I am SUCH a slut.

It seems I’ve fallen into the role of “Internet boy-toy.” I’m not quite sure how it happened.

There is this person–I’ll call her “L.”–who lives a country away from me. I’ve talked to her online for about five years, on and off (mostly off); she was a very early beta tester for the first version of my computer sex game.

Well, she’s started talking to me again, after an online absence of some three years, during which much has evidently happened.

And, as these things do, the talk rolled around to sex. It came to pass that she issued me a challenge: Call me. By voice.

Well, I consider myself to be fairly ceative in bed. I have done many things and experienced many pleasures. But the whole of teh human sexual experience is vast; so vast, I believe, that even if one were to sample something new every single night for an entire lifetime, one could do little more than scratch the surface.

So it’s not necessarily that surprising, then, that I’ve never before experimented with phone sex. The fact that I had a deep and abading suspicion of anything not involving personal contact played a role as well; how can a disembodied voice, after all, ever hope to compete with the intensity and raw power of a “real” lover, in person?

How seriously I underestimated the power of a voice when coupled with a creative and fertile mind.

So now, it would seem, I am (in her own words) L.’s “Internet boy toy.” How very, very strange.

My wife finds the whole thing VASTLY amusing.

While idly flipping through the channels yesterday, I inadvertently stumbled across a Birttney Spears video. Howling in pain, I was fortunately able to gnaw off my own ears to escape, but the psychic trauma will, I fear, be lasting.

I wonder, though…

Do you suppose Ms. Spears, somewhere underneath all the training and conditioning instilled by the legions of writers and choreographers and image consultants and media relations people and producers and handlers and public relations consultants and hairdressers and other sundry puppeteers who surround her, realizes that she has sacrificed her own identity to get the fleeting instant of fame she’s enjoying right now?

And do you suppose she cares? One wonders if, left to her own devices, she would even have an identity worth developing…