We dance together as an old flame of his passes by.
"I think she's jealous . . ." he whispers in my ear.
I smile as I look across at her . . . her anatomically suggestive avatar name dangling over her brown locks.
"Hmmm." I whisper back. "I think she's a dude."
He laughs and I smile again, hoping that he never discovers the same thing about me. I met her once -- she told me that she's left a string of broken hearts across Second Life. She must have lain with quite a few . . . a former sl boyfriend of mine confessed that name when I had his balls to the fire.
The name . . . rather obvious. I don't know how anyone could come upon that voluputious knockout, see the name, and think anything else but "that bitch is a bastard." She had spread the legs of at least two of my bf's before I had even met her.
The differences between her and I are enormous. She is a brazenly promiscuous ball-bouncer, and I am discreet -- preferring to take my men one at a time. She dresses "all-out" to broadcast her exaggerated femininity -- I try my best to look like an actual woman, and while I'm working on projects in-world, can be as dressed down as a T and a pair of capris.
But -- on the other hand, are we really that different? My boobs are still Pamela Anderson-big -- long after the look has disappeared from the fashion mags and from Pamela's own pectorals. My lips aren't enormous -- but are surprisingly similar to those plumped up life-jackets found on many a mouth in Beverly Hills. I seem more like a real girl that the one with the phallic name . . . but, we are one in the same: two men with varying degrees of gender dysphoria trying to fill our hearts and arms with the virtual representations of real men.
Some of these real men don't seem to mind. The man I was dancing with has had the same suspicions of this woman -- but didn't immediately bath his avatar in a disinfectant/bleach bath after he'd has his fun. He's secure in his sexuality, and as far as he's concerned -- if you're a woman in SL, it's not his business what you are in RL.
Are we both so desperate, though, to go through such lengths for male love? I don't know her intentions, but I think she's a gay man with a straight-man fetish. I don't think she gets her kicks from any sex that results from her virtual encounters, but from the scorecard she most likely keeps for bagging what's essentially unbaggable for gay men in the real world -- well, at least unless you have a lot of cash and your target is someone with military fatigues in their closets.
I've wondered about my intentions for a while -- and I still haven't got the gender thing straightened out. For me, it's not about tricking straight men. I simply want to be loved by a real one. I've never wanted to be a "man," but the reality of being a sissy-fag has meant I would never be viewed by one as anything but an object of ridicule. Second Life has not only allowed me to explore my own sexuality and gender ID, but to discover the beauty of masculine and feminine relationships for myself, to bask in the flirtations of iconic men, to hear their sweet whispers of love in my ear.
The great sadness is that it will never translate into real life. Even in the kingdoms of faggotry, effeminate men are like the exceptionally dark-skinned among African-Americans -- a virtual outcast among their own kind. So, the closest this queen will ever get to the arms of those men I've loved in SL is . . . well, it won't happen, especially if ever I decide to transform myself into a 6'1" balding transexual.
So, I will continue to love my men in-world . . . one at a time, as we each pretend to start a new long life together completely in ignorance of the near-rule that SL relationships rarely last more than 3 months. It will be the best I ever have, and it sure as hell is cheaper than hiring a real one for a few hours.
Though I've never completely ruled that out . . .