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virgin on the net

As she undressed, she kept asking, 'Now Digby, does this titillate you?'
Tuesday 21 May 1996


Dear Rudy. Where was I? Oh yes. Being dragged off by a surprisingly strong Hera towards her room in the Computer Staff's Union country residence somewhere in East Anglia. What was going through my mind? That the last thing I had expected when agreeing to join her on a Pornography Awareness Weekend was a close encounter of the fourth kind.

The surprises did not end there. As she undressed slowly in front of me Hera kept asking, "Now Digby, does this titillate you? And what about this?" If I had to guess which of us had been most behaviourally affected by the creaking blue movies we had just seen, then my vote would go to Hera.

I won't go into detail. At first I was a bit shy, never having slept with a leading feminist before. I kept on worrying that she might subject my technique to criticism. "How typical of a man to put his finger there", "Don't you know that cunnilingus is the only thing a real woman responds to?", or "Where exactly do you think you are going with that?" I had also been told that radfems had little respect for a man's sensibilities and tended to wrench his bits about with the delicacy of stock-car driver.

But it wasn't really like that. True, she was a bit bossy. "I think that's enough foreplay for now," she declared at one point, "time for penetration!" That was at nine o'clock. And at half-past ten. And again at two in the morning. And (I think) at dawn. The last time, just as she was reaching what the textbooks always call her "climax", I thought she muttered "Oh, Dildo!" instead of "Oh Digby". Which was a bit offputting. I suppose that if I had been a woman I would probably have resisted her advances, in the way that women do. I quite fancied her, when I thought about it, but didn't think it'd work. But somehow when a woman over 16 and under 60 drops her fingers on to my lap, all my misgivings disappear.

Oh - and yesterday, following a gas-leak alarm at her commune in Shepherd's Bush, Hera arrived outside the flat in a taxi, carrying an unnecessarily large suitcase. "You don't mind if I stay a while, do you, lover?" she asked in tones that were part affectionate and part commanding. So here she is - it's all a bit like having an affair with your own great-aunt. I'll keep you posted.

Sig exhausted (but happy) Dig

Wednesday 22 May 1996


Posted in alt.newsgroups.civildefence

In light of the current crisis in relations between Britain and Europe, and the escalating deterioration, could anyone out there give me straightforward advice on defending houses and flats against conventionally armed Cruise missiles or ordinary bombs? (It is very unlikely - but not totally impossible - that France might use her nuclear weapons against us.)

Sig Digby and Hera.

Wednesday 22 May 1996


Posted in alt.newsgroups.civildefence

In response to the clever flames from some of my complacent fellow-countrymen, let me ask these questions: did not an entire World War grow out of a chapter of accidents on the European continent? Have not almost all of our highest circulation newspapers described this as a "declaration of war"? Have not men throughout history sought recourse to arms in an attempt to prop up their own section of the patriarchy? You may sneer now, but tomorrow you may be weeping!

Sig Hera and Dig

Thursday 23 May 1996


Mountain-man. Very clever. How to hunt the ice-zebra nearly had me fooled, but "on the trail of the man-eating snow-slug" gave you away. I take it that all your stuff on how to kill a grizzly was bollocks, too, and that you have successfully wasted a great deal of my time.

Thanks. I hope one day that someone does the same to you.

Digby Ponder

Sunday 26 May 1996


Dear Rudy. Sorry I couldn't get back to you, but for the past couple of days I haven't been able to get near the screen. Hera has decided to launch a one-woman campaign against porn on the Net, which she is prosecuting with great determination. It consists of her reading all the entries in the various sex newsgroups and then writing messages to the authors analysing their varying sicknesses and perversions: e-mails asking chaps questions like "and just why do you think any woman would want to do that with you?", and "do you speak like that to your parents?"

I'm only able to mail you now, because - after seven hours' solid messaging - she fell asleep in the middle of telling some teenager from Iowa that she was going to write to his mother if he described once more how he gives himself the best handjobs in the world.

Tant pis, as our enemies across the Channel have it.