They were always so predictable, so similar, “Hey babe, wanna chat?”, “Eight inches here, want to play?”, or “OMG Sexy, I love your picture....It made me hard.” It reminded me so much of the bar scene in college–just what I dislike, drunken twenty-somethings trying to jump my bones before they puke or pass out from the beer. This night, however, I felt particularly lonely and wanted to talk to someone even if he was a stranger. I picked Paul, he didn’t have a personal avatar and he was almost. Why wasn’t I angry? I should be. But he said that wasn’t his intention… He didn’t mean to make me angry. I was angry. My eyes snapped open and I felt sense drain through me. I wrenched my mouth away from his and pushed him up and off of me. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I snapped at him, getting of my car and adjusting my dress. I felt like cold water had been thrown over my mind. Why was I letting this stranger do this to me? What manipulated me? He looked bewildered and there was. More

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