You Sure Do Gots a Pretty....Cunt?

It's hard to even broach the subject of Second Life without bringing up sex.  The whole place has turned into a pixel-based meat market, or maybe it always was.  So let's get this out of the way- sex is the least interesting part of Second Life to me.  I'm not sure what I'm trying to gain by being there, or if there even is something to gain, but watching some animated 3D model of a person dry hump me (avatars don't get wet, do they?) does nothing but give me the heebie-jeebies.  Which is good news, very good news for those of us that want to just have a good laugh.  All you need to do is search for sex and you stumble upon a plethora of interesting places.  Vagina water slides, dungeons where hyper-sexualized cat women will pee on you, even barns with poseballs.  Just assume the position and Fido or Mr. Ed or Wilbur will run up and mount you.  If I land in a place like that, I might just sit on a nice (non-animated) bench and have a good giggle, fully clothed, wondering how many of these people are actually enjoying this nonsense.

But where I don't expect to find sex (just about everywhere given that I'm using an account left intentionally not age-verified) is a random sandbox.  Just moments after teleporting to Fermi to people-watch, I run into this poor soul, editing a box of 99 sex animations for the low, low price of 49 linden dollars (or so the box said).

BabyWet Cascarino is for all I know an intelligent businessman living in Manhattan with three children and a cat names Snuffles and was sipping an expensive well-aged single malt whisky (neat) while editing her box of 99 sex animations.  That's part of the beauty of Second Life.  You don't know who someone is, and culturally speaking, within the construct of the communication platform, you're not supposed to give a damn.

So I stood next to BabyWet for about four or five minutes before telling her bluntly in local chat that I could see her fuckhole on the outside of her jeans.  Pieces like these are not part of the avatar mesh and are not meant to be worn with clothes.  Wearing them with clothes...well, you can see what happens.  BabyWet responded gracefully with an "oh, thanks" and removed her prim pussy, so I spared her any continued criticism, even though I was in the mood to go on and on about slider abuse and the unrealistic proportions of her ass, which are not done justice in this picture.  Truth be told, I've seen much worse, so BabyWet deserved to be spared.  She was probably an alt anyway.  I don't know many people that work as SLescorts on their main account, though you never know.

As far as entitlement goes, Persephone Sorbet, pictured right, deserves to be spared as well.  But in the interest of this sociological experiment I'll touch on our brief conversation anyway.

Nothing confuses me more than this shape on a Second Life avatar.  It's completely unrealistic, and if you're using Second Life to fill your sexual void in reality, I cannot for the life of me figure out how something that looks like a severe genetic mutation is appealing.  For fuck's sake, it looks like the woman sat on a watermelon and decided to leave it in there. 

But I digress...Persephone Sorbet didn't even try to defend the realism of her avatar.  She stated that her boyfriend (in the realm of SL, that means her pixel fuckbuddy) liked to tap that big ass.  But she did have another very realistic (and still curvy) shape that she showed me in her own defense.  And she knew the myth of Persephone.  And she continued talking to me even after I said her ass must feel like Persephone, shifting between two places and stuck in Hell half the time.  So nothing against Persephone Sorbet personally, she seemed like a cool chick.  Or old man.  Whoever it is behind the keyboard.

After all this judgment it seems only fair to lambaste myself a bit, doesn't it?  You can see me on my main account above, name blurred out, woefully discussing the proportions of Persephone's ass.  My main account has many avatars for many purposes, mostly constructed out of boredom or curiousity, but the one I was using today while finding bad asses in the sandbox doesn't differ much from the one I'd like you to know me as.

Anomie Calamity has her share of style issues as well.  She's basically a rotting corpse, face sliding off, dangerously thin, a crazed expression, and holding a revolver.  Comforting, huh?  Here I am at left, decked out in the most atrocious freebie clothing I could find, using a skin made by a friend.  I'd like to think of myself as a zombie fashion-disaster bounty hunter on speed.  With an eating disorder.  And sepsis.  And possibly several highly communicable diseases.

The difference between me and these other avatars- I'm trying to look like shit.  I think I pull it off very well.  A concerned bear-human hybrid asked if I'd been beaten while trying to position his attache case on his right hand in the sandbox while I watched him.  I told him yes, but I was also dead, so he need not worry.

I'm giving this a shot as an observer.  Not a silent one, but someone without the attachment and the pride and the vanity I sense so much on Second Life, these characteristics I even recognize in myself on my main account.  Where I'm standing in the photo at left is outside the gazebo in the public sandbox on my home sim.  The lady the land is rented from has told me numerous times that you can "get to know" someone better in Second Life than in the real world.  That in SL someone isn't a physical entity, but a soul.  A soul that you can see.  Yeah, it sounds batshit crazy to me too, but if there's any truth in that, I want to find it.  If I can only wade through all the bullshit and hormones.

Though I might have to change my display name to Lauren Hynde:

"What does that mean know me, know me, nobody ever knows anybody else, ever! You will never know me!"