the same reason.

He was stunned by this turn of events. He stood, pushing his chair back almost violently. He placed his hands on the desktop, on each side of the keyboard, and leaned close to the monitor, staring into it. What the hell was happening!?

~~ Ben, I have one more friend to introduce to you. Ben, meet Marissa.

Roxy and Josie exchanged smiles, and both then looked toward the camera, not right into it, but slightly off center. Suddenly the frame began to slowly swing to one side, Roxy and Josie sliding sideways and out of view. A framed picture on the wall slid by, as did a small table with a vase of flowers. A large full length mirror came into view, as did a tripod with a fairly large, very professional looking video camera, reflected in the mirror. Behind the camera was Marissa, with soft, relaxed curls of shiny blond hair cascading over her shoulders, a lock of it hanging over her forehead and down across her face. She took her face from the camera’s viewfinder, smiled into the mirror, her reflected image looking into Ben’s face, smiling, beautiful … and completely naked.

“What!?” Ben shouted out loud, disturbing Cloudy again. “What the fuck!? What is this!? Marissa smiled and waved, her curls bouncing, one stray one hanging over her eye. She was naked! Stark raving nude! What the fuck was happening!? Marissa reached up and flung the stray curl carelessly back, and laughed lustily. She was gorgeous! She leaned back to the camera, the stray curl dropping back over her face again, her eye once again meeting up with the viewfinder. The point of view changed again, sweeping as the camera swung back to Roxy and Josie. Roxy was already typing when she came into view.

~~ Ben, I made a choice. I chose you. And now, you must make a choice. What we propose is that we will put on … an exhibition for you, a show, a performance, a special performance that we will create here and now, just for you. Ben, I know how you have been affected from some of the cam girls you have encountered. You told me about it, and how you found it so erotic and sexy. Ben, we are here to put on a show for you too, the best show imaginable!

Josie laughed, and a hand, somewhat out of focus and very large, appeared to come into view, waving, obviously the hand of Marissa from behind the camera. Ben’s mouth dropped open. He tried to speak, not even knowing what he was trying to say, but no sound emitted from his mouth. He felt faint. He reached behind him, grasping for the chair, and in the process, pushed it further away. In a panic, he grabbed the chair, swinging it up to the desk, mashing his fingers between the desk and chair. “Fuck!” he shouted, wincing and shaking his hurting fingers.

~~ Ben, if we put on this performance for you, it will be the most amazing thing you have ever seen, I promise you. Not only that, but you will actually become the director of this performance. We will do whatever you tell us to do. Or if you want, you can simply sit back and watch the show. I’ll be performing for you with Josie, and you can even request that Marissa join in with us, although the camera will have to be just a single framed shot if she does that. We want to make love to each other for you, to do any sexual act you can dream of, just for you. You can make any request you can think of, and we will do our best to carry out that request … just for you. You can ask that the camera be removed from the tripod and moved right in so that you can get fantastic close-up shots. Marissa has a small monitor attached to the camera, and anytime you send a text message, she’ll hear a small beep and look at that monitor. She will try her best to satisfy any direction you give her, and we will do our best to satisfy you too. Ben … we will do ANYTHING YOU WANT!

The view suddenly, and very smoothly, zoomed in on Roxy’s face, her lovely smile, and then panned downwards, down past her chin, down her lovely long neck, settling on her cleavage, a nice, sharp, crisp picture showing the details of the lace on that thingy she was wearing under her blouse. The view then pulled backwards, widening, and showing both girls again. They were both smiling broadly at Marissa’s little camera play, demonstrating that this was no ordinary computer cam. Josie’s smile and expression turned impish, and she reached over with one hand, cupping one of Roxy’s breasts, jiggling it a little. Both girls laughed uproariously as Roxy roughly pulled her hand away and shoved her out of the picture. Ben thought he could see a hint of blush on her cheeks as Josie came back onto view, giving Roxy a little hug. Roxy turned her attention back to typing.

~~ Marissa has a small monitor attached to the camera, and anytime you send a text message, she’ll hear a small beep and look at your text on that monitor. She will try her best to satisfy any direction you give her, and we will do our best to satisfy you too. Ben … we will do ANYTHING YOU WANT!

