Updates from the land of my potential cybersex partners:
- I got the above message from a user on Beautiful Stranger the other day. While it makes me cringe, I also enjoy it because it implies cybersex is something you do to someone else, like giving head or possibly a massage — which, it should be noted, it isn’t. Sorry, buddy. When I open a cybersex parlor, I’ll let you know.
- A cute British boy has been cybersex propositioning me on OkCupid. True, I can’t hear his sexy accent over text chat, but I’d know it was there. We haven’t found an opportunity to hook up yet (eight hours time difference will do that) but I’m looking forward to this one being just for me: no faking, no recording, just enjoying.
- Apparently I can’t bring myself to jump this real-life boy I’m dating (no, he’s not a cybersex partner, but I did meet him online) without the help of alcohol. We went on one date, had too much to drink, and promptly made out in an alley. I’ve seen him twice since, both times in the light of day, and absolutely nothing has happened. I’m talking no touching, no kissing, nothing. Most likely I’m sending immensely mixed signals. I do like him –and think he’s pretty — it just takes me a little while to get comfy. Actually, after our last date, I wrote him an email explaining all that, since I’m too chicken to do it in person. What I forgot was the internet was out in his apartment. Now I get to sit around and see if/when he gets the message. Ah, the awkward suspense of the World Wide Web.
After I wrote about Ashley Madison for my Click Me this week, my editor at the Voice asked me whether I’d had any interesting encounters on the adultery site that would make an enlightening column — or at least an entertaining one. Had married men solicited me? How had they courted me so as to convince me to help them cheat on their wives? Though I’d spent some time on the site, enough to get contact and feel bad about costing San Franciscans money, I hadn’t done much by way of flirting, so I headed back there today to see what happened if I acted a little less business and a little more party.
What I discovered: I still feel bad. Not because I’m costing anyone money, but because I’m leading on men with no intention of actually sleeping with them. Ashley Madison isn’t OkCupid, so you can’t just check out people’s profiles and expect them to message you. That means I have to directly send “winks” at potential adulterers who’d start up a pay-per chat with me, try to convince me to join in their affairs, then I can write about it. Great material maybe, but there’s something about that’s just so deceptive about it. Sure, I’ve been faking cybersex ecstasy for years in the name of research, but this is something different. Or something.
It bothers me in general that people on Ashley Madison are lying to someone, even when it isn’t me. So I’d hate to continue the loop of hypocrisy. Then again, if I sit around on the site and hope someone hits on me, am I really doing any better? I guess the ideal would be if someone messaged me, insisted on meeting me despite the fact that I’m a researcher, and then: tada, story! Anyone want to play that part?
Lately, I wish I had more encouraging things to say about cybersex. I’m a big believer that sex online is a valid and important form of sexual expression — but sometimes that’s hard to get across when I’m griping about the silly things people say in the throes of internet passion. It’s gotten to the point where I’ve considered setting up some sort of “fuck me” marathon: potential partners get half an hour to impress me. If they do, I’ll stick around and see things to their logical conclusion. If not, gong! It’s not that good partners don’t exist, it’s just that I’m too impatient to sitting around sifting for them.
Like yesterday, I signed onto OkCupid in search of some cyber tail, just to set my cynicism straight. Right away I had a message from my sexy nurse, the one who’d been so fun to play with last time. Unfortunately, things turned unintentionally hilarious way too quick. In my main OkCupid picture, I happen to be holding a little, pink stuffed hippo. So this guy starts going off on how hot he thinks the photo is, and how turned on he is by what he calls “that little pig.” I should have let it go, but I couldn’t help myself:
Sexy nurse: I just get so hard looking at you and that little pig.
Bonnie: Your turned on by the pig?
Sexy nurse: Pigs are forbidden.
Bonnie: They are?
Sexy nurse: If you’re Jewish or Muslim.
Then I LoLed. Oh, how I LoLed. Because there is no one in the world who can keep up the sexiness of an online chat using pork and keeping Kosher as material. A friend of mine recently suggested I start writing about the humorous things people say during cybersex. I thought, “Do you read my column?”
