Monday, November 19, 2007

Midnight Eclipse Pas de Deux


It was the dying days of a doomed dream. I had taken ballet classes since I was a young pixie, and despite being thin and flexible, despite having applied myself with all the application that my determined nature has. I was not to be.


The ballet stage is a cruel place. And while children can fill space with ease, when the time comes to dance truly dance, and won your place on stage. I was not to be.

Auditions had come and gone, and even when, often by mere lack of applicants, I had found myself on the stage, it was always in the least of roles, the back of the corps de ballet, and expected to do the least. I cold do the steps, at best, with a roteworthy machineship of the natural born grade grubber. I could not, in such a place, befriend the teacher, let my eyes glow and transport him or her to glorious dreams for me. Instead, I was, and this was at my best, an enthusiast whose best hope was to stand outside the door selling brick a brack to support the more worthy and more truly artistic souls who would appear on stage.

So this was that moment. I was 17, and this was, in the words of a song I played a thousand times, my very last chance.

I was on the class floor, it was grotto of light wood, and smelled of layers of water, sweat and frozen rosin, that held lost dreams like droplets of amber. The mirrors stared at each other across the floor, reflecting each other into a thousand eyes a thousand. It was, by the standards of when I ought to be home, late. Every night I stayed as late as could be allowed, generally under the eye of a teacher, who was filling out cards, or doing some paperwork associated with the school.

Every night I worked on fundamental things. I did not practice steps for the audition, because I feared doing them wrong a dozen times and having to unlearn them. Instead it was basic stretches, the barre and simple physical recitations of the basic positions that I placed my faith in. I have always placed my faith in technique, because, I know, I did not have the artistry to be more than that. It is a disease, a syndrome with me.

I was split on the floor, my arms in a round circle, sweeping over and over, nearly brushing the floor with a delicate turn of wrist. I could have brushed the edge of my fingers against the floor, and in truth, with each time tried to come so close as to feel the drag of air between my fingers and the floor.

One and two and three and four and.
One and two and three and four and.
And again two and three and four and.

So maketh the moments of my wretchedness. I felt a burning pull along my inner thigh, I felt a stretching of my pelvis. And I did not allow myself to think of being on stage. I could not let my self think of costume, or lights, or tutu, or anything at all. My legwarmers and tights and frail thin undergarments were all that I could allow. The sheen of sweat that formed a third skin was all that I could focus on. I did not want to dream and let slip even a moment's concentration on the slow elucidating pain. There were tears always at the corners fo my eyes, and I looked at my figure in the mirror constantly

This was me. And me was not enough. I could see it in the mirror, my arms were not quite there, nor my torso quite right, and some how I did not fit all together. I was toned, and tight and taut and a tumble of pieces that did not fit together.

I stared at her in the mirror, who was with me stretching. Her face was so clearly nearly on the verge of frustration, she could not make her limbs fall such into place. But there we were, this companion and I.

On the bends back I looked up at the naked incandescent lights, set in conical tin fixtures, hanging down from a high ceiling. This room was atop a gym, the ballet school renting it from the private school that housed it. There were from time to time stepping echoes, and I could see those echoes bounce with insect enervation of the white ceiling with its scabs of pealing paint, and hit my eyes. I bent back one final time, and then heard a clanging ring of the black, rectangular, plastic phone, with its old rotary dialer that would only call into the building, and which had a number given out to parents as a way of summoning offspring to waiting cars, or other, more lumbering, forms of conveyance. The windows had that chicken wire class, and were set into high dormers with triangular tops. The ceiling's middle crease formed a sharp point.

This room was my church, and for so many years I had been in it, or others like it, praying to the muses of all the arts, from every ancient world into now, with whatever my past lives had done or allowed to not be done, as the karmic offering on this alter of sacrifice. I say alter, because I wished to be a butterfly and spread my wings, a swan from grey to purest white.

I swept the floor again once more, heard the endless tape on the music box, which repeated the same loop over and over again. I had grown to worship the clacks of changing direction as signs of my devotion. A rosary of sorts.

