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comeback. “Well, you best keep being nice to me if you want it to happen. I save my best work for the bitches who earn it.”
    This will either bring the chat to an abrupt end or shoot things ahead at light speed. I’m not feeling the least bit turned on by her avatar just yet, so I think this will be a laugh if nothing else.
    DancerGirl moves from the towel and is now knee deep in the water with the back of her visible. Her bikini top disappears and her avatar has no tan lines. Trust me to pick up on those little details, but then my sharp eye has been a great asset to me in my occupation. When you appraise a house for a potential client, you need to take notice of every little thing that can add value or reduce it.
    “What are you waiting for, you big talker? Click on my back... Stud!”
    I do as she says, and my avatar re-emerges standing right behind her, his hands working their way over from her back to her breasts, cupping, and rubbing them before the animation repeats itself over and over.
    “Oh, yeah, that’s it. I’m getting so wet now,” she types.
    “What the fuck’s going on here?” a new chat bubble appears in the scene, and as the offending avatar loads, I see the blonde from last night, dressed in a short black skirt with a short sleeved white blouse. Her hair is in a ponytail and not flowing free like last night, but the name doesn’t lie—BluesGirl88 is back to see me.
    “I was just chatting with my friend who was showing me some of the things this chat scene does,” I type.
    “I guessing rubbing boobs must be one of the highlights, but I must ask, do you rub the boobs of all your female friends?” BluesGirl88 asks.
    “Not as many as I’d like,” my typing grows in cheekiness.
    Her avatar is on the sand. “ Get over here now .”
    “Gee, you found yourself a bossy one there, Terry,” DancerGirl says.
    “ Who the hell asked you... slut,” BluesGirl says.
    “Go fuck yourself, psycho.”
    “Hey, girls, can’t we all just get along?” my avatar says.
    “Listen here, Terry. It’s either her or me. I didn’t come here for a ménage á trois with two guys,” BluesGirl88 says.
    “What the fuck?” DancerGirl asks.
    “You were rubbing a man’s tits, Terry. So if you want to stay here and pursue some homo fantasy of yours, that’s fine. As they say, people can be anyone they want on an internet chat site.”
    “Is this true?” I ask the accused.
    “Tell the truth or I’ll find you and hurt you,” BluesGirl88 says.
    “You’re not real and you can’t hurt me, so don’t throw stupid threats around,” DancerGirl says. Her avatar starts laughing hysterically.
    BluesGirl88 transforms into a ninja in full white attire, including the head covering. She has a samurai sword in her left hand and swings it around in a high arc from behind and over her head, and it connects with the neck of her target.
    The beach scene coupled together with the lack of gore animation enabled for the DancerGirl avatar results in the sword going straight through the character’s neck without decapitating her. “That was cool but pointless. Yes, I’m a guy, but please don’t tell anyone.”
    BluesGirl88 invites me to a private chat, and I soon find myself materialising in her virtual mansion again. I close off the chat with the other woman, or should I say man, and find myself in the entertaining room on the second level of the giant house. She appears in a matching white lace crop top with G-string panties, and picks a spot on the carpet and starts dancing.
    “Please be seated for the show,” she types, “and make sure you’re wearing something... comfortable.”
    I zoom in on her, and she’s dancing like the highest paid exotic dancer at an exclusive gentleman’s club. My head stops at the term and breaks it down, amusement growing from it. When I was a boy, my mother told me how gentlemen behaved, and I find it hard to believe ogling a naked woman while swilling booze qualifies someone as a