It’s occurring to me that, for a cybersex researcher, I haven’t had much actual, down-and-dirty cybersex in a disturbingly long time. And by that I mean like two weeks. Ah, how the flood of work leaves an ironic draught in my internet sex life. Also, apparently I get poetic when I get frustrated.
So, in an attempt to rectify that dry spell, I embarked on a round of research cybersex this afternoon. Given the sexy, pirate-related luck I’d had there before, I figured I’d head back to OkCupid, where the only people roaming the instant messaging system at 2:00 p.m. on a Monday are horny bastards like me. Within moments, I had two IMs, one from a scruffy looking poet off in Southern California, and another from a doe-eyed college student somewhere over in the East Bay.
Now, when searching for research cybersex partners, there are a few rules to keep in mind: 1) It’s easier if you’re actually interested. That means I’m still more likely to pick a cute, 20-something subject than a balding, 50-something one because that way I have to pretend to care less. 2) The farther away the better. I’m not hooking up with these guys in hopes of someday dating them. At the same time, I can’t blow my cover and say, “This is all research. I have no interest in you. Got that straight?” Distance makes the situation easier. Someone who lives at least 50 miles away is a lot less likely to persistently invite me to dinner (yeah right, like what you want is to eat) after cybersex.
Both of these two guys fit the criteria well enough — though apparently I need to remember that the San Francisco bay isn’t enough of a divide to deter a horny suitor. So I started chatting with them, separately of course. Why both? Finding a decent cybersex partner and not a quick “a/s/l?” screw is a lot like fishing, or at least fishing as I imagine it. You cast out a bunch of lines, then sit around for what seems like a long, long time waiting for a catch. Sometimes you get it, but more likely your line breaks (your partner disappears, the connection cuts, etc.) or that thing you’ve been tugged on for the last half hours turns out to be an old, soggy boot.
Case in point: these two guys. We’ll call them IHaveHair and CrazyLove, in vague but respectful approximations of their actual screen names. CrazyLove seems promising, as one of his first questions is, “So, you’re home working. Does that mean you’re home all alone?” IHaveHair, being younger and hanging out at the end of summer waiting for college to start up again, has that lazy, masturbatory air of a bored 21-year-old. Ok, so both have got potential.
20 minutes later, things aren’t looking good. CrazyLove has started ranting about his poetry (“Would you like to read some? You could critique it for me!”) and IHaveHair has decided to randomly blurt out that he’s a real-life virgin. Talk about mood killing. So we’ve got bad poetry and patheticness. Oh wait, now CrazyLove is saying he also writes erotic poetry. Now that could be a segway into an interesting cybersex session. Go on, guy, send over a sample.
Another 20 minutes later, and things are theoretically sexy, but still looking grim. In an attempt to turn the conversation away from IHaveHair’s maidenhead (there must be an equivalent ridiculous/wonderful word for a guy), I’ve tried to get him talking about what he has tried, and what he likes. He types, “I love fingering a girl while playing with her tits :-) haha.” Why, oh why, are the smiley face and “haha” necessary? If you like fingering girls, be proud of it, and don’t sound like you’re 12 online. As for that erotic poem, it’s not awful, but it’s horribly cliché, and now I’m being asking to critique it. I thought I could get away with “Oh, it was really nice” and then we’d cyber make out. Instead, he wants line references and specific criticism. I feel like saying, “Actually, buddy, I’m a journalist with a degree in creative writing and extensive workshop experience. You really, really don’t want to hear my constructive criticism. Just take my bullshit compliments and have sex with me!”
Then my poetic has the artistic balls to ask if his poem has left me wet. That is just too much for this writer. Like the bitchy researcher I’ve become, I sign off from both conversations. Later I’ll feign connection problems. For now I’m frustrated on multiple levels.