She looked up from her keyboard, straight into his eyes, smiled, winked, and blew a kiss. She and Josie laughed. Roxy then reached behind her head, removed a large stick pin, almost like a chopstick, and shook her head. Her dark hair unfolded, cascading down, over her shoulders, reaching almost to her waist. Long, straight silky, shiny and dark. It was a very lovely move, erotic, and Ben drew a sharp breath in response. She then turned to Josie. They both turned and looked into the camera, and then embraced, kissing fully, mouth upon mouth. The kiss broke, they smiled at one another, and giggled. He could almost hear the sound.

The view swung around again, like it did before, but quicker this time. There, in the mirror, was Marissa again, still quite naked, her face to the viewfinder of the camera she was operating. She looked up into the mirror and directly at Ben, who had more time to study her this time. Marissa then performed a very cliché, but nonetheless, very sexy little move, slipping an index finger slowly, very sensuously, into her mouth, withdrawing it very wet, and using that finger to rub one of her nipples as she looked into his eyes with a coy smile. Ben involuntarily drew in another sharp breath. Marissa then broke into a very animated, almost hysterical laugh, and swung the camera quickly back to Roxy and Josie, who were both laughing hard and lustily. It was very funny … and extremely sexy. Ben delighted in this mixture of silliness and sexiness he was seeing.

“Well, Jeez, this all seems pretty damn good!” he said to himself. The laughter subsided, and Roxy resumed typing.

~~ But Ben, there is something you must know.

Roxy and Josie were no longer smiling. They were now wearing looks of determination.

~~ If you choose for us to do this, it will come at a cost. The cost will not be one of money. It will be at the cost …

She looked into the camera, into Ben’s eyes, into his very soul.

~~ It will be at the cost … of me.

For the millionth time, he said, “What!?”

~~ Ben, if you choose to have us perform, it will be exquisite. It will be something you can hold for the rest of your life. It will be yours. But if we do this for you, when we are finished, the camera will turn off, the Instant Messenger connection will be broken, the email address will be abandoned, and you will never see me, or hear from me, again.

Suddenly, a light came on in Ben’s consciousness. Quickly he began to type.

~~ Roxy, I don’t want to lose you! I was going to ask you tonight to meet me! I don’t want to lose the opportunity to somehow meet you just so you can give me a show.

~~ Yes, Ben, I know. I knew you were going to ask me tonight. I knew it, and you know that I knew it. We both knew this was coming, didn’t we? And we both knew it was coming tonight. That is why we are doing this here and now.

~~ But Roxy, if I turn down the performance, will you meet me? Will I be able to find out if we …

He stopped typing on that word, unable to finish the sentence. He simply hit “enter,” the sentence incomplete, but completely clear in its meaning. Roxy looked grimly into the camera.

~~ I’m sorry, Ben. I can’t tell you the answer to that question.

“What!?” he screamed. He typed.

~~ What!?

~~ Ben, I’m sorry. You will have to make your decision without knowing the answer to that question.

~~ I can’t …

~~ You must …

~~ I won’t …

~~ Ben, if you do not make a decision, I can assure you, you will never meet me, nor will you ever be able to communicate with me … ever.

He leaned his elbows on the desk and held his head in his hands. After a pause, he typed.

~~ WHY … why… oh please Roxy why

~~ Ben, this project is a part of a pact we three made together, Josie, Marissa and myself. We made a promise to each other, and we won’t, we can’t, break that promise. This is the sociology part of the project, Ben. It’s a study. Ben, we are artists, and we are DEDICATED to our art.

~~ I’ll find you …

~~ Ben, you will never be able to find me. The member accounts with Connections have been abandoned. Ben, although I am not that far away, I am not living in the town you think I am in. I lied to you about that one thing. Ben, you’ve seen the preparations I’ve made for this. Do you really think I would allow you to find me if I didn’t want to be found?

She looked mournfully into the camera.

~~ Ben, it was the one lie I told you. I was very careful in our conversations to never lie, to always answer your questions, or to talk to you, without lying. My location was the one single lie that was unavoidable. Forgive me, Ben.

Oh, god! What was he going to do? The thoughts race through his brain. “If I refuse the performance, she probably will just disappear, and I’ll never forgive myself of losing a sure thing, something I could keep as a memory for the rest of my life … but if I take the performance, then afterwards, she’s gone for good. Fuck!”

A single word appeared.

~~ Ben?

