by Wendell Holmer, virtual advice columnist

Q: My best friend in SL and I are in love. I’m going to the country he lives in this summer, and I’m going to stay with him for a few days. The thing is, he’s engaged in SL to one of my other best friends. I’ve told him that him that, if he is with her in SL, it won’t change our relationship in SL or in RL, but he’s not in love with her anymore. What should I do?

–Tracy

A: I have to assume that your lover’s fiancée doesn’t know about his relationship with you, and you are both keeping her in the dark based on the misguided hope that you can avoid hurting her. If your goal is to keep her as a friend—forget it. When you stole her beau, you lost her friendship. She just doesn’t know it yet.

Your lover is obviously not going to partner with your friend. If he’s looking for a graceful way out, there isn’t one. He needs to tell her plainly that the engagement is off and that he has been seeing you. Once he drops the bomb, you should contact her and tell her sincerely that you are sorry about what happened. Say that you understand if she needs a break from you. If she changes her mind later on and wants to resume the friendship, you will be waiting.

Q: My girlfriend and I are not exclusive, but we have a deal. We don’t date each other’s friends. I met a girl at a professional function a couple of weeks ago. I have been spending a lot of time with her, and I really like her, although we are not lovers. Yesterday, I found out by coincidence that she is a friend of my girlfriend. I suppose I’ll have to give the other girl up. How should I explain it to each of them?

–Biff

A: Why say anything? Are you looking for credit for being noble and keeping your promise? You found out the facts before your friendship with the other girl blossomed into romance. You enjoy her company, so stay friends. If she wants to take things further, explain that you can’t get with her, because of your current relationship. You don’t have to mention the proto-affair to your girlfriend. The disclosure would just make her jealous and create awkwardness with her friend.

Troubled? Is your buff BF, Biff, boffing your BFF? Send your questions to wendellholmer@aol.com.

I was running low on lindens
so I tried to get some cash
when it failed I went get some help
and the simulator crashed
It took an hour to log back in
cuz the asset server’s down
and there were no mentors anywhere
Just a newbie dressed in brown
–
Second Life is borked again
Yeah what else is new
My clothes don’t wanna stay on now
And I can’t attach my shoe
My inventory’s all messed up
and hippos are my friends
but the blog says all are happy now
according to the trends
—
Lately I’ve been wondering
How long will this lag last
I just teleported
Now my hair’s stuck in my ass
I downloaded the new RC
with the dazzle color suite
now my avi just won’t stand up straight
I can’t even see its feet

Second Life is borked again
Yeah what else is new
My clothes don’t wanna stay on now
And I can’t attach my shoe
My inventory’s all messed up
and hippos are my friends
but the blog says all are happy now
according to the trends
—-
And so it goes with Second Life
Yeah, bless you Linden Lab
For Havok4 and memory leaks
I’m slower than a crab
But we all love our second lives
With all its freaky faults
Hey I just found out my best girlfriend
Is some fat old dude’s alt

Second Life is borked again
Yeah what else is new
My clothes don’t wanna stay on now
And I can’t attach my shoe
My inventory’s all messed up
and hippos are my friends
but the blog says all are happy now
according to the trends

by Wendell Holmer

I stand in the town square wearing slave clothes and doing a belly dance. A woman clicks by in six-inch heels, dragging a man by a chain. My hips gyrate. My bare arms wave in the air. And I curse Jessica Holyoke for leaving me here.

Jessica is a colleague on the Herald. She reads my stories about the sexual mores of Second Life and wonders why it is always the women who are dominated, raped, or eaten. “Why are men never on the menu?” she asks.

Jessica invited me to write about a place where women rule and men are slaves. Most guys would read that description and say, “That’s my apartment.” It also fits the Other World Kingdom (OWK 178,233,23), which is a real-life resort in Czechoslovakia. The rules make it very clear that dominant men are not welcome, so if I wanted to see the place, it would have to be in a supporting role.

“It’s a date,” I said.

I showed up at Jessica’s apartment and waited while she got dressed. After trying on about six outfits, she settled on a leather bustier, thigh-high boots, a gauzy skirt, black gloves, and, um… a whip?

“What about me?” I asked. “What do I wear?”

“First strip,” she said. “Then tell me how you typically see men dressed as submissive.”

“Leather harness? Ball gag? I am not doing that.”

“I don’t see you naked yet,” Jessica said, drumming her long, sharp fingernails on the tabletop. “I gave you two sequential orders: one was to strip; the second was to give me an idea of what your previous expectations were. So far, you haven’t obeyed either one.”

It was a little early in the evening to be getting undressed, but we were reporters going undercover. I took off my shirt and pants and stood there in my boxers. Jessica passed me a pair of black pants and a leather vest with a dragon on the back. Then she gave me a collar, which, as you probably know, permits one avatar to manipulate the movements of another.

“Why is it necessary for me to wear a collar?”

Jessica raised an eyebrow. "I am tiny and I can’t be using a sword all the time. And I think it will be cute."

I grumbled. She tapped her foot. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I said as I snapped the stupid thing around my neck and immediately fell to my knees. “I hope you’re happy.”