Silly me. Because they the majority of them are male, and because many of them are lacking profile pictures, I assumed the users on Beautiful Stranger were just around for a quick cyber screw. Of course, that’s a nasty assumption to make, but I’d really like the site to turn into something, so I blame my own motherly concerns (not that I’m going to tell my kids they’re just around for “quick cyber screws”… you get the point). Anyways, I was impressed today when I received a handful of messages from users who’d read my post and wanted to say they were interested in more:
Does not uploading a photo of my face really send the message that I’m just here for “quick, easy online humping”? If it does, I’d like to apologize.
I’m interested in Beautiful Stranger as a community, not as a place to get off.
If we want to prevent the overrun of faceless, single-minded creeps, we need to make it clear to them that we, as a community have no tolerance for that kind of user. We need some social norms.
Maybe it would be worth discussing this as a community on the forum?
Taking this user’s advice, I went and started a forum topic called “Setting standards for cybersex.” In general, it’s just so hard to strike a balance between being sex-oriented and excluding all else. I still wish I had programming skills to make the site fancier, which I think would encourage a specific type of usage/crowd.
That was kind of depressing.
I’m working on a new column about sites like MyBlackBook and Bedpost, which help you keep track of your offline sex life using Web 2.0 technology. As always, that means I need to sign up for my own accounts. At first glance, as I prepared for my interview tomorrow with their CEO, I can’t say I was too impressed by MyBlackBook. First off, it’s dull aesthetically. Unlike OkCupid, it doesn’t scream, “Tell me your secrets!” It more screams, “I’m cold and sterile and awkward to navigate!”
More importantly, I can’t say I see myself every using their system. The basic idea is to make entries for every person you’ve slept with, and for every encounter with each person. So, after a night of fun, you log onto the site and record the who, what, where, when, and how. Not only does the site have the nerve to ask you exactly what sexual positions you tried, it also wants the first and last name and phone number of the person you slept with. Secure or not, there doesn’t seem to be any reason to tell the internet that. Then the site asks for your partners’ birthdays. Um, aren’t you happy I know they’re full names?
MyBlackBook claims to be an STD prevention site — the idea being the more info you have on who you’ve slept with the better armed you’ll be in the war against disease. Still, is selecting “reverse cowgirl” over “missionary” really going to tell you whether I’m likely to contract Herpes?
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New dating rule #1: if you write “cybersex” as “cyberseks,” we will never meet in person. In fact, stop messaging me. Heck, stop existing all together.
That’s probably too harsh. Alright, it’s downright cruel. But even a cybersex and internet culture enthusiast likes yours truly can’t help but shrivel up into a ball of un-sexiness when she receives a message on a dating site like OkCupid from a potential suitor who writes, “Lol’d at leet cyberseks skillz.” Too… dorky… Must… not… reproduce…
Sure, the poor guy was just referring to the part of my OkCupid profile that says I’m good at cybersex (along with tying cherry stems with my tongue and singing the entire score of Les Mis by myself in a vehicle), but I think that blow has seriously shot down my libido — at least until tomorrow.
Oh my God, my cybersex matchmaking site is overrun by faceless men.
Let me explain: I started this cybersex matchmaking site about a month ago called Beautiful Stranger. The idea was that people could go there to chat and eventually hook up with fun, intelligent cybersex partners. So far the site has around 50 members, which is decent for a little thing I put together in an afternoon. But as I feared might happen, the tides have quickly turned and the population, once 50/50 male/female, is now almost entirely male. Of the last eleven men to sign up, only two have bothered to upload pictures — which means they’re there for quick, easy online humping.
Woe is the head of the cybersex matchmaking site who doesn’t have time to moderate, properly advertise, or fix up her little project. Proud, however, is the head of the cybersex matchmaking site who’s few dedicated members have started forums like, “Cybersex Nightmare Stories” and “Married People: Does your spouse know?” Way to go, people with photos and their cocks in their pants, that’s interesting stuff! Now if only men would stop messaging me to “help with my research.” I know I asked for helpers, but I can only accommodate so many Beautiful Strangers at once. Plus, it’s not so appealing to receive emails that say, “Can I still get in on that?” It’s like I’m a pizza you’re splitting for dinner…
I feel guilty I’m making cheaters, liars, and two-timers pay $2.75 to contact me. There’s something wrong here.