The clanging came again, I rolled sideways from my split, and then around to seated on the floor, and then, without touching hands to the wooden slats, rolled up to standing. My tights pulled across my chest and I walked flatfooted in my floor shoes over to it. There was a distant voice that was my ma. She told me I had another hour before she could make it. I listened, bade her farewell, and knew that I was done for the night.


I surveyed the lack of wood, and the forest of reflections, saw my black clad figure standing there, with smooth curves that were barely sketched. I was impossibly thin, and hated myself. I had given up the burgeoning roundness of my peers, who compared cup sizes with nervous giggles, or flaunted dresses that showed as much cleavage, and sometimes more, as they had. I could have been mistaken for a girl still not ripe to adulthood. Except I could not, I stood, walked and looked the wrong way. There standing weight on one foot next to the phone, my stance was more dancer like than any I could attain on stage or in practice.

I looked at the far wall, with its dark green metal door, and reddish exit sign over it, the handle to escape a fire bent in from some forgotten mishap, black iron extra barre's leaning against the sides of the alcove that it was set in, and then to the mirrors again. She was finished too.

This evening I was party to a minor crime. The young teacher who was supposed to be there was not, and she had given me a copy of the keys. Her excuse had been the kind that a person just barely an adult gives when still unsure of that role, saying more than an adult would, but less than a fellow student, and enough to know that she should not have been absent. Of course, I assumed it was sex, but would later learn it was that she was behind on her rent and was working an extra job waitressing. She was caught that next year, but not disciplined, because the head teacher had done much much worse in her younger days. This the head teacher had told us, her features gaunt with vampiric age, in a tea and cookies gathering after the Nutcracker of the year before. We had been in her house, and in her small sitting room on the second floor, surrounded by plush furniture and seated with a giggly solemnity on her blue oriental carpets. There she had warned us that dancers live by their bodies, and once upon a time, she had been forced to sell hers. I didn't ever find out what she meant, only that she regarded it as a great sacrifice for her art.

I picked up my dance bag from the corner, and was startled to hear, quite softly, coming from the teacher's private practice room, music still. But I did not have the desire to check who it was, lest it be clear that I was leaving with a blasé disregard for needing someone to unlock the door and let me out.

From there I navigated down the dark green stairway, with the black rubber diamond impressed steps, set at very tiny increments. There was only one light, and I startled again at the bottom, because I thought I heard a click and the music stopping.

I had a tell tale heart moment as I fished for the keys, unhooked them from a ring on the inside of my pink hello kitty dance bag… yes I had the umbrella and the coat, though the coat had long since been given away… and drew them up with an exaggerated exactness, and with perfect aim slide them into the slit. I turned the keys with an unyielding pressure, and the deadbolt lock slipped open from the other side. I clicked off the light switches that controlled the main teaching room, and there was a gauzy not seeing in front of my eyes.

I slipped open, straining to hear the comforting sounds of the bad pianistic rendering of Ci Darem la Mano, but could to hear anything but the shifting bang of vents from the heating. The temperature was warm, and I half thought to turn the thermostat down, but knew that it was now the responsibility of who ever had the light that shown like a rim around the teacher's door.

I walked to the showers, there being only one set here, as opposed to the locker rooms below where they were safely ensconced.


In that white tiled room, with its small windows, I undressed hurriedly, rolling down my leg warmers, pulling off everything. I was afraid, so afraid, but I could not bear the weight on my skin another moment. The tight tile of the walls induced a kind of vertigo. I reached out, turned a knob, and stood aside as the water spat out. That first burst would be cold, but now, on a night without a sporting event, it would be warm quickly enough. When the steam began to rise from the falling stream, it was time to twist the chrome knob, flecked with tarnish, to induce a small amount of cold water with the stream of warmth.

Under that stream I slide my body, still practicing my arm positions and trying to move with the grace that I imagined could still be reached.