“Getting there,” she said.

We teleported into a large stone room. Posters of men being chained and butt-whipped covered the walls. Jessica put on a tag that said, “Castrating Bitch.” She fastened a chain around my neck and gave it a yank.

“Let’s get outside and show you off, boy,” she said.

“I’m glad you’re proud of me, ma’am,” I said, trying to get into character.

“Oooo… ma’am?” she said. “Do you know what ma’am really means? It’s not very nice.”

I asked her, but she didn’t answer. So I asked her again. “What does ma’am mean, ma’am?

Jessica leaned down and looked me dead in the eye. “Stop calling me ma’am.”

“But you didn’t answer me, pet…”

“Princess!” she cut me off sharply. “Sometimes people say ma’am and mean bitch.”

“OK, prin-cess,” I said. “As long as we’re respecting each other’s preferences, I don’t like being on a chain.”

She took off the chain, which surprised me. But then she grabbed me by the hair, which didn’t. She bent me at the waist and dragged me down the middle of the street.

We had joined a parade. Women pulled men behind them and stopped from time to time to admire something or walk into a shop. The men followed meekly and waited patiently. This was no great kink. This was Saturday at the mall.

The women looked hot, but sex was definitely not on the menu. One man exposed himself as he knelt and got a sharp reprimand. “Can’t you read?” said a nearby mistress. “No nudity.” The man quickly covered himself, just has he would have done if he’d been caught out at the food court.

Jessica stopped and pointed to a blue ball, humming a little tune. Suddenly, without wanting to, I was licking her foot. She patted my head.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying this,” I said, glaring up at her.

“If you’re good, you might make me forget how bad you’ve been,” she said. She clapped her hands. “Come on,” she said. “Come on little boy, such a good boy!"

“I want to stand up,” I said, stumbling along behind her as she yanked on my hair.

“But people might be confused,” she demurred. “You wouldn’t want that, would you? People not knowing what you are here?”

“What am I?”

“A true submissive male.” She pointed to a post. “Hitch up here.”

She fastened my wrists to the pole and raised her bullwhip.

“You hit me with that…” I began.

“And?” she asked.

I stood in sullen silence.

“And?” she repeated, smiling mischievously. “And???"

She whirled the whip around, just barely touching me.

“And nothing,” I said, having survived many pointless fights with girlfriends. “This boy apologizes abjectly. Go ahead and hit me if you want–”

“Good boy.”

“–ma’am.”

The whip whistled overhead and cracked loudly across my back. I gritted my teeth and winced. “Is that all you got?” I said.

“Oooh, like pain is the worst I can do,” she said. “It’s only one tool in my arsenal.”

She untied me and forced me to my knees. “What is the point of this?” I yelled. “Just let me the fuck up!”

“You don’t like being on your knees?” she asked with a sympathetic look.

“Not crazy about it. No.”

“OK then.” She whispered a command, and I was standing. But I was also belly dancing in the middle of the square. You would think this would upset me, but it was so silly, so incongruous after everything she had put me through, I just started laughing out loud as she sat on the paving stones, taking in the show.

“I do like looking down at you,” I said, admiring her slim legs in the diaphanous skirt. “Do you like my dancing? It’s kind of a new thing for me.”

“I’m sure you would like mine,” she said, smiling back, “if I get fully kajira’ed up… which means not much on. Have you seen me like that?”

For just a second, as I laughed, I let my guard down, and she was responding. It was a nice, friendly moment. But then I had to go and yank Jessica’s chain.

“Not yet,” I said, “but you’d make a great slave. And besides, I owe you.”

“Oh really?” she said stiffly, getting to her feet. “Is that how you see it?” And she whirled around and walked away.

“Hey!” I called after her, “where are you going?”

She and the moment were gone. And I stood there, as I had so many times before, wondering what I had done wrong. That’s the reason I don’t write about places where the women rule, I thought bitterly. Because there’s nothing unusual about it. It’s just life.

I watched Jessica’s stiletto heels tap down the street, leaving me alone, absurd and pathetic, grinding my hips in the empire of the Dommes.

by Wendell Holmer

Through the hobnailed oak doors of an old monastery, I saw three women huddled around a bar. Their whispers echoed across the stone floor.“Anyway, hun,” Mary was saying, “the reason you can’t just go home is that the mansion is full of girls from all over the world that have been kidnapped and brought here against their will.”

“My boyfriend?” said the new girl, shaking her head as if to clear it. “He SOLD me?”
“Nice boyfriend,” Jane said bitterly.
“So what goes on here is highly illegal,” Mary went on. “If one girl gets out alive and brings back the authorities, the whole place crashes down on the cartel’s head. That’s why you can’t leave.”
“I would dump your boyfriend,” Jane said.
“Yes,” I said, walking over to join them. “Once they sell you into slavery, that’s a sure sign the relationship is in trouble.”

No reporter had ever made it this far. There were just rumors. All these movie actresses and prom queens were disappearing. I had seen some blurry footage on YouTube, but it could have been a hoax. Months in Singapore’s seedy waterfront bars had finally led me the Human Trafficking Mansion (Oraenji 31,39,609). I was in.

