Ripping Yarns
Cybersex: just say noCybersex: just say No
By our man in the thick of IT, Derek Tree

Derek Tree reveals that cybersex is not all it's cracked up to be

moongirrl_4U: u h0tt n h0rny?
You: Do I know you?
moongirrl_4U: 17/f/detroit, r u ready 4 h0tt lurve 2nite?
You: No.
moongirrl_4U: god im soooooo wet, wanna cyber?
You: No. Bugger off
moongirrl_4U: wanna lick me?
You: Not unless you're an ice lolly
moongirrl_4U: i cud B fr U.
You: Piss off, you stupid tart.

Rather distressing, isn't it? Especially if you just wanted to show your eighty-seven year old mother who has a faulty pacemaker how Internet chatrooms work so she can pick up a few crocheting tips.

I often wonder if these randy chatroom perves are completely shameless. Didn't their mummies tell them that it's improper to announce to the world how wet or 'hard' they are, what they're not wearing and why they want to 'lick you all over'? They need to be told. Bloody fast! Someone also needs to inform them that as a form of sexual gratification 'cybersex' is about as satisfying as poking your todger into a bowl of warm custard.

'I'm giving u a hand job,' moongirrl_4U, 17, from Detroit, enthuses, which, unless she has inconceivably long arms, is quite impossible. 'Can u feel it? Is it good?' she pleads with desperate anticipation, quite forgetting that (a) you put them on ignore five minutes ago, and (b) there isn't anything to feel, because the seedy bedsit they're inhabiting is some 3,720 miles away from your flat in Maida Vale.

And even if, heaven forbid, some miraculous cybernetic breakthrough allowed physical interaction between two Internet users, what makes these sad tossers even contemplate that I'd agree to a 'cyber' lurve session'? It's blatantly obvious that moongirrl_4U:17/f/detroit is actually a smegma-coated, testicular-wart-infected fifty-nine-year-old truck driver called Herb, resident of a graffiti-ridden, gism-stained tenement basement in Chicago.

But the dedicated cyber-wanker is made of sterner stuff and will resolutely refuse to leave you alone. Even after desperate action:

moongirrl_4U: got a pic?
You: Yes thanks.
moongirrl_4U: Is it hOt?
You: Boiling.
moongirrl_4U: naked?
You: Yes, and my pussy, is too.
moongirrl_4U: pussy? uR giRRL?
You: No. I'm a bloke. It's a photo of me and the cat having sex on the stove.
moongirrl_4U: really? mmmmm. animuls r soooo h0tt, ar'nt they?
You: No. Now fuck off!

So no matter how utterly obnoxious you are, the chatroom perverts are always one step ahead. Why? Because they're even worse than you pretend to be. They're mentally disturbed virginal loners with five wobbling chins, chronic haemorrhoids, a drawer full of wank socks and a crab-infested moustache. And the men are just as bad.

Do not succumb to their pornographic propositions. Just say no. Or 'Bugger off, you stupid wankwit! Tossers!

If you enjoyed this story you may enjoy visiting The Slingshot - the Great British Magazine for Young Chaps
The Slingshot is indispensible reading for discerning Ladies and Gentlemen of Quality and Taste.
Warning: our American readers may require the services of a translator!
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© 2004
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