~~ Yeah, Roxy …

A line of text appeared:

~~ Type “YES” to accept the performance. Type “NO” to refuse the performance.

He was stunned. Why was she doing this? The line of text repeated.

~~ Type “YES” to accept the performance. Type “NO” to refuse the performance.

He typed …

~~ I can’t

~~ Type “YES” to accept the performance. Type “NO” to refuse the performance.

~~ I can’t I can’t I can’t …

~~ Ben, you must choose. You must choose … NOW.

~~ I can’t

~~ YOU MUST CHOOSE NOW. Type “YES” to accept the performance. Type “NO” to refuse the performance.

~~ How much time do I have…?

~~ I can’t answer that question. YOU MUST CHOOSE NOW. NOW. NOW. Type “YES” to accept the performance. Type “NO” to refuse the performance.

Tears sprung from his eyes. He involuntarily uttered a small whimper, and then a louder cry. With shaking hands, he typed. Two single letters and a tap of the “enter” key.

~~ no

The video image instantly disappeared. The Instant Messenger showed a small caption:

Roxy appears to be offline. Messages you send will be delivered when they sign in. Email this contact instead.

The tears ran. There would be no performance. And, he knew, there would be no meeting. No continued online chatting. No messages delivered. No email. It was over. The one thing that somehow seemed to give a little meaning to his life … it was over. Gone.

A movement caught his eye. A movement of shadow, on the other side of the window, next to the front door. There was a loud knock. “Shit! I don’t need to be bothered with any bullshit now …” He felt exhausted, spent, as he rose from the chair and walked the few steps to the door. Opening it, he found a large man, crisp black suit, starched white shirt, black tie, black cap with a visor … a limo driver!?

The man smiled comfortingly at Ben. “Good evening, Sir. Would you be Ben?”

His voice shaking, Ben answered. “Yes…?”

The chauffeur reached to the side, beyond where Ben could see past the door frame, and brought a huge bouquet of deep red roses to bear. “Sir, these are for you.” He handed the roses to Ben, who was stunned, almost to the point of paralysis. “Sir …?” The limo driver reached into his coat pocket, removing a very small white envelope, about the size of a standard business card. “This is also for you, Sir.”

As the limo driver handed the card over, Ben, his hands shaking visibly now, fumbled it, dropping it at the man’s the feet. They both simultaneously began to bend over. The driver quickly reached out and touched Ben’s shoulder, instantly stopping him. “Sir, if you will allow me …” The limo driver took a step back, quickly bent down and retrieved the card. Handing it carefully over, he smiled warmly, comfortingly, radiating friendliness, and said, “I’m sorry, Sir. Please forgive my clumsiness.”

Ben smiled, thankful for the man’s generous and graceful handling of this small embarrassment. He fumbled awkwardly with the huge armload of roses, trying to hold them and open the envelope. “Sir, if I may …” The limo driver carefully took the roses from Ben, and discreetly turned away, giving Ben a modicum of privacy. Ben looked at the tiny envelope. Crisp heavy white stock. A tiny dab of red wax to seal it. He broke the seal, lifted the flap, and slid out a tiny white card. A small hint of perfume softly invaded his nostrils. The card was hand written, calligraphy, small, delicate, perfectly formed letters in black ink.

Come to me. Hurry.
Roxy

Tears and an audible sob erupted from Ben. The limo driver quickly reached back into his coat pocket and removed a crisp handkerchief, which he offered. Ben waved it away, preferring to use the back of his hand. “Gimme a second, will you?” he asked.

The driver smiled warmly, compassionately. “Of course, Sir.” He turned slightly, and gestured to the black limo at the curb. “When you are ready, Sir, but I must urge you to hurry.”

Ben took the roses, and ran back into the room, colliding heavily with the desk chair. He threw the roses in the general direction of the table, grabbed his wallet and keys from the coffee table, swept the very annoyed Cloudy from her pillow on the bookshelf, and dropped her out on the porch as he stepped from his door. He locked up, and strode out to the curb, where the driver waited for him, the door of the black vehicle open and ready. Again, the warm smile. “Please, Sir, let me know if there is anything I can do to make your ride more comfortable.”

“Okay,” said Ben, as he slipped into the limo, and into the next chapter of his life.