I was trying to pose as a customer without actually raping anyone. That was harder than I thought.

The first thing they gave me was a notecard that said, “Have fun. This is a forced fantasy site, if you see a captive girl you like, don’t be ashamed to grab, rape, abuse, or humiliate her.” The card went on, “Women, if you are not wearing an observer, predator, or OOC title your avatar may be subject to rape, torture or humiliation at anytime.”

Although I didn’t want to rape anyone, they tagged me with the title, “Cartel Rapist.” Note to self: remove the tag the next time you go to a fashion show.

As a man, I don’t understand why women fantasize about rape, but there’s no doubt that many do. "Rape does for a woman’s sexual fantasy what the first martini does for her in reality: Both relieve her of responsibility and guilt,” Nancy Friday wrote in My Secret Garden. “She gets him to do what she wants him to do, while seeming to be forced."

The victims approach that fantasy in two different ways. Some abjectly submit. “The more i’m used the more i want to be used,” one admitted. “It’s addictive for me. i’m into about anything, especially public use. i love to be stripped of my shame and self-respect.”

The other sort are fighters. “I do like the idea of a little force being used,” one said. “I don’t want to surrender. I want to fight tooth and nail and sometimes lose.

“My RL boyfriend and I take turns,” she went on. “He controls one day. I control the next. A little play slapping some gentle choking. Is it really being forceful if I ask for it?”

The fighters resent being captives. They are rude and contrary. Their goal is to get you so fed up that you want to bitch-slap them. But I couldn’t bring myself to hit or rape anybody.

One night I sat with a girl who was bewildered and frightened. I comforted her, reassured her, talked about escape. Eventually, she broke character and sighed, “I came here to roleplay a rape, and all the guys just want to hold my hand! Do I have to beg?”

She patiently explained that the Human Trafficking Mansion is not primarily about sex. It’s about improvising a scene. “Do you think I sit in my living room and masturbate?” she asked me. She works hard to make the scenes realistic, then prints out the chat logs and red-pencils them. The experiences turn her on, but she spends her personal, private moments with the transcript, not in front of the monitor.

Members receive tips on roleplaying. Don’t decide everything that happens, but let the other players make choices consistent with their characters. Keep a complete thought in a discrete paragraph, but avoid posts that are too long. Stay in character. A notecard concludes, “Be realistic. You are human, in this sim.You cannot ejaculate 4 times in a row or shoot gallons of semen, you cannot see behind you unless you turn your head….”

It’s a distracting environment. Someone is always getting raped or tortured nearby. Meanwhile, in the interest of verisimilitude, the trainers are giving advice. It sounds like this:

Victim: mmmm
Rapist: You can enjoy being a whore if you accept it.
Victim: oooohhhh
Victim: ooohhhhhhhhhhh
Victim: mmmmmmmmmmm
Victim: oooohhhh
Rapist bites her neck as he accelerates his pounding.
Enforcer–from a different floor of the mansion: ((please keep the oooh’s and aaah’s to a minimum, use words! ))
Victim: hmmmm
Victim: oooohhhhhhhhh
Victim: mmmmmmmmmmmm
Victim: aaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii
Enforcer: ((Victim, no more mmmhs and ooohs, try using sentences!))
Victim: ok……
Enforcer: ((thank you))

Edicts are always coming down from Father Bracken, who seems to be in charge. Recently, he wrote: “Let me remind you that escaping from the compound would be DAMN near impossible. There are 20 foot walls, armed guards, and a frozen wasteland beyond that stretches for miles and miles. You’d die. That’s it. On top of that most of the prisoners and trainees are wearing very brief clothes and high-heeled stilettos. Not even Rambo could pull it off in an outfit like that. So knock it off.”

Wait a minute. This is Singapore, right? But I reminded myself that life in the mansion is all about acting. If someone like me could be a convincing rapist, I should be able to envision a frozen wasteland in a tropical country that is largely rain forest.

I squared my shoulders, curled my lip into a cruel sneer, and walked into the mansion. I was going to mess somebody up good.

by Wendell Holmer

Meatgirls and a state-of-the-art Slutoaster

Greta Ghia stands proudly, shoulders back, chest puffed out, a brave smile on her face. This is the moment she has waited for all her life.

For years, she has kept a strict diet and exercise regimen, preparing as her mother taught her. This morning she cleaned herself inside and out, using special soaps and lotions. She knew she would be beautiful on her special day, and she is. I stand and watch, a guest at a dinner in her honor. But she will not be dining with us.

She is the meal.

Greta gets a sexual charge out of being killed and eaten. Always has. “When I was very young, about age six or so, I found alligators fascinating,” she told me. “The idea of them wanting to eat me fascinated me. As I got older, it became sexual somehow. I was ashamed and embarrassed.”

She played Dungeons and Dragons with her boyfriend. Sometimes the Orcs would capture her. “They wanted to eat me, but I was always rescued. I found myself getting so aroused by this game,” she recalls.

