I Tried to Fuck For Free on Kink – Part1

Having a 3D avatar who gets laid is something that’s been possible for yonks now: who didn’t, in the early 2000’s, get a wicked pleasure making two Sims meet in a bed, and typing “move_objects on” in the cheat codes window to see what would happen under that damn eiderdown moving about to the weird speaking characters’ Woohoos? Knack: the code also worked under the shower.
Actually, this manipulation turned out to be worthy of the lousiest fappers: bodies that aren’t tangled, that don’t even touch one another, no nudity whatsoever, and positions unspoken of in the millenary Indian writings, that look like they’re giving a new and all-but-pleasurable meaning to the word “suppleness”. Bad trip.

Creepy as fuck

Creepy as fuck

Sims Hitting the Red District

The Sims marked the beginnings of virtual 3D life. We were on our own, in our room, controlling an alter-ego, a double, a family, pretending to be some kind of delusional puppet master, screaming things like “Dance for me, puppets!”. But since by definition this family-intended game wasn’t providing any explicitly sexual content, apart from this paltry voyeuristic instant for cheaters in a perpetual search for concealed nudity.
Then, in 2003, instead of remaining in the cocooned world of the Sims, we discovered there was an archipelago out there, filled with real people you can communicate with using a real language, rather than gibberish formulas like “Za Woka Genava” to say “You’re hot, baby!”. On Second Life, when you came across an avatar endowed with flattering pixels, you just needed to type: “You’re hot, baby”. No more frontiers, we were finally free!

It was even possible to fly, FLY! Freedom, I tell you!

It was even possible to fly, FLY! Freedom, I tell you!

Free, or almost, since it left much to be desired on the fornikation side. You’d have better been literary-minded if you wanted to live it up: coitus was a textual relation that basically brought us back to our glorious anonymous hours on whatever Teenchat or Yahoo private chat room, the only advantage being that, there, you could see who you were addressing. But then again, let’s not be suckers: the sought-after avatar’s physique was probably blowing just as hard as all those G19TX (19 year old girl from Texas) we’d ask “HI ASS?” (Age, sex, state) hoping to catch a pixelated boob pic on our mailbox… At least that’s how it worked in France… Didn’t you do that too? This was way before Twitter, the Dediboobz and all that shit. You had to be subtle, clever, and many got lost on the way, thinking that’s where they would find True Love.

Inevitably, introducing more explicit banging within this parallel universe was a challenge for fiddling geeks. Thanks to the abounding more or less ingenious scripts they soon came up with, a mess of interactions became possible: between avatars, face-to-face, but also using objects, like a bed. We were still closer to the Sims possibilities than to actual intercourse, despite the worthy-of-praise effort of some modders to graft some interesting organs to our avatars. We were getting close, but it still wasn’t it.

Some uncertain transplants, but the thought was there.

Some uncertain transplants, but the thought was there.

In 2006, meanwhile Second Life was slowly but surely becoming “the” thing, in the port of Amsterdam, among the sailors who sing, but notably around the red district, some dudes say to themselves there must be something they can do about that open world painfully lacking clearly expressed penetration.
Starting from the name of their hood, the Red Light District, they designed the Red Light Center: roughly the same principles as Second Life, except it very obviously emphasized carnal knowledge. They provided something for every taste, from fur fetishism to BDSM, and of course the LGBT community wasn’t left out.
In RLC, you get the opportunity to be voyeur or flasher, escort or client, to use a plethora of objects – handcuffs, fucking machine, Sybian… The rather conventional side of Second Life also was salvaged, as well as the monetized avatar customization. You can therefore take up impressive careers like DJ, interior designer, or teacher of foreign languages. Life, all in all, but a life in which, to have it off, you need to be a subscription-paying VIP.

Come on, you too can party like a rock star, your boner in the open air, having fun with groupies on a huge bed in the middle of the VIP zone! #VillaSoda

Come on, you too can party like a rock star, your boner in the open air, having fun with groupies on a huge bed in the middle of the VIP zone!

