Online I have several handles that I go by: Sailor Swoon, Gambittina and GrrrrrrrrlPower32. These avatars represent me at my best. Between you and me, I hate my family name. By the looks of that name I should be the Son of David. I’m a daughter. Duhhhh. By playing with identities online I’m able to name myself and become what I want to be. Over the past four months I’ve claimed to be somebody different everyday in order to attract people who are interested in role-playing online. I have another site where people post their interests and desires to meet up with others. Here’s an example:


Will You Be My Spock Slave?

     I signed a contract with a Spock Slave three months ago but things didn’t work out. Turned out the man pretending to be my Spock Slave was into the happy LSD-friendly Leonard Nimoy as Spock  but I wanted him to stick to the logical Spock that would never see the point in doing drugs. If you feel that you’re capable of great leaps of LOGIC and you have slightly pointy ears please drop me an electronic line.

     Serious inquiries only!!

     Make sure that you are very serious about this because my other Spock Slave… oh sure he started out serious. Six months ago we met for coffee at Starbuck’s one afternoon (it’s the only place I know I’m not going to bump into any friends) and he answered with a clear and crisp yes to all three hundred questions. We were off to a good start. His signature was also very rational. 

    When he came over to my place dressed as Mr. Spock he was very obedient and logically followed all my orders. His hair was perfect. “Humans have a strange tendency to feel in control of uncontrollable situations. How fascinating,” he said as he mopped the kitchen floor. His pants were halfway up his shins and his boots kept slipping on the floor. I kept thinking of episode #85. 

     Things went like a pile of tribbles in an entertainment room for the first couple of weeks but then one afternoon he suggested that we try the Spock from episode #57 where Spock turns all emotional because of the drugs produced by giant plants on a planet they’re exploring.  I reminded him that Gene Roddenberry wasn’t too keen on the idea of that episode but that he bowed to studio pressures because of the flailing ratings. That episode represented nothing but a low point in Star Trek history.

    My Spock Slave insisted which wasn’t a very slave like thing to do and I made the mistake of giving in.

    That afternoon when he came over he had a smile on his face and he wanted to dance. His resemblance to Spock had faded completely. I was not impressed.

   “Mop the floor,” I commanded.

    “It’s clean.”

    I opened the fridge and took out some leftovers which I proceeded to splatter on the floor. 

   “See, it’s not clean.”

   “You’re behaving very irrationally,” he said. My heart was beating the action theme music to Star Trek: Dan-dan-dan-dan-dan-da-da-da-da. Dun-dun-dun-dun. Irrational. That was a good word, maybe he was caving in. “And if that’s how it’s happening I’m cool to freak out on that,” he said laughing. 

     I opened the door and asked him to leave. I was worried that he would try to cope some free love with that stupid hippie-shtick he was pulling. His last act of obedience was leaving.

    So I don’t want this to happen again.

    Like I said, serious inquires only.