[what follows is definitely NOT SAFE FOR WORK - proceed at your own risk - the Editrix]

“One night, my boyfriend decided to be mean. Instead of saving me, he had them prepare and eat me. I was so hot when we were done. I fucked him so well that night.”

When Greta visited Second Life, she learned about Dolcett. That is the pen name of an obscure, hack cartoonist who specializes in scenarios where women are cut up with meat saws or roasted on a spit. A cult has grown up around his work in Second Life. Greta and a couple of friends started a Dolcett group, which now has hundreds of members.

inspection

The chef, Italyan Cuttita, looks Greta over carefully. “I need to probe her,” he explains, “to see if there is any reason not to cook her.” He thinks she may make a roaster. This is high praise indeed. Girls who have imperfections are ground into hamburger. “Come here greta pig,” he says, not unkindly, attaching her to a rack. He slides a thick finger insider her. “Did you clean out?” he asks, “Or do I need to use the hose?”

The preparations began at Wicked World, where there is a cook’s kitchen, including a state-of-the-art Slutoaster. Meatgirls at Wicked World must follow the rules. “If you are going to be meat here you will be naked at all times,” owner Teri Bardeen explains to Greta. She turns to me. “It makes them stand out. Meat is nothing more than what a cow is. You wouldn’t dress up a cow would you?”

“You don’t have a name, since you’re just meat,” Terry’s assistant tells Greta. When Greta makes a comment, the assistant says to me, “It sure does talk a lot.”

Italyan is satisfied with Greta’s papers and final inspection, “She is definitely a roaster,” he says. “The roasters are particularly sexy. Their bodies are nearly perfect. Her tits could be bigger, but we will fill them with bastings.”

Greta Ghia stands proudly, knowing she made a roaster after all. “I was told I would be most beautiful on My Day,” she says, walking into an open shower in the prep area.

“The shower acts as a depilatory,” Italyan explains. “Her body hair will be removed—all of it—and she will be ready for butchering and hanging.” He turns to me and says, as an afterthought, “I forgot to ask. Do you prefer a live roast, Wendell, or a butchered roasting?”

And this is where things get really weird. Until now, I have been playing this for laughs, but with this question, it occurs to me that my friend is about to be slaughtered. She watches me intently. The length of her life is in my hands. And I can’t decide. “I hate to see her killed,” I say, “but I hate to see her suffer.”

Italyan nods. “Understood,” he says. “She won’t suffer. There are drugs induced into her that curb her pain to a manageable level, almost like a severe sunburn.”

Italyan directs the cow into the shower. He pokes her. “Come on.” She hurries to obey. “She is drenched in water. Then the dipilitory is introduced. Slowly her hair will dissolve until there is none.”

Greta closes her eyes and waits, she rubs the water on her skin, feeling the sensation for what she knows is the last time. I watch, stunned. Italyan continues in a matter-of-fact way. “It also works to moisturize and settles a thin glaze on her. He turns off the shower. Greta looks sadly at her red hair choking the drain. Italyan directs her out of the shower. “Does she look sexy now?” he asks mockingly.

preparations

Italyan has an outdoor barbecue in mind, so we meet at Animatum, where there is an open pit. Greta bites her lip as she sees flaming logs under a spit. “Follow me,” Italyan orders. “This is the place. Come cow….come kneel at the front.

“Wendell, help me slide this spit into her. One arm and one leg…..the point goes in her cunt. Then we slowly slide her down.”

I can’t do anything but look on in horror and breathe through clenched teeth. Greta Ghia trembles as she is lifted up. She whimpers as the point slides in. I look away. “There!” Italyan says with satisfaction. We will tie her into place and the roaster will do the rest.”

Italyan is able to insert the skewer in such a way that it misses the vital organs, leaving Greta alive and conscious as long as possible. She whimpers pitifully until the point emerges from her mouth.

Italyan hands me a steel bowl filled with butter and oil, a paintbrush handle sticking out. “Baste her as she comes around,” he says. “Keep her cunt wet.”

Greta’s eyes look into mine, her mouth working against the spit as she struggles. She blinks as she feels the heat drying her eyes. She smells herself beginning to cook.

roasting

“She can hear us?” I ask in a whisper. “She knows what’s happening?”

“Yes she does,” Italyan says, nodding. “She feels a burn and a sensation. When you brush her clit and cunt….she will feel pleasure. See the drippings? And hear the sizzle? What do you think, Wendell? Would you have sex with a cow knowing you were going to eat her for dinner the next day?”

I want to talk to her, and Italyan tells me she will blink once for yes, twice for no. “They are trained,” he says.

“Greta?” I ask softly, “are you in pain?”

She hesitates but blinks once.

“We can stop this,” I say urgently. “Do you want to stop this?”

She blinks twice.

“You can’t stop it, Wendell,” Italyan says. “Look at her body. It is roasting and her skin is beginning to brown.”

I stare in horror at the singed skin. My mouth is dry. I can hardly choke out the words. “Do you want to live, Greta?”

“She is all gone but for the slicing,” Italyan interrupts, but I ignore him and stare intently into her eyes. She blinks twice.