It was after wetting myself down that I realized I had forgotten the soap, and stepped forward, still using floor shoe walking, pressed my palms to the wall, pulled my leg back and spun slow around to face my dance bag. It was then I startled.


There was a fellow. Male. Student. I knew him well, he was destined for something. Perhaps not ballet, or even the dance, but something. It was the quality he had that made it impossible to take your eyes off of him. From the shock of straw blond hair, to the cruel line it traced swept away from his forehead, to the wide doe like blue green eyes, to the aquiline nose, to the flowering rose pink of his lips, to the setting of his jaw that traced just so a "V" that was sharp enough but not too sharp, to his neck that was slightly too thin for his head, to the perfect contours of his shoulders, to the flatness of his chest and purity of his abdomen, down to his very large and powerful thighs and legs.

Of course, this being of that age, he was sniggered as being homosexual, even though he always had a girlfriend if he wanted it. Adonis was a word that was coined to stamp his face on it, and he was both a gentleman, and rich with a love of purely beautiful things, and a mind that was a parade of sublime terrible hopes of other worlds far beyond suburbia.

He was completely naked, having carelessly and casually shed his clothes and dropped them on his dance bag before turning inward.

He now stared at my eyes.

I stepped back, my buns hitting the tile wall, and bending. The wall was not particularly cold, but a rattle chilled upwards. My face was flush, though I am sure he could not see it. My arms formed a circle in front of me, half trying to hide my nakedness, and half still following the exercises.

He stared. And I began to stare. Stare at his mid section, and the only thing on his body that was moving save for the slight rise and fall of his chest. It twinged upwards, and then in a continuous slow lift, as if it were pressing a ballerina high into the air above his head with one arm, reached upwards like an arm. Finally it was simply a spear that pointed upwards and was just shy of his navel.

There he stood like a statue.

There I stood like a victim of a car accident.

I could not help but trading my glance between that face, so swept by a natural wind with its sunken cheek bones and ruddy flesh, and the visible sign of his being not just a male, but a man.

It was at this particular moment that I realized how inarticulate my art as teacher had been. It was not that being nude had any terror or novelty for me. I had drawn enough naked works of art, and stared at enough art books that the mere fact of a man having his sexuality thrust forward did not stir anything in me as out of the ordinary. In fact, I thought of it as the natural condition, because in reality had had a mortal terror of interaction, and had only allowed my self to absorb the sights of the human body fully in art. I would later learn to overcome this.

Nor was it his being erect. I was not, in a sort of technical way, a virgin, I had clasped my hand over men locked in firm need and throbbing readiness. I had taken them inside me, though in a clumsy way, more than once. Though each time had produced a strange disconnect.

No, it was that no story, painting, sculpture or play, not film, nor ballet, had prepared me for this. The novels that were approved of had all been soft and gushing in their descriptions of something called love, and the stories talked in a kind of cliché about


As if a woman was a cow to be pulled along by desire, her consciousness dragged along like a sack behind. Neither the gooey weepy approved version of femininity, nor the sex stories of steaming holes were, in any way that I could understand, remotely like this moment.

I stared at his eyes at this.

Since I was very small, I had wanted something, to be rushed like a wave, stared at and overwhelmed by it. I had felt this tidal heave in my chest. I had often felt the sensations of arousal. But until this moment, that, and the erotomechanics of sex, the visual cues of sexuality and maleness, and lived in different places. I had felt warm waves in my mind, I had felt my body ripple with the pulsing of muscles, the wildfire sweep of goose bumps and the shiverpulsepointpush that begins in a place in front of the hips and behind the loosening relief of pissing.

Years of art had made me know the sights. Years of ballet had made me aware of my body. Years of movies had made me eager for romance. Years of being aimed at medical school had taught me both the words and the earnest matter of factness of the human condition known as sex. But they were, like my body in the mirrors, in pieces and all angled at strange points. The ceiling and I shared that pointedness.

