I was born a druid in Bertoxxulus, swift of foot and adept at every combat and magical arts. Jack-of-all-trades, they called me, and I honed my skills by defeating bats, deathfist pawns, snakes, rats and skeletons that wandered outside the gates of Freeport, hailing everyone to my heart’s content.
“Drink the mead, raise the flag and wander ye outside the gates of Freeport to the Deserts of Ro,” proclaimed a drunk.
I heeded his advice and was soon walloped by a dark elf standing at the edge of the desert, where the trees disappear into sand. This happened several more times, and I retreated to Freeport where I sulked in my cheap metal weapons and tattered armor.
I stopped by the Freeport Inn so I could return to real life and call my husband. I wanted to know why I kept that Dark Elf kept killing me. The whole experience left my heart racing, and I was in near tears in frustration when I saw the /say chat light up on my screen.
(Female name) says: “Lay down on the bed and let me remove your leg plates. You are so heavy with sweat, and I want to whistle blow cool air onto your skin, my love.”
(Male D&D name) says: “I am hard from battle and want your gentle touch. But if you come near me, I will rough handle you with the calluses of my sword hardened fingers.”
(Female name) says: “I am not wilting flower, not a female whose petals would fall so easily. Rough handle as you will, for my rogue abilities will allow me to step behind and grab your ass.”
(Male D&D name) says: “Then remove your bra for me, sweet one, and let your breasts fall onto you soft skin.”
(Female name) says: “This isn’t a peep show, druid. Get the hell out of this inn and leave us alone!”
And thus began my foray into the world of Everquest, where killing dragons and insulting people over loot items seemed secondary to roleplaying cybersex. It took place at the inns or in remote, out-of-the-way zones among players who enjoyed marrying their characters or the guild leaders who enjoying bartering elite weapons and armor for explicit hot chat. It seemed to happen everywhere.
When my character was old enough to wander the West Commonlands without dying too often, I was invited to join a spider killing group by a cleric that wore bright red armor. The group would include a new guild member, a mother of two who played with her husband. She enjoyed rolepaying a halfling druid, and her husband played a warrior. Quiet guy, the sort who was far quieter than his chatty wife.
Off we went in our little group, onto the grassy Commonland field. The group designated me as the official spider puller, so off I went. I knew this zone well, and quite liked it except for the presence of another angry Dark Elf that like to attack passing adventurers. I had died to him often, and the group setting would guarantee that I would at least no longer die alone.
And so I pulled a few spiders, bringing it back to the group in small waves. It was fascinating and uninspiring until I viewed guild chat.
(Cleric) says: “God I’ve been waiting to take off your panties all day.”
(Mother of two) says: “I am sitting in the middle of the floor masturbating to you, babe. My husband is in control of my character. I am so hot.”
(Me) says: “WTF?”
(Mother of two) says: “Oh, honey. This is what always goes on in our groups. We wanted to see if you’d be game, too.”
Well, no. Not really. However, I did not want to appear impolite or ungrateful. I also bristle against prudish behavior, and they were really quite kind to invite me to join their spider group. I had not yet learned the etiquette of online MMORPGing, and did not want to break any social rules. So I endured a good twenty minutes of explicit cybersex, as did the mother of two’s poor husband, who seemed to be seething. His character was wandering in circles, as if in some sort of trance tantrum. The mother of two’s druid was sitting still near the zone edge, contributing nothing to our gameplay other than to litter chat screen with graphic sex chatter.
This was not comfortable, but I wanted to act casual. It seemed important to appear as if listening to someone else’s hot chat while killing spiders was so commonplace, like spying on your neighbors or openly reading anime porn on the commuter train.
So I pulled spiders at such a rapid pace, carelessly bringing along skeletons, the angry dark elf and other critters that caused the group to die several times. No one ever seemed to notice or care. The experience of the adventure was secondary to the hot keyboard action, and I quickly disbanded from the group after feeling that I had reached the obligatory of staying in an adventure group.
I would eventually kick the mother of two out of the guild for flirting with a 13-year-old. That was gateway behavior for a future of cybersexing, and I did not want the police banging on my door for allowing spider sexting with a minor. However, it was like killing one fly in a room filled with thousands of bugs.
There would be so many other incidences of cybersex that seemed to color my Everquest experience. For every genuine moment of game play where we were able to defeat dragons with large groups of friends, there would be that standout moment in a small experience group with an unfortunate Dutch man who, while playing a cleric, accidentally typed his private chat to the group.
(Dutch cleric) says: “I want to take off your bra with my teeth”.
He quickly sent a rapid fire succession of pre-programmed macros about healing, scrolling the text on the chat screen so fast to eliminate all evidence of his mistake. But I saw his error, committing it to memory along with thousands of other similar incidences.
I would eventually move on to World of Warcraft to a PVP server, where the only comparable situation would occur was when a father of two would play the song “Ass & Titties” into Vent (live chat talk used for raids or general socializing) until being muted.
All this seemed so long ago.
I fired up the old Everquest account a few days ago to play with some very good friends in France. While the game seems a bit dated compared to other, far more sophisticated MMORPGs, Everquest was the best in allowing players to interact with others from around the world. Even if that interaction was a bit naughty. Spicy. Let’s see what happens this go-round.
(c) 2014 Slow Suburban Death. All rights reserved.