“It is in her breeding, Wendell,” Italyan says, but I shake my head and ask her, “Didn’t you ever want to fall in love?”

She hesitates a long time. Then blinks twice.

Her responses grow weaker. “Do you have any regrets at all?”

It takes a long time. She is almost gone. She blinks twice. “Meat is meat, Wendell,” Italyan says.

It looks like she is trying to cry out. She shudders violently, her legs working her up and down the spit. Sitting at the keyboard, watching this on the screen, my eyes are filled with tears. Italyan nods and puts a hand on my shoulder, warm and comforting. “It’s best not to love the meat,” he says, basting my friend as she turns on the spit. At length he says, “Her eyes are finished, and so is she. She is just a meat carcass now, toasting for us. We will bring her inside to the butchery.”

He pulls her off the spit–I am completely useless; I just stand by and watch—and carries her inside. There, he chops off her arms, head, and legs and prepares her for the oven. Just when I think it can’t get any worse, he announces in a matter-of-fact way, “Then I give her my special seasonings.”

butchering

While Italyan was cutting Greta up, he had a massive erection. Now he plunges into her, fucking the dead, trussed-up torso with zeal. Greta tells me later that she believes Italyan was masturbating at the keyboard as he acted this out. He arranges the carcas on a tray with spuds, lettuce and carrots and, just then, excuses himself to take a phone call.

I have no appetite. I am not aroused. I fail to see any humor in this. I sit alone in the diner with a friend’s congealing corpse and think about cruelty. Italyan comes back and tells me something has come up and he has to go.

Later, as we sit in my office, Greta tells me she really liked it. She will think back on the erotic fantasy. I ask her what part will play in her head as she touches herself. “I think the hottest image in my head later will be standing helpless in front of him as he calmly orders me to start,” she says.

I shrug. It’s time to go. I am supposed to meet some friends for dinner. But somehow, tonight, I don’t feel hungry.

by Wendell Holmer

Stacks Kowalski stands in the eerie reaches of Yggdrasill, before a pair of ornate doors. She places a tentative finger on the ancient, carved wood.

The universe turns inside out.

She stares into the void between dimensions, where monsters gibber in madness and lust. Tentacles shoot out and bind her arms and legs. She writhes against a rippling wall of flesh, trying to kick free. Her legs can’t find any purchase in the slime, and her arms are tightly bound.

Her captor, the Lurker Beyond, whispers, “Terrible sounds of wet slime and sliding flesh attract your attention, making you look down. Your eyes grow wide as…[not safe for work tentacles continue after the jump...]…you watch an impossibly huge cock slide from its fleshy sheath.”

With “Cloverfield” ready to hit the theatres in about a week, Stax’s new boyfriend is first cousin to a movie star. The prerelease publicity hints that the movie monster is H.P. Lovecraft’s Cthulhu. The author describes the creature as "the green, sticky spawn of the stars," with "flabby claws" and an "awful squid-head with writhing feelers." If that turns you on, you’re not alone.

“Tentacles are sexy,” declares SL’s Tentacult group. “Tentacles are the new furry. Join the future.” At Talena Giha a huge, pulpy space alien may select you for breeding. Yggdrasill abounds with lascivious plant life.

“I really, really like the animations because of the narrative attached, and because they build slowly,” Stacks says. “I find this so fucking hot…. Shhhhh…don’t tell anyone!

“It’s just so pervy,” she giggles. “The idea of putting anything up there… that doesn’t belong there. Being fucked by something that’s not a cock. I like fingering a lot too, but of course tentacles go WAY beyond that.”

If you want to be the monster, instead of its bride, you can thank Kailani Vieria. She came up with the idea for Cthulhu’s Daughters. These epicene demons appear female but have tentacles that turn into a double-penis. Something for everyone.

An avid science fiction fan, Kailani had seen tentacle sex in anime Hentai pornography. "I thought it would be awesome to have tentacles I could rape people with,” she said cheerfully. She brought the idea to Ishtara Rothschild, an animator she knew.

"She loved the idea,” Kailani said. “Went straight to work on it. The prototype looks exactly like the finished version, of which I received the first copy. The first time I used it was with a young female neko, I raped her with them. It was very erotic.” She’s used them many times since then, and the magic never fades.

The designer, Ishtara, invited me to her pleasant, sunny office. Monogrammed coffee cups sat on the bookshelves behind her desk. A picture of kittens playing hung on the wall. As always, a great product started with a great concept: “First and foremost I wanted to design a tentacle tail that could be converted into a tentacle penis,” Ishtara said.

Stripping down and donning a demon skin, Ishtara demonstrated the Tentacle Cocktail. In the PG mode, Ishtara was merely a demon with writhing tentacles down her spine. But a HUD turns two of those tentacles into a barbed double penis that swells and pulses. “The spikes can be hidden of course,” Ishtara said reassuringly. “Not everyone is into pain.

“From a dominant’s point of view, the idea was to look more-than-human. Impressive. Perhaps a bit fear-and-awe inducing,” she said. “The nice thing about the tentacles… They allow double penetration. And the penetration depth is practically unlimited.