What about Kink, then? Kink progressed gradually. First, in 2009, they adopted the Sims mode with a software program soberly titled 3Dkink. A Sims kind of world: closed, promising regular content updates (toys, threads, rooms…), but… a paying world: $29.99 a month, or $169.99 a year. I’m supposed to pay to raise Cain on my own? Whatever, I’ll try to do without.

Welcome To Virtual Kink

Four years later, that is in 2013, NOW, Kink announced new developments, and with great pump: an event via Red Light Center, and a countdown on 3DKink’s homepage, that already gave a clue – the name of that new adventure in the abrupt world of BDSM was KinkVirtual.com, and seeing what it heralded, the mouse itched my right hand, while my crotch itched under the left one. We were offered, no more, no less, and for FREE, to join Kink’s models, who would joyfully frolic in an “Armory” redesigned for the occasion, inside a massively multiplayer world. How on Earth can you resist that lecherous video countdown announcing a happening worthy of the xBox One launch for May 9th, 2013, at 5 p.m. PDT?

Shemales, ginger Rihanna lookalike, bondage, good video-fun on the way

Shemales, ginger Rihanna lookalike, bondage, good video-fun on the way

D-Day: Time to play! Register (gratis), download the new soft – 100% safe download guaranteed… I’m confident – The excitement of the brand new game is back, just like when I had saved up enough money to buy myself a Pokemon Gold. I am finally there, on the threshold of the armoury of all vices, where I’m going to subject consenting avatars to the worst indignities of BDSM, and meet the models of this major company (almost) for real.
I come up in a room that sets the mood: candles, Saint-Andrew’s cross, chains hanging from the ceiling (at least 13 feet high). I’m facing a bed that is flanked by a rather skimpily dressed #blonde and a more casual #redhead. I look around. On the left there’s a futon, a bar, ropes ready to hang a body up, and a camera, that already gives me a glimpse at the fantasy to direct my own creations and share them on Kink. Not much on the right, except a lovely #ebony wearing jeans and tank, who plays on her own, lying on a table.

Welcome to my crib

Welcome to my crib

Inevitably, I get close to all those objects, and all the models that must be awaiting my sadistic assaults. But first of all, I hasten to disable the despicable music streaming from the game: Every breath you take, on Kink, seriously? I mutate the option and throw in the very best of Nine Inch Nails instead.
Let’s start over again. I approach the girls, but no interaction is available. Mere wallflowers. No use. The camera – a Catapult Super Digital Ultra HD81, for the connoisseurs – is useless too! Woe is me! An unplugged connector, for sure.

The involved director’s defining feature: to be at one with the camera

The involved director’s defining feature: to be at one with the camera

But what is there to do, then? I click on the “paintings” hanging on the walls – to wit commercials for the various sites of the Kink galaxy – hoping I would be teleported to the wonderful world of Hardcore Gangbang, or the Upper Floor. But it’s my navigator that opens up. Those supposed works of art are only banners, and disillusion starts to overwhelm me, but I keep my chin up. I’m about to click on the jumble of ropes, the main reason I entered those walls of pixels, after all, and a message pops up: “You need a partner for this”. Well OK, that’s what I’m starving for! I’ll get myself one.

Dogs are out

Dogs are out

That’s when two blokes turn up in the room, and I cherish the hope to scout the next François Sagat. They hardly take the time to belch a “ha ok rock’n’roll ambiance whip tit-pliers wax on the snatch and not a single sub roooooooo”, and they are gone. OK then, I’m going to have to venture into the gigantic world promised by Peter Acworth, looking for “my” sub.

Lorn

First surprise, I land on “RLC Street”. Basically, this room I thought was the reception area of a 100% recreated armoury where I would stroll naked and come across Dana, Skin or Riley, ready to gladly lend themselves to the deliriums maintained by our collection of good and bad fappers, was nothing but a pretext, a simple window display? That won’t stop me. I was assigned with the mission to take back a gal and tie her to a Saint-Andrew’s cross. I ain’t no copier trainee, and I shall throw myself into this mission body and soul. Problem, that street is hopelessly empty.

A fucking desert

A fucking desert

I go around the clubs, wander from the Passions to the Night Candy, but all these places are empty too. I guess that’s not where I’m going to find a girl and entice her to my den dedicated to extreme pleasures. Fortunately, a subway type of map revives