So the sex story girls with their faux surprise, the romantic heroines with their protestations of "I am Heathcliff!" were there and then pressed aside in my mind. For the first time, I yearned. For the first time, I could feel the stretching sense in my palms that made my figures want to stretch out. The alignment of the bright sunlight of romance, and the dark moon of desire, came then and there into alignment. Then and there the easy words of romance were blotted out. Strange shapes of darkness crowded around the peripheries of my vision, and in the center of a shifting oval was his face.

Eclipsed was my waking world of articulate expression, but burning bright was the corona of my need. And in that moment of alignment I knew, that the only language that would speak to this moment, was taught in French, but was spoken in gesture. The dance. The dance. The. The. The.

It was then also that I was intensely aware of the slight prickle that came from having shaven pubic hair, but having missed an appointment with one of the pink razors I smuggled into the house. My Ba


Again the cliché's were failing me. The romance novels talked of nothing but vague emotional rhapsodies, and the sex stories were about gallons of wetness. I was showering, of course I was wet. Instead, it was the prickliness, which I felt certain had to be imagination more than true sensation, the difficulty filling my lungs with air, the sense of my consciousness dropping down in my body.

But most of all, I was in the grip with the eclipse of alignment, that brought together my long long long wanting of something, with the sights and intense concentration on the body, and also, also also, my earnest checklist mentality of doing what was supposed to be done.


I stared. His erection was still a great spear point, and he had fallen into the stance that every romantic hero takes, legs in second, arms in fourth. Beckoning. God, such turn out.

I banged my hard hips against the tile, and spread my feet to second as well, creating a sense of exposure and I hoped invitation.


I rolled to standing, and settled into second position. I wanted him to come to me, and if my first, somewhat club inspired stance against the wall did not do it, then perhaps, I thought, this might. But I desperately wanted him to come to me. His saying of my name had put a burn to my cheeks. Both sets. I could feel not just blood, but an itch to my lips.

Both sets.

I wanted to pull myself up, and felt as if a wire drew straight through my body and pulled out the very top of my head was drawing me up. I wished, at that moment I knew more about the dance of men and women. The craving to align was so strong, I pulled on my muscles in a way that I imagined was opening myself for him.

But I did not advance. I knew that not only did I not have dance not 10, but I did not have looks anything like 10 either. No tits, no ass. And no time to see the wizard on Park and 73rd.

His lip twitched, and I could tell that he, like me, was locked.

"I don't have long."

I let myself slide under the water and let it run over my hair. But he did not even inch closer. I spread my legs wider and bent down, sweeping them against the tile floor, and then bent up.

He looked, but did not move. Nothing on him was moving.

"I'm not a virgin."

He looked at me.

"I have…"

"Is she a virgin?"


And with an edge from out of a soundtrack.

"Then you haven't had anything yet."

There was a bang of the heat going off. We didn't startle.

I pushed my hands up over my chest, I fiddled with my nipples, like they were knobs. I looked at him. He looked at me.

Then, ratcheting down, like gnome was manipulating a mechanical gear, his erection dropped step by step. First it grew smaller in my sight, as it pointed to me like a spear, and then it hung long downward, and finally the tip retreated upwards until it was, still larger than its relaxed state, but no longer more than the comb of a cock that crows, rather than the weapon of lust imagination.

He turned to face me.

"Not now."

I was left staring as he bent down and dressed. Each piece of clothing sliding back over his body and transforming him again into that distant unattainable. Had not gotten the part, I would not, when auditions came, do more than get the back of the corps.
But in that midnight eclipse, I had found alignment, and even as, in that moment, the moon slide away and lit me again with the ordinary need to be in the right place at the right time, came over me. My showering completed in double time, and I was on the back lobby chair doing homework when Ma arrived.

We would only dance once together for more than a few steps. We never would have sex, but once, once, once, before the eyes of a dozen catty fellow students, and two teachers and who knew how many parents, we would make love.

The Dance of Three

You wanted she and I, she and I.
You wanted she and I to dance the dance
to dance the dance of three.