“Well, makes for some interesting role play,” she added with a smile. “It’s a probe type of thing, especially when it comes to anal penetration. Also the snake-like appearance… writhing, wiggling… well, it has an erotic note too.”

I asked where someone might be able to buy such a thing. Ishtara directed me to her fetish mall, Dark Delights. “They are along the balcony between the bat wings and the Real Nipples,” she said.

This was the first time I had been able to trace a Second Life trend to its source. I was interested in finding out how Kailani discovered this unmet need. “You know, I really like the multiple penetration aspect,” Kailani told me. “I’m a switch. I also like to play with tentacle monsters.”

I asked if she found tentacle play erotic. “Very much so!” she said. “I’m getting turned on right now just thinking about it. The rape fantasy is part of it. And the alienish aspect turns me on. Probably ‘cause it’s generally considered taboo.”

Meanwhile, across the mountains of madness, Stacks Kowalski has disengaged from the Lurker Beyond and makes her way warily through Yggdrasill. She enters a quiet snow-covered meadow spotted with trees and unusual plants. “It’s so pretty,” she says. “Just don’t touch anything.”

A watermelon sits on the ground nearby. It looks harmless enough. Stacks clicks on it. A scream rends the air. Tendrils shoot up and snake around her ankles. An engorged, green member probes upward, sensing warmth, wetness, sex. Stacks is at it again.

by Wendell Holmer, virtual advice columnist

Q:        The thing i love about being a sub is being cherished. I love to give pleasure to my Master and to be rewarded when he is pleased. I just ended a relationship with a Master who paid so much attention to his other sub, he never seemed to have time for me. A few days ago i met a new Master, who told me i was his only pet. He’s kind of inexperienced, but i really like him.

One night, my Master started stammering in such a convoluted way that i thought he was breaking up with me! I told him, "Just say it," and he said, "Sir is Dom to 2 others, besides you." You can imagine how that hit me, right?  I said, “Fuck you, you goddamn motherfucker,” and POOF! i deleted him from my profile. I unfriended him.

Then i thought it over. I sat down with Master and told him why i was hurt. He said two girls had asked to be subs that day, and he had agreed. I said i was worried He wouldn’t have as much time to spend with me. Master assured me that things would remain the same with us, and that i was still special to Him even if He had other subs. I asked Him to hold me, and He did. Then i told Him i still wanted to be His, and He kissed me on the lips. Did i make the right decision coming back to Him?

-Scheherazade

A:         Your master is inexperienced. It shows in the way he talks. Subs sometimes refer to themselves in the third person to show that their individual will is subordinated. It doesn’t make sense for a dom to do that.

New masters get carried away with the idea of having a stable of girls who are sexually available to them. They tend to underestimate the time commitment. It is a rare sub who is content to show up on command to be fucked or petted and then wait patiently until she is summoned again.

A good master thinks carefully about expanding his family and considers how each new addition fits in before he starts filling up the dungeon. Even though you are a sub, you have the right to set limits.   Adding a new girl to the harem changed the terms of the relationship and should have been discussed with you in advance.

Your master probably means to care for you as if you were an only sub, but he doesn’t have the skill to control three girls clamoring for attention. Based on your prior experience and the strength of your reaction when he mentioned his two new pets, you can’t handle being one of three on a chain. Good doms are in high demand in Second Life. When you find the right one, you will know. 

Q:       I’ve been playing SL for over a year and have had a lot of boyfriends, but I’ve never had a real relationship. Either I fall in love with men who aren’t interested in me or men who are already taken. I don’t know why.

At the beginning I had a few one-night stands, and after a while I had two secret lovers–always secret because both of them already had girlfriends in-world and ran huge businesses here. It can be very exciting to have secret lovers, but in the end it didn’t give me a good feeling. So the affairs ended after a few weeks.

I like the attention of men. I am NOT in SL for a relationship. I can take care of myself very well. Besides I need lots of space and time for myself, which most men don’t understand. I don’t want to talk and dance night after night. That really gets me bored! I just want them to make me laugh now and then.

Often men expect too much from me. They get too serious. At last they all scare me away. I run away from them.  I always run away. That’s me!

What is the problem with me? Or are the men the problem?

-Jessica

A:         I don’t think there’s any problem at all. You are getting exactly what you want. You enjoy the early stages of love–attraction, infatuation, passion—but you don’t want a relationship. You want guys to entertain and amuse you. You aren’t interested in a real personal connection. That’s why you are always attracted to unattainable men.

“Whoever loves above all the approach of love will never know the joy of attaining it,” said Antoine de Saint-Exupery. But that’s not a problem in Second Life. Here it’s normal—and safe—to enjoy superficial flirtations. This is your second life, and you can live it however you want. If flitting from man to man is what you want to do, that’s fine. Just make sure you let your dates know in advance that you are not going to be the great love of their lives.

Send your questions on love and sex to wendellholmer@aol.com.

by Wendell Holmer, virtual advice columnist

Q:       Several months ago, I met an attractive woman in the club that I manage and we began cybering, I convinced her to host in my club and other associated clubs and now we were partnered.  This has been a very good arrangement for me.  She has changed her RL schedule to be available to me for cybering any time I ask and she has solved several of my host problems at the club. 

