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I might have heard a sound from upstairs, or maybe someone yelled at me about who was on the phone.
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He asked me what I was wearing and guided me through masturbation. It was going well but I thought I should be going as far as I could. He asked me what my cup size was. I wanted to know the names of all the plants and animals. At school, I was a shy and awkward nerd. He offered to teach me. So he told me to go slower. He spoke with enthusiasm, genuinely excited about the possibilities, and it left an impression. My screen name invited x-rated conversations. For those of you who are too young to remember chat rooms, they were like Messenger group chats, but with lots of people and only text.
I had two older sisters and I always felt a bit left out or left behind.
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I liked the attention. I told him it was just words to me.
I moved my body around a bit and got my middle finger as far up there as I could and suddenly felt a surprising pain. I remember my dad showing me the different for different groups of people. I was maybe 9 years old.
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I remember being able to figure out the location part, but I had to ask someone what the rest meant. I felt like this was a huge mistake but I was so curious about what this person I had been talking to sounded like. I created personalized fantasies with strangers based on their text and energy.
From then on, I refused to use give people on the internet any personal identifying information. I was always curious, like any kid really. A ton of private messages that almost instantly went sexual.
I had never been so nervous about anything in my whole life which, granted, had been very short thus far. I remember once opening up to a guy who said he was a year or two older than me about it. I learned pretty quickly what to say in these private chats. But I kept returning to the chat rooms. One problem though, he just told me to stick my fingers inside my vagina and move them in and out as fast as I could. It took me a while to understand this because I was and sex occupied 0.
Stay curious folks. I would mirror the person I was chatting with for style and tone. In that newspaper, there was an ad for the computer we were going to have. After watching Notting Hill, I started to use the name Anna as my online alter ego. I looked at my flat chest. I also felt a lot of shame and guilt around having that secret part of my life. I told him so. I decided to use that as my screen name. Online chat rooms gave me a secret part of my life that could be fun and that I seemed to be good at.
I knew it existed for making babies.
I loved it. I remember him calling our home phone before my family woke up. This, uh…was not great advice. They also were all strangers. The unfamiliarity of his voice scared me. I felt like a romance novel writer. That was the night that I closed the door and decided to actually do what I was writing. He told me to pick the one that was for me. I had been pretty sexually aware for a while, and had definitely discovered the joys of the staircase railing, but that somehow felt less like masturbation than if I were to use my hands. For weeks after that, every phone call, every time my parents talked to me, I worried they would find out and confront me.
I forget how old he said he was, but I knew he was older when I gave him my phone.
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I answered the phone as quickly as I could when it rang. When my dad announced that we were going to get a family computer, I remember being very young, maybe 5 or 6. Heck, I might have been 7 or 8.
And at first, I was shocked, then horrified, then embarrassed, then honestly, kind of excited. I just remember it being dark outside and sitting on the step between our dining room and living room as my dad leaned on the arm of the couch, newspaper in hand. No one seemed to have woken up. It would start friendly. I wanted to know what other people think about. He sounded like an adult. I liked how enthusiastic responses were to my answering basic questions about what I looked like. I wanted to know everything about everything. I would gladly eat an entire jar in one sitting.
I ran to the bathroom as fast as I could, trying not to drip along the way. I wanted to know what other people did.
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Maybe 8. Once, I gave my phone to a stranger I met in a chat room. I never heard from that man again, though I intensely feared he would call sometime. One of the first things I tried to do was to get into chat rooms and meet people from across the globe! I had never been so excited. He started giving me examples. I learned all about it as soon as we got it. I wanted to be treated like a Big Kid. I would watch the responses in the main chat room and see how old most people said they were and used that.
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I felt like we were collaborating on a creative moment. I definitely was not going to tell her I broke my hymen masturbating at the computer. He told us about the games and fun programs it had for us to use. Mostly not though.
It felt powerful. We had Encarta 95so I guess I was 7. It was mostly a fun thrill rather than a full-on sexual experience for me. I just remember barely being able to hang up because my nerves were so spastic from the anxiety of getting caught. Sometimes it stayed that way. I think he pointed out a group for.
Some had different text colors, different background colors, but mostly just a steady stream of text.
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I pulled my fingers out and saw blood. They told me what it meant and asked me again. Green eyes, blonde hair, fit. Everyone seemed to know so much more than I did and I wanted to catch up.
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It took years for me to stop frequenting chat rooms. I loved pickles so much that I would have to be told to stop eating them because I was eating them too fast. That was about all I knew.
Often times the main chat room would have lots of people and the lines of text would move too fast to reasonably have a conversation. I was sold!