You wanted her hands on me, her hands on me,
just to know it, just to see.
Her hadns about my bosom lush,
slowly, slowly without a rush.
Her lips on my nipples red,
with all the words of passion said.

You wanted she and I, She and I,
To dance the dance,
To dance the dance of three.

You wanted her lips on my bright pearl,
her eager tongue over softness whirl'd,
her cupped palms upon my hips,
while farther down her kisses slip.

You wanted me to take your member in my mouth,
and feel me stifle coming's shouts.
you wanted me to have my eyes grow wide,
as you ever pressed it deep inside.

And then like thief of heaven you would change,
and the whole erection rearrange,
so that between her soft thighs you would break,
and her wet desire then would take.

The desire built by pleasuring me.
You know, you know that is what you wanted free.

You wanted she and I.
She and I.
You wanted she and I to dance the dance of three.

You wanted then to take my hips,
and plunge the ring of fire that lives there,
while your mouth devoured her to make us a pair.

You wanted she and I, so much she and I
to dance the dance,
to dance.
to dance the dance of three.

Which is why I smile as she sighs,
and looks not into your eyes,
but shing forward breast to breast begins to touch,
her need so clear and now so much.

Which is why you are so astonished when she sighs,
and in that ahlted dance of three,
looks to softness and says
"Darling will you marry me?"

You wanted.
But she and I, she and I,
have finished with this dance of three.


O holy lamb, what soft prayer was heard?
What wind makes you, a glorious wave,
that crashes on my golden shores?
What rain falls, that showers your kisses on me?

I do not mistake that rolling wave that runs
from the rock that pierces the surface of my desires,
you have no idea how hard it is,
how how its roots go down into me and wrap around my depths.

Ah but it is not for you , for you, for you
but for the money that through either flew.
My rich burning is not ashamed to be,
for the money that you gave to me.

I sit and grasp my pleasure with inner grip,
while your hands from the keyboard slip,
and I pulse with desperation,
not for you r love, and mine is imitation.

Not it is the cruel whoregasm that I crave,
and silent hours that make me brave.

AH, oh dear, the time is near,
I am coming quick, bold and without fear.

It's not the stupid things you say,
nor how you rush while your wife's away.
It's vanity that makes me glow,
and that you want me enough to part with money.
This I know.

You want your aged hands on my young soft skin,
you want your real cock to invade my within
and when you can't have these wishes cold,
sudden neo-youth's desire turns very old.

You seek for my address, and real abode,
with every power of intern-nodes
calling engines of search and find...

But all you have is truly my mind.
The one that weaves these dreams for you,
taht sees your darkest wishes through
that caresses your scar'd life,
and calms the pounding inner strife.

You do not understand love of which I give,
to be in half existence here,
so that your there might live.

By giving you what your passion demands,
though we be parted by many lands,
my curves though an image of what is real,
are the only thing you need to feel.

I know you want me to be desire's slave
and chant your name in real world's days.
But you and I know it cannot be,
that is why you came here, to me.

Sunday, November 11, 2007

The Lillie Black Test

Your primary avatar:

1. Do you have a shape different from the default?
2. Do you have a skin different from the default?
3. Do you have a skin which depicts nipples/public hair/anything that would get you banned from a PG Sim if it were exposed?
4. Do you own a sex attachment (for men, a cock etc.)
5. Do you own a scripted sex attachment?
6. with a HUD?
7. Do you have multiple shapes/skins just for being nude?
8. Do you own a prim sexual attachment other than a cock?
9. Do you own piercings of erogenous zones?
10. Chains to go with them?

Your basic experience:

11. Have you SL danced on a PG pose ball with another avatar?
12. Have you SL danced with the hopes of getting SL sex?
13. Have you cruised the nude beaches hoping for SL sex?
14. Have you been to Phat Cats or other major dance hall and taken someone to another location hoping to have SL sex?
15. Have you used an SL PG, but erotic pose ball? (e.g. Kiss)
16. Have you used an attachment, such as the kiss or hug attachment with intent?
17. Have you used a multi-attachment, eg, Rendez-vous?
18. Have you had a "date" on SL?
19. Have you used a verb or word associated with sex that your spell checker does not know
20. Have you asked someone to have SL sex?