I think, however, that this woman has become confused.  She believes we are in love in RL and she wants to meet face to face.  I am a married man and a minister.  The woman has convinced herself that there is no love in my RL marriage.  She also seems to believe that she can come here, my wife will step aside, and she can take her place next to me in front of my congregation.

This is completely out of the question.  I’ve been trying to tell her this, but she hears or reads what she wants to hear or read.  I went as far as to try and leave SL a few weeks ago.  She became so deranged that I was afraid she’d show up at my home or congregation unannounced.  I’m sure that she’s used the details that I (now regrettably) have told her over these months to Google exact information on me. 

I continue to stay with her and cyber to keep her happy and away from my RL, but I am worried that I’ll soon receive a phone call from her saying she’s here and checked into motel in my town.

How do I rid myself of this unbalanced woman without wrecking my marriage and my career as a minister?

–Reverend Lee

A:         Ask her if she’s seen the Herald today.

It’s easy to fall into the trap of thinking that Second Life is a game, where your actions have no consequences. It is really just a medium in which you interact with other people, and the bonds you form here can be intimate and powerful, as you’ve discovered.

You are a married man who regularly has sex with another woman. If she is confused, it’s because you encouraged or permitted her to develop those ideas. You obviously told her you loved her and went as far as entering into partnership. You combined your social and work lives. You probably shared a fantasy in which you would meet in real life (everyone does). You let her think there was a deficit in your marriage that only she could fill. You painted an attractive picture of the rose covered manse you inhabit. Naturally she wants to move in. It’s time you entered Wendell’s six-step program.

First, stop fucking her. Gentlemen do not have sex with “deranged” or “unbalanced” women.

Second, tell the woman as directly and kindly as you can that you are ending the relationship. Budget a couple of hours for this conversation, and be prepared to own up to your part in creating impossible expectations. Explain that you were swept away, just as she was. You initially felt you were playing a game. Your guard was down, and you both experienced feelings of an intensity you could not have anticipated. But you are married, and you are going to stay married, and this has to end now.

Third, get the hell out of Second Life. Cold turkey. Just delete the program. You can’t handle it. As for the club, give it to her and let her run it herself if she wants.

Fourth, most denominations have some sort of counseling available for ministers with personal problems—whether they relate to substance or sexual addictions. These sessions are confidential, and you should absolutely make an appointment. There are also online resources. I can’t tell from your letter whether you are capable of having an affair with a member of your congregation. You need to find that out, or you may do some real harm.

Fifth, if you really believe this woman may find you in real life, you’d better tell your wife. Budget substantially more than two hours for this. You don’t want her to be surprised, and you don’t want to go through this alone. You’ll probably need marriage counseling so your wife can come to terms with what happened and learn to trust you again.

Sixth, you don’t need to let this end your career. There is no reason to make a public confession. You don’t know how this is going to play out. Your lover may not pursue you into real life. If she does, there is still some effort involved for her or your church to obtain your records from Linden Labs. For now, keep your head down and hope for the best.

            Meanwhile, folks, keep sending your questions towendellholmer@aol.com.

by Wendell Holmer, virtual advice columnist

Q: I’ve had many lovers in Second Life—men, women, and otherwise. I have gotten very turned on doing things that would shock most people. Now I’ve been served with divorce papers. My husband says his lawyer is going to subpoena my records from Linden Lab. Please tell me those private conversations are not going to turn up in court!

A: I wish I could. But Linden Lab is not going to do anything to protect your chat logs. "It is terrifyingly easy to rip off the cover of anonymity," attorney Daniel Leipold told the Los Angeles Times. “Increasingly, Internet firms are being subpoenaed for electronic records in divorce proceedings,” the Times reported. USA Today advised spouses facing a divorce, “Avoid chat rooms and Internet forums. Many people mistakenly believe they’re anonymous in forums and chat rooms. However, when you post messages online, your computer address is recorded. Anything you write is traceable to you.”

You’re probably wondering why no one mentioned this before. Actually, they did. According to the Terms of Service, “You acknowledge and agree that Linden Lab, in its sole discretion, may track, record, observe or follow any and all of your interactions within the Service…. Linden Lab can (and you authorize Linden Lab to) disclose any information about you to private entities, law enforcement agencies or government officials, as Linden Lab, in its sole discretion, believes necessary or appropriate to investigate or resolve possible problems or inquiries, or as otherwise required by law.”

Peter Gray, an account executive at Lewis Global Public Relations – the PR firm which represents Linden Lab, said the company does not provide identifying information about users but cooperates with the legal process "consistent with policies and applicable law."

And what are those “policies”? During office hours last August, Robin Linden said that, when LL gets a subpoena, they’ll “look at each request for information and evaluate it very carefully.” In other words, it’s totally discretionary. There are no standards. Bottom line: LL is not going to pay lawyers to run into court and defend your right to talk dirty.

