"Shit!" said Simon, as a thin trail of semen slithered through the red hair of his freckled thighs. "We've just been making love. Fucking, even. Is this really the time to be speculating about Virginia Falls?"
"That is why we're here!" said Lisa. "To see Virginia Falls. If it wasn't for the International Dot Com Convention we'd never have travelled from Basingstoke to Ghent. That's why we're staying in a Belgian Holiday Inn."
"I still don't really understand what you see in her," Simon continued. He placed a hand on Lisa's angular shoulder and nuzzled her ear, or what ear he could within the jangle of piercings, studs and rings. "She doesn't know you from Adam. Or Eve, for that matter. You might have sent her fuck knows how many e-mails, but she's not exactly been an enthusiastic correspondent. She's just a web mistress for one of those bloody American sex web-sites. Okay, she's one of the most famous and what she writes chimes with you, but all this speculation about her is pointless."
"You really do not understand," Lisa spelled out forcefully. "How can you? You're not a woman. Ting Dot Com is the only site that really speaks for women like me. Virginia knows what she's talking about. It's as if she actually knows me. What she says is so very real."
"Oh, for fuck's sake!" said an exasperated Simon. "I came here for the beer, the chocolates, the sights, and, of course, to be with you." He kissed her affectionately on the cheek, his nose-ring touching the stud through her upper lip with a small ching of contact.
"I know you're trying to be romantic or some shit like that," said Lisa, who detached herself from Simon and made no attempt to hide her pale breasts or her crotch where his semen left a thin sticky trail across the thick brown pubic hair. "That shows how fucking little you understand about me or about women in general. That's what so good about Virginia. She knows about women. She knows our needs and aspirations. She understands women's sexuality and desires."
"So, I don't," said a disgruntled Simon. "I mean, fuck it, we've been together years. Fucking ages. And you've never had sex with anyone else in that time. In fact, I'm the only guy you've ever had sex with. How can this fucking American webmistress possibly know more than me?"
"You just don't understand," said Lisa, grabbing Simon's limp penis and stroking it desultorily. "The things she has to say in her essays. Her poems. Her stories. The things she has to say liberates women. She frees the mind and body..."
"Shit, Lisa!" said Simon, running a finger through Lisa's thick bush of pubic hair and feeling the dampness of his cooling jism. "I've seen this Ting Dot Com site. And why it's called Ting, I really don't know..."
"There Is Nothing Greater," elaborated Lisa.
"And what the fuck does that mean?" continued Simon, positioning his lank frame against Lisa's small skinny body. He pushed aside a strand of her black-dyed hair from her bosom. His own tangled mess of long red hair fell over his face. "It's just a website run by a woman that sells a lot of politically correct sex videos and presents public service announcements scattered amongst ads for dildos, suppositories and body jewellery. And every week you get a chance to see Jpegs of a woman who must be at least forty, over fifteen years older than both of us, with big tits and even bigger thighs, who romps around in the nude, paints herself and sticks stuff up her twat. How can that be fucking liberating or whatever?"
"You just don't understand women," insisted Lisa, arching her head and flicking back her long black hair so that Simon's tongue could more easily twiddle with the ring that pierced her nipple.
Simon really did not understand, Lisa mused the following day as she wandered from stall to stall in the huge sports centre where the website convention was hosted. Each stall was accompanied by one or two, sometimes three, enthusiastic young people trying to persuade the many people attending the convention that their website was worth subscribing to. Not all the sites were likely to be of the remotest interest to Lisa. In fact, hardly any of them were.
It was amazing what there was on the internet. Sites for gardening tips. Sites to buy and sell antiques. Sites that specialised in genealogy. Sites that featured original fiction, original artwork and original music. There were dictionaries, encyclopaedias and repositories of all kinds. And if Lisa were more technically-minded, there was an enormous number of sites that addressed software and hardware concerns. But what interested Lisa most, what she primarily viewed of the vast resources of the internet that spread like a thin slither of shared culture over the entire globe, was Ting Dot Com and its webmistress, Virginia Falls.
