He made a point of never asking anyone's identity online. Not that the question didn't enter his mind. In fact, it consumed him. But the mystery, the eagerness to learn of someone taste by taste was exciting. Then again, the alternative was to talk about himself.
"ASL?" he typed. Then, "Yes. Let's chat sometime."
The time began to pass. Thirty seconds at least. He refreshed the page, but there was no response. He began to wonder what answer he would receive. He pictured a forty-something balding gentleman sitting alone in the dark surrounded by Sailor Moon figurines. He desperately hoped he would not be lured into male prostitution.
His thoughts were interrupted by a small, blinking icon at the top of his screen. A banner. A blinking picture of a young blonde calling "Come see me on my webcam!"
He surveyed his apartment. He never liked to waste time until he had accomplished something for the day. The apartment was... clean. And by this he meant that the floor was swept and that last night's chinese food containers were neatly piled on the coffee table. He evaluated this, and it passed.
Michelle's webcam cost $1.99 per viewing. How ridiculous, since she was the one who wanted to be viewed in the first place. He suddenly pictured his mystery reader, tall and blonde, straddling a chair in her bra and panties. Lace ones. Black lace. God, he loved black lace.
Meditating on this thought, he almost didn't notice a new alert on his screen. There it was, the old blinking cliche. "You've got mail."