Netsex: Get a Grip

"I have reached the age where my main sex organ is my memory." (magnificat)

The Internet is sex-driven. Just as in the early days of video, it was the home availability of hardcore sex flicks that fuelled the explosion of VHS, so the Internet crackles and sizzles 24/7 with every variety of sex known to man.

Why so? Simple. Sexual urges are not restricted to the young and beautiful. The rest of us - possibly the majority - who are either over the hill, or never were on it to start with, are left alone at home with our fantasies. And these urges are every bit as demanding as those of the Brad Pitts and Gwyneth Paltrows - probably more so, as frustration lends a blinding intensity.

Where there's sex there's money, and true to past form, a whole industry of "sex-sites for cash" has sprung up. These range from simple glossy stills - through video of actual sex - to interactive "tell her what to do next" sessions with real actresses. As you would expect, the charges for these masturbatory aids can be sky-high.

However, payment for sex - however high-tech - is nevertheless prostitution. Web-site owners are the new cyberpimps, and the "girls" (how I hate that word misused for "women") simply do the oldest job in the newest way.

But commerce isn't all. For those knowing where to look, those not inclined to pay, there's a cyberstimulation which involves no payment - the phenomenon known as Chat Rooms.

"The great thing about masturbation is - you don't have to look your best." (anon)

My first experience of this was with Compuserve. A friend had lent me a modem, so one sleepless and bored night I gave it a whirl. Signing up was a cinch, and within 15 seconds we'd skimmed World Weather, Your Holiday Pound, Hot News from the World of Science, and landed on Chat With Others.
There we were, in frozen Scotland, typing away to God knows who in Tucson Arizona. It was awesome. The guys I typed to were all young, handsome, glamorous and hung...the very the things this one wasn't. But then the thunderbolt struck!!

"Hey!! They're just making it up - I can do that too!"

It took just moments to construct a suitably glamorous "persona" and then we were ready - ready for the fictitious fray.
All that night we typed - masturbating at the best bits. And the next night. And the next again - taking a frantic taxi to an all-night garage to get new batteries for the modem. All told, I went without sleep for six days and nights, such was the instant addiction to this deceptive yet seductive new medium. My ankles and feet swelled up, and my only mirror got turned to the wall. Who needs a mirror when you've got an imagination? And why take seven dwarves when Snow White is just a click away?

Masturbation and typing don't make ideal bedmates: phonesex would appear to be much more ergonomic. Touch-typing demands two hands, which not only breaks the sexual flow but deposits gunk all over the keyboard. Early morning visitors, sitting down for a helping of DOOM with their cornflakes, could often be heard to scream on touching the keyboard or mouse. So we learned to clean them.

It couldn't go on of course. Later, with health and beauty restored, there were agonies of guilt both sexual and financial. For Compuserve Chat Rooms don't come cheap - as well as the phone connection and basic fee, there was a surcharge of a pound an hour, if I recall. The week cost roughly Ł400. Half-measures were never our style.
Netless we simmered, for six whole months - never daring to connect again. But the resolve broke of course, and better informed then, we engaged an ISP and dipped timidly into the real Net, that dark and dangerous place. Five years and some thousands of pounds later, this is what we've discovered.