Simon wasn't in the slightest bit interested in accompanying Lisa to the convention. He was more drawn to Belgian beer and hanging out with Barry—a mate of his who'd come down from Amsterdam where he lived on a houseboat with his cats, cannabis plants and fat girlfriend. So that left Lisa free to soak up the atmosphere without Simon telling her how boring it all was and how stupid she was to be fixated on a single website. However, as the novelty palled of being able to do exactly what she fucking well wanted without his fucking criticism and the smell of his fucking smelly roll-ups, Lisa rather began to miss his company. That wasn't right, of course. A woman shouldn't be tied to one man's cock. She should be free to follow her own needs and desires and celebrate her femininity.
Perhaps that was why in the last year she'd become so obsessed with Virginia Falls and her website. Of course, the webmistress' name wasn't really Virginia Falls. That was the name of a suburb of Washington D.C. The name was probably chosen as some kind of ironic comment. Or maybe it was just because Olivia Spalding wasn't quite the name by which the webmistress wanted the world to know her.
Ting Dot Com did somehow speak to Lisa. It was angry. Forthright. Uncompromising. Everything Lisa was sure she should be. And also—and she made fucking sure Simon knew this—Lisa had fallen in love with Virginia Falls. Lisa thought she was fucking hot. She wasn't the youngest or slenderest woman in the world, but there was something in those nude photographs of her. She was a woman who swore like a fucking trooper, fucked exactly whom she wanted, when she wanted, and wrote exactly what she fucking well liked. Well, there was something about her that made Virginia Falls the most perfect woman in the world. And although Lisa didn't think of herself as lesbian or even bisexual—and it was true that the only person she'd ever made love to was Simon—Virginia Falls was somehow that bit special.
There were other websites, of course, that occupied much the same niche as Ting. There was Fanny Fart, a British site, which was as much about demystifying femininity as it was about empowerment. There was Oyster, from Canada, which specialised in featuring the photographs of its readers' vaginas accompanied by cunt-related poetry. There was Sunny Squirts from California that had originally been for both men and women, but had become increasingly woman-centric. Nevertheless, it still featured nude pictures of rather too perfect women for the masturbatory pleasure of its male readers. Whereas what Lisa liked to see photographed were women like her—perhaps adorned by piercings, tattoos and startling eye make-up, but otherwise totally natural. And, although Lisa was sure the photographs of Virginia Falls were there for their aesthetic rather than their sexual beauty, it was mostly because they had become a focus for her masturbatory fantasies that Ting had become Lisa's website of choice.
Lisa eventually located the stall for Ting Dot Com. And there in the flesh was Virginia Falls. But she wasn't sitting in a chair signing books, as Lisa imagined she would. In fact, the person sitting at the stall was someone Lisa didn't recognise but imagined it was one of Crab Girl or Mandy Minge, the two editors on the site. Virginia was standing several feet behind the stall and intent on conversation with a rather fat woman with short hair and a neatly tailored suit. At least, true to form, Virginia was dressed provocatively. Her voluptuous bosom was on full display—each nipple, but not all the areolae, was obscured by a cross of two shiny strips of black tape. Otherwise, all she wore were baggy shorts that strained against her full thighs and an array of metal bracelets and necklaces. Nevertheless, whatever Virginia Falls was wearing, or not wearing, there was no easy way that Lisa could see of speaking to her idol, short of an un-English display of rudeness. And, not only was Lisa not inclined to be rude, she was also, truth to tell, rather shy. Even, on occasions, introverted.
"How can I help you?" asked the girl behind the desk who was dressed far less provocatively than Virginia. Her hair was bundled up in a mass of combs and her yellow tee-shirt had the words ting.com written in large black Courier characters. Underneath in smaller italic print was the tag-line: t astefully indecent nude girls.
"Erm..." said Lisa, not at all sure what help this girl could offer her. What she had wanted to do was speak to Virginia. Tell her how much she enjoyed her site. How much she agreed with what she said and how her theme of female empowerment and sexual bravado chimed with her. What she had instead was a bored-looking American girl and just by her elbow a couple of other convention visitors who looked like they had more specific questions to ask.
At last, she drew in a deep breath. "I'm Lisa Triple X. I'm one of the regular contributors to the Ting Forum."
.... There is more of this story ...