This week I’ve been doing research into Ashley Madison, the social networking site for people who want to cheat on their spouses. They’re the same ones who pissed off Times Square by putting up a giant billboard that read, “Life is short, have an affair.” The basic idea of their site is to safely connect men and women who “want a little something on the side” in addition to their marriages. The basic idea of their advertising campaign is get enough people angry they end up on Fox News.
Of course, in order to write the piece, I needed to know what the site itself was like, and that meant signing up for an account. Ashley Madison’s CEO Noel Biderman had told me when I interviewed him that a woman didn’t even need a photo or any personal info in her profile to get twenty potential affair buddies arriving on her digital doorstep. I guess I should have believed him. Within minutes of logging in, I had a stream of instant messages from men in the Bay Area. There was nothing so blunt as, “I’m married. You’re married. Let’s have sex,” but plenty of “Do you come here often?”
Not being interested in having an affair — for that matter, not even being married — I didn’t think anything of ignoring their messages, letting them flirt awkwardly to themselves. That is, until I remembered that Ashley Madison works on a pay model. While signing up is free, contacting people isn’t. Users buy “credits” — 100 for $55, last time I checked — and have to use them whenever they want to chat up a new person. Each contact costs five credits. That means I cost each of those men $2.75.
Honestly, I feel really bad about that. Bad enough I considered blowing my humble research cover by posting a line in my profile that read “I’m a money sink-hole!” Still, there’s something really weird about my priorities on this one. While I can’t say I 100% support Ashley Madison on a personal level, my issues with them are based on the fact that they facilitate people who hide their affairs instead of encouraging openness. Of course, leave it to the poly girl to want spouses to communicate about their desires. In the overall though, the sacred institution of marriage isn’t something I’m too worried about. The sacred institution of not wasting money, however, I feel pretty darn strong on.
Loose morals, tight budget. Maybe that’s why I prefer cybersex to the hassles of real-life dating. Just as many people get off and no one has to pay for drinks.
With or without my balding surfer, I decided to check out 321SexChat today, since I’m always up for new research venues. I don’t know what I expected – an actually clean, well-lit, intelligent environment for online sex, maybe? – but what I found seems pretty standard in the land of fast internet hook-ups. Basically the site is little more than a singular adult-themed chat room. Here are some observations:
- As per usual, there are more men than woman around. That would make the odds for a girl like me pretty appealing, if it weren’t for the fact that all the “men” are using fake photos of rippling muscles and names like “18foryou.” Are you 18? Are you really?
- The first thing every single boy I talked to asked was “a/s/l?” Granted, it’s pretty standard to start a low-level (like pond-scum low) sex chat with “age, sex, location?” but it sure does set a tone that says, “This conversation will be quick, dirty, and markedly uncreative.”
- Unlike other sex chat rooms, for example AOL’s, 321SexChat has a nice system for one-on-one texting. When someone wants to send you a personal message, it appears on your screen with all the rest of the chat room noise, but with a little link that allows you to click to talk in private. Unfortunately, everyone’s second question after “a/s/l?” is “Yahoo or MSN?” Apparently those private chat windows are notorious for crashing, so no one has cybersex at 321SexChat anyways. They just hook up and head elsewhere.
I’ll admit, my research session got cut short when I lost my patience with one subject (i.e. one horny British guy) who just would not stop insisting he call me up so I could listen while he jerked off. I tried the “my roommates are here” excuse. No go. I tried, “I’m more of a text kind of girl.” Still no. Plus he kept calling me “yummy” and telling me my “sexyness” was so “fuckably delicious.” Now, “fuckably” I can get behind as a made-up word, but please, if you’re going to make up things about a woman you’ve never seen, at least learn how to spell “sexiness.”