Eros, LLC sued an avatar named Volkov Catteneo (or John Doe, as the Court documents have it) for violating the copyright to their SexGen bed. Eros sent a subpoena to Linden Labs, seeking Catteno’s identifying information and his chat history as well. LL promptly complied. PayPal and AT&T rolled over too. Now the world knows that the defendant is a Texan named Robert Leatherwood. The great irony is that Leatherwood would have been a great name for a sex bed manufacturer, or a porn star, come to think of it.

Even though LL won’t protect your erotic exchanges, you do have some rights. You’ll get notice when the subpoena is served. Then your lawyer can go into court and oppose it. The only reason your husband wants those chat logs in the record is that they make you look bad. So a judge may find the request to be too broad, irrelevant, or prejudicial. He may quash the subpoena entirely, limit its scope, or seal the records and examine them privately.

I’d like to examine them privately myself. Don’t forget to send me copies. And next time you have cybersex, do it in voice – voice recordings tied to your avatar and internet address are a real crowd pleaser in the courtroom.

For the rest of you, please keep sending your questions on sex and romance, your chat logs, and your dirty stories to wendellholmer@aol.com.

by Wendell Holmer

Second Life is brimming with choices. There is so much content, expanding all the time, that no single person can adequately sift through it and pick out the best offerings. We need your help. This month the Herald begins a new feature—The List. We pick a subject and start ticking off examples recommended by people who should know. Then you take over. Use the Comments at the end to complain share the great things you’ve discovered.

In December, we were looking for romantic holiday gifts. We mainly went to merchants and asked them to make choices from their own inventory. Here are some of their picks.

The Hostess

Sky’s scene

Whenever I go to Sky Everett’s place, I’m bound to meet somebody interesting, and this party was no exception. Sky Designs has a wide range of contemporary and Moroccan influenced furniture—the wood textures are really remarkable—but when I mentioned romance, she grabbed me by the collar and dragged me over to the BDSM section. The SevereReign trompe l’oeil (L1150) accommodates seven women and two men, when you add the optional overseer throne (L495). For a festive touch, Sky placed two candles (L50 each). They let me sit on the throne for the shot—since it’s designed for a man—and I’m wearing RFyre Pretense. Sky, standing, wore Gisacaci. At my feet is fashion writer and photographer Harper Beresford in Solstice by RFyre. Fashion model Shelby Robbiani, reclining, wore the Entwine Gown by Blaze. I suggested that the four of us might try some of the more interesting poses, but the girls pled urgent appointments and disappeared as soon as the shoot was over. Photo: Harper Beresford.

The Queen

Natalie Niven

Natalie Niven rules the Gorean sim of Port Victoria. When her husband, the Ubar, is off to war, she is the one who has to deal with the merchants and visitors in this busy market town. Natalie also publishes the gossip and fashion mag, slinworldtoday. In her spare time, she decided to open a flower shop, Blooming Fabulous, and that’s where we got the roses (L60) and the tree (L150). Natalie wore the Red Christmas Angel Dress from French Spirit. I wore the Phantom Stranger Trencher from Sinistyle. Photo: Natalie Niven.

The Porn Star

Stacks Kowalski

There is a lot of competition for the position of Second Life’s bad girl, but Stacks Kowalski is definitely in the running. She probes every aspect of sexuality and writes up her experiences in her blog. She doesn’t name names, but she holds nothing back. She may rhapsodize over how you turned her on, or you may be stuck at the bottom of the barrel with the man she calls the Worst Fuck Ever. Stacks describes herself as a “gal about town, sexual journalist, and fucktoy extraordinaire.” Her motto: “I do it so you don’t have to.” If you want to get next to Stacks, give her shoes—it’s kind of a fetish. And some of the most stylish, realistic shoes in SL come from Storm Schmooz, a real life shoe designer. In this photo, Stacks wore Elegance Gold (L400). Also from Schmooz, from top to bottom, are Essentiel Light Brown (L300) Essentiel Leopard (L300), and Desir de Noir (L350). Desir comes with the stockings stacks is wearing. Photos: Harper Beresford.

The Victorian

Jeannie Moonflower

The Victorians were a little more restrained. Their idea of a romantic evening was a good game of whist by the fire. Jeannie Moonflower dominates the Victorian furniture market in-world. Her store, Bygone Days, takes up an entire sim and is about to double in size. Her textures—leather, wood, wicker, marble—are exquisite. She recommends the gift of a cozy fireplace (L800). Also in the picture are Staffordshire dogs (L50 each) and a mantle clock that keeps accurate time (L500). Jeannie sits in a bentwood rocker (L500) in a dress by Thalia Talamasca. I am wearing Regent by RFyre. Photo: Harper Beresford.

The Jeweler

Lizziey Whittenton

Diamonds remain on every woman’s friends list, and one jewelry designer I like is Lizziey Whittenton. Her wedding jewelry is really great, and she does custom orders at no extra charge. She is modeling the Paris Necklace (L350), Paris Earings (L200) and Paris Bracelet Set (L200). She designs shoes and boots too. Her dress is Baccara Rouge by Rebel Hope. Photo: Harper Beresford.

There are the first five items on the list. Now it’s your turn. What romantic gifts do you want for the holidays?