Common experiences.

21. Have you cybered (sexual acts by text) in SL?
22. Have you used a pose ball animation pair with another avatar to have SL sex?
23. Have you used a multi-animation bed as part of SL sex?
24. Have you used a sex menu on something other than a bed or couch for SL sex?
25. Have you used private voice communication (e.g. skype) as part of SL sex?
26. Have you used SL public voice to have SL sex?
27. Have you used cam as part of SL sex?
28. Had RL sexual experience with someone you met, and had SL sex with, first?
29. Had your first IM to someone be a proposition for SL sex/been propositioned on a first IM?
30. Accepted and had SL sex?

Baby kink.

31. Have you been to an orgy room/free sex room?
32. And had SL sex there?
33. Have you been to a strip club in SL?
34. And ended up publicly naked while there?
35. Been banned from a Sim because of being too sexual?
36. Had public sex in SL in an area not normally devoted to public sex?
37. In a PG Sim?
38. Have you used SL to simulate a sexual activity you would not ordinarily perform?
39. Have you then tried this activity RL?
40. Have you then made this activity part of your sexual repertoire?

Soft BDSM.

41. Have you participated in acts of restraint in SL as the person bound? (Bondage)
42. Have you participated in acts of restraint in SL as the binding person?
43. Have you participated in acts involving accepting pain in SL? (Discipline)
44. Have you participated in acts involving inflicting pain in SL?
45. Have you cruised for a partner solely for the purposes of bondage/discipline?
46. Have you offered yourself to a partner solely for the purposes of bondage/discipline?
47. Have you accepted a collar, or other form of outside of control of your avatar for the purposes of sexual or erotic experience?
48. Have you collared, or otherwise taken control of another avatar for the purposes of sexual or erotic experience?
49. Have you scripted a sex scene which required the adherence to strict rules by the other parties? (Dominance)
50. Have you accepted a heavily scripted sex scene? (Submission?)

We ain't nothin but mammals (mostly, sort of, well... give it up carbon unit, you've been assimilated.)

51. Been in an steady SL relationship
52. Rented a place specifically to have SL sex?
53. Bought land specifically to advance an ongoing SL relationship.
54. Been partnered in SL?
55. Been pregnant, had your primary partner pregnant in SL?
56. Been collared/collared another in SL?
57. Been partnered/collared more than once?
58. Proposed an RL relationship to anyone you had an SL relationship with?
59. Introduced someone to SL for the purposes of having an SL relationship with them?
60. Been divorced in SL?

SL's National Pass time.

61. Have you had SL sex with one person in SL while involved with another outside of SL?
62. Done so breaking the rules of either relationship? (Cheating)
63. Done so breaking the rules of both relationships?
64. Had SL sex with someone you knew was cheating on an RL partner?
65. Had an SL relationship breaking the rules of an existing SL relationship?
66. Had more than one such relationship simultaneously?
67. Had more than two SL sex partners in a 24 hour period?
68. Had more than five SL sex partners in a 24 hour period?
69. Begun a relationship in SL with the express purpose of cheating/convincing the other person to cheat?
70. Gone back to a relationship after promising not to?

SL's Fastest Growing Religion

71. Have you had sex with both genders in SL?
72. Have you had sex with both genders in SL simultaneously?
73. Have you played the opposite gender with the intent of passing (e.g. not merely a camper alt) in a sexual context?
74. Been hetero-gendered for an extended period of time (more than a week)?
75. Been involved in a relationship with your non-primary gender?
76. Created an avatar specifically to experiment with SL sex with your non-preferred gender?
77. Been trans-sexual in SL (body of one gender, sex organs of the other.)
78. Been hermaphroditic in SL (both sets of sex organs.)
79. Had sex as trans-sexual in SL?
80. Had sex as a hermaphrodite in SL?

