Wednesday, April 4, 2007

The Boyfriend II: My Boyfriend

Dakota and Boyfriend on Their Special Night

Chrissy's Skybox. Cheyenne is Trying Not to Think About the Nasty Sex Bed
Not shown: Nasty sex bed
Really not shown: Dakota on Devotion poseball with lucky Derrick

Written 2 April, 2007

My Boyfriend

It’s Dakota. I’m still here.

Everyone knows I’m controlled by the same human who rezzes Cheyenne Palisades, but my appearance and manner are, I guess, so different from Chey’s people tend to willfully forget it.

And I almost do too, sometimes.

There’s a young man who is particularly taken with me. I’ve no idea why, because I suspect he’s no big fan of blue hair and punked-out clothing, but he just was.

Then one day we danced.

And the sparks just flew.

From him.

From me.

But it was just a dance. A tango, I believe.

When we slow danced a few days later, the sexual tension was palpable. It made us... distracted.

But of course that’s exactly why some primitive genius invented dancing in the first place. There’s nothing wrong with being stimulated, with being attracted. It’s only when you cross a line you’ve set regarding your own behavior that you get into deep water.

Neither of us crossed that line, but we found ourselves dancing more and more and enjoying one anothers’ company, and mutually restating, for each others’ benefit, the fact that we were NOT going to talk dirty to one another or jump on any pose balls.

Even though that was the next logical step. Even though we both wanted to.

Wanting is one thing. Doing is another.

However much I might like being Dakota Burns, and however attracted to an avatar I might be, I would never violate my oath of chastity— and he has the same arrangement with his wife. I respect my vows and I respect his—and I respect his wife. She’s the woman he married and who bore his children and whom he loves, and I wouldn’t do you-know-what with him because of that, even if there were no Sweetie.

But of course, there is a Sweetie.

Thank goodness.


So no hanky-panky, just mutual attraction.

Then, this weekend, we become, formally, platonic boyfriend and girlfriend. And we made arrangements to be—platonic again—roommates.

We never actually moved in together.

We might have, but there’s a nasty sex bed in that skybox, and I was uncomfortable even being in the vicinity of it.

Here’s the back story.

There’s this skybox thingee that hangs below the Dragon Skybar. It belongs to Chrissy Broadway, one of Cheyenne’s oldest friends in Second Life, and it has been empty for months. I sent Chrissy a notecard, offering to buy it.

Chrissy was willing to sell it, but it turned out she couldn’t transfer it because the seller had made it nontransferrable because she had managed to lose two copies of the skybox and this one was the second replacement—but between the time she agreed to sell it and we found out the skybox’ permissions wouldn’t allow it, my relationship formalized into boyfrienddom.


It wasn’t an hour after we attained that status that I walked through the door of the Dragon Skybar and found my boyfriend slow dancing with Milky Choche.

In OUR slow dance!

There was another avatar in the Dragon, a young man who had just stopped by to inquire if anyone knew of any land for sale. His name was Derrick.

So what did I do, gentle reader?

I did what any blue-haired, red-blooded girl would do.

Without missing a heartbeat, and I swear this is true, I said, “Hi, Derrick! Wanna make out?” and took him outside and jumped on Devotion, which is one sexy kissing pose and which was one silly meter out of the chat range of Boyfriend—I’ll call him Boyfriend from now on, even though he isn’t.

And yes, I know it’s technically a violation of my no-poseball rule, but the circumstances were exigent. I took no enjoyment from it.

Well, maybe a little.

Boyfriend managed to contain himself for all of two minutes before coming outside and IMing me. “I guess I blew it.”

“I guess you did,” I shot back.

He logged off to compose himself and I jumped off the pose ball and sent lucky Derrick on his way. Then Milky and I talked.

Then Boyfriend logged back on and explained himself and we sort of made up.

Then I talked again with Milky, and while we played mahjong we compared Chat and IM notes—girls will do that—and it was clear he wasn’t being entirely forthright with either of us—nor, I sincerely believe, with himself.

And so when Boyfriend came back online I told him I had read his chat with Milky, and she his with me.

He said, “I sort of figured that.”

And so we broke up.

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