(end of story)




Let me tell you just a little bit about this story. It was originally just a thought, not even an idea for a story, just a thought. The thought was: what if there was this ... team, a team of gorgeous women, who took pleasure in giving pleasure, who would find men that they considered "worthy" and simply provide them with a "performance," free of charge, no credit card needed (laughs). They would find their prospective "free clients" within WireClub, meeting them, talking to them, developing relationships with them, and then deciding who they would want to perform their charitable free performances for. Then I thought to myself, "Hmm... That might be the basis for a short story. The idea developed in my mind from there.

As the idea developed, but when it was still just an idea in my mind, I originally thought I would have the story end right at the point that Ben is faced with making his decision, and let the story just have an ambiguous non-ending ending. Then I considered providing three alternate endings, a story with multiple endings, instead of a story with no ending. The three alternate endings were ...

1. Ben clicks "YES" and accepts the performance.

2. Ben clicks "NO" and refuses the performance.

3. As Ben is trying to decide, his cat Cloudy jumps onto the desk, steps onto the keyboard, and causes the messenger to disappear from the computer screen.

But this left me wondering about ending 2, and how to develop it. But at the moment that the idea of the limo driver came into my mind, there was no question as to how this story should end, and that was that. Once that decision was made, I then conceived of the details that would support that ending, Roxy's "investigation" of Ben, Ben's other email address and how Roxy used that in her investigation, Roxy causing Ben's phone to ring, and how that would heighten the intensity of Ben's predicament, and the way that the limo driver's knock on the door is cued by Roxy to occur within moments after Ben makes his fateful decision, another facet of her orchestration of Ben's tribulation.

All of these considerations were made before a single word was written, but once the ending was conceived, the writing began immediately. The actual writing of the story went very quickly. It was written over two, perhaps three days, and required almost no editing or "polishing up." The actual writing process was SO pleasurable! It was so much fun writing this story, in fact, that when it was finished so quickly, without any significant need for editing, I was left feeling a little bit empty, wishing that I could keep working on it.

Unfortunately, the limitations of WireClub's blogging format don't permit the layout of the story in the way it really should be presented. Roxy's texts should be seen in a font style that is graceful, almost dainty, one that reflects her femininity, and both her's and Ben's texts should be seen in a contrasting font to that of the rest of the text in order to more graphically contrast those text messages from the text of the story. The text showing on the messenger when Ben is "cammed" and has to make his decision should also, ideally, be that of a different, contrasting font.

Also, a small bit of credit is due to two of my friends. I asked L., a lovely Australian friend, to name the three women involved in the "project." She came up with the names Roxy, Josie, and Marissa. I also asked my friend H., a lovely Canadian, to help me with the appearances of Roxy, Josie and Marissa. It was my idea to make the physical appearance of Roxy (her ethnicity, willowy figure and long silky hair) that of H. herself, but H. was the one who provided the clothes choices for both Roxy and Josie, and things like the way that Josie and Marissa wore their hair, etc.

I look forward to any and all comments. Please either post them as a "comment" (you will see the "write a comment" link to click directly below) if you want others to read what you have to say, or if you want, you can also send your comment to me as a WireClub mail message, in which case I will refrain from making it readable by others.

Thanks for reading.

In shifting these blog entries around, I've deleted the original postings, and therefore, also deleted the original comments, with the clickable links to the commentators. Unfortunate, but a tradeoff in keeping these stories organized within my blog. I have, however, preserved the text of the comments:

Karma says (December 11, 2008):

You are a very skillful writer, which is not the least bit surprising. The character of Ben is totally believable and the exposition through his thoughts is very natural. You've done a super job of expressing his emotional depth in this story. Like all good stories, it had me eager to find out what happened next. Thanks for letting us read it.

lucyhaswings says (December 13, 2008):

"Tears and an audible sob erupted from Ben. The limo driver quickly reached back into his coat pocket and removed a crisp handkerchief, which he offered. Ben waved it away, preferring to use the back of his hand."

Very vivid and very attractive story although I can hardly believe the rest part when Ben said no...This can be a hollywood movie resource... But in anyway, I am happy that Ben said no.

Grant101 says (December 13, 2008):

very much enjoyed the intensity and integrity..you are tapping the source, fresh and clear,keep on keepin on m' friend...


XkittyXbearX says (December 26, 2008):

whoo i'm all hot and bothered hahah