The backbone of the economy, entry level.

81. Have you ever accepted Linden for dancing/companionship in SL?
82. Have you ever accepted Linden for cyber in SL?
83. Have you ever accepted Linden for vox in SL? (Voice escorting?)
84. Have you ever accepted Linden for cam based from SL?
85. Have you ever taken out an ad for escorting in SL?
86. Have you ever stripped for tips in SL?
87. Have you done so on a regular basis/been employed as a dancer who strips?
88. Have you been an escort in a club?
89. Worked arranging SL sex for others? (Madame/Pimp)
90. Provided exotic services for Linden? (any fetish, BDSM, etc.)

Soft Kink.

91. Do you own an set of fetish gear? (E.g. latex suit, heavy rubber)
92. Do you own more than 10 sets of fetish gear?
93. Have you participated in oral foot fetish?
94. Have you participated in genital foot fetish?
95. Have you participated in sex toy fetish? (E.g. strap ons)
96. Have you participated in inorganic fetish? (E.g Sex machines).
97. Taken pictures of SL sex acts you were involved in?
98. Taken machanima of SL sex acts you were involved in?
99. Posted either of these to the web?

More post-mammalian behavior. (The sex maybe fake, but everything else is pretty much real. Tanner Mills)

100. Have you ever fallen in love in SL, not as roleplay?
101. Had someone fall in love with you in SL, not as roleplay?
102. Been dumped in SL? (Been in love and had an SL relationship terminated.)
103. Dumped some one in sl? (Had them be in love with you, and terminated the sexual relationship.)
104. Dumped someone RL in favor of an SL relationship?
105. Made large changes in your sexual identity because of SL? (E.g. identifying as bisexual after having had bisexual experiences in SL.)
106. Bought a plane ticket, had a plane ticket bought for an ITF? (In The Flesh)
107. Proposed marriage to someone in SL. That is recognized in some RL jurisdiction.
108. Been proposed to?
109. Accepted?
110. Gone through with it?

The Fur Flies.

111. Have you ever had SL sex as a mostly anthropoid, but clearly not human avatar?
112. Have you ever had SL with a clearly anthropoid, but clearly not human avatar?
113. Have you ever yiffed? (had sex as/with a animal avatar, or mostly animal avatar.)
114. Yiffed with both genders?
115. Had sex as a non-human/non-animal. (E.g. Dragon)
116. Had sex with/as a tiny?
117. Had sex with/as a non-human/non-animal avatar? (E.g. robot)
118. Been double penetrated by a single avatar simultaneously. (E.g. Centaur, alien with multiple appendages.)
119. Been in a furry relationship?
120. Been in relationship where one partner was never human?

Your Avatar and Alts.

121. Have you ever participated in altrotic behavior? (SL sexual acts with an alt under your control at the time?)
122. Had sustained separate relationships as your alt and primary at the same time?
123. Had an alt expressly for the purpose of behavior you desired, but did not want associated with your primary?
124. Run alts of both genders in sexual situations within 24 hours?
125. Had an alt pass as a separate person for an extended period of time in a sexual context?
126. Transferred from a primary to an alt because the sex was better as the alt?
127. Used prims for extreme transformation? (E.g. Prim breasts of extreme size, bimbo-izing, but not furry, tiny or other non-human.)
128. Created an alt expressly to have SL sex with a particular person?
129. Revealed one of your alts for the express purpose of getting SL sex with that alt?
130. Had sex simultaneously as alt and primary? need not be in the same place.

Hard Kink
131. Participated in water sports or other play with feces?
132. Attached RL sex toys to SL command?
133. Exposed your RL to risk of discovery of SL sex practices?
134. Engaged in RL sex work as the result of an SL relationship?
135. Max penetration? (Three for human female, two for human male)
136. Been imprisoned for long periods of time, and unable to leave the keyboard.
137. Practiced extended orgasm command/denial? (I.e. unallowed to orgasm except at command. Required to orgasm as close to command as possible?)
138. Gang banged?
139. Fuck camped?
140. Been ordered to take all comers as part of D/S?

The Backbone of the economy, advanced level.
141. Is your primary SL activity in the direct sex industry?
142. Have you ever managed a club/owned a club whose purpose was SL sex?
143. Have you ever exposed your RL as part of SL sex when not required by the transaction? (Cam doesn't count here, but camming in a cyber session would.)
144. Given RL control for Linden?
145. Trained new escorts?
146. Engaged in acts unpleasant to you for Linden on a regular basis? (However you define you.)
147. Freelanced in a forbidden area?
148. Tried to work an escort for a freebie?
149. Engaged in group sex for Linden?
150. Produced permanent erotica associated with SL, for pay? (E.g. Pictures, stories etc.)

151. Do you have a safe word?
152. Do you know your hard limits?
153. Have you broken through a hard limit in SL?
154. Have you had sex with someone more than twice your age in SL?
155. Less than half your age?
156. have you been required to engage in public humiliation?
157. Have you been required to wear text or tag under someone else's control?
158. Have you been required to transform as part of a relationship? (E.g. forced feminzation, sissification, major changes to avatar. If you think it is, then it is.)
159. Have you required humiliation, transformation or tag from another as a precondition to a relationship?
160. Had a relationship expressly for acting through a major transformation?


161. have you ever engaged in sex as part of a persona that is very different from you? (However you construe you)
162. Joined a roleplay Sim that involved sex as part of roleplay? (E.g. Lost Angels).
163. Spent more than four hours straight roleplaying a single sex scene?
164. Spent more than 24 hours without leaving character?
165. Participated in violent roleplay? (E.g. Kidnap, rape.)
166. Joined a group that advertises anonymous or forced participation in violent roleplay?
167. Adopted as part of your identity roleplayed behaviors?
168. Convinced another to roleplay a persona very different from their own? (Again however the other person defines it.)
169. Have you ever been primarily in roleplay character for more than a month continuously? (Again, however you define not being you.)

Dolcett and other extremes.
181. Have you ever been dismembered as part of SL sex?
182. Have you ever been snuffed as part of SL sex?
183. Have you ever been bang banged as part of SL sex? (Killed on a spot you have set to home, and therefore immediately returned to be killable again.)
184. Have you ever dismembered another avatar as part of SL sex?
185. Have you ever snuffed another avatar as part of SL sex?
186. Have you ever accepted money for extreme activities?
187. Have you ever participated in cannibalism in SL? (Gynophagy etc.)
188. Have you ever been put in a death trap as part of a sex scene?
189. Have you ever been required to engage in SL violence against a third party as part of a sex scene, when that third party was unaware of the agreement? (Sawmetrics)
190. Performed nearly impossible acts? (E.g. Womb fucking.)


191. Have you been a pet for an extended period of time? (Been expected to provide sex access with no questions for another, but not been expected to humiliate yourself as part of the position.)
192. Have you ever owned a pet?
193. Have you ever been a slave for an extended period? (Expected to perform deference regardless of your own wishes.)
194. Owned a slave?
195. Been sold to an individual not previously known to you, and performed as a result?
196. Bought an individual not previously known to you?
197. Been part of a harem? (owned with multiple others, without having outside interests yourself.)
198. Owned a harem? (Owned multiple others, at least two had no other sexual outlets.)
199. Been to a slave/master course or courses?
200. Taught a slave master/course?


For those that believe they have no rl, then the answer to those questions is no. This many not seem "fair" but it is, there is a purity involved in not having an rl, that is reflected.

However many questions are not related to "RL" but "you," by which I mean your identity as the player controlling the avatar.

Two Hundred Questions is just enough to make me think of about another 100 that should be there. Perhaps I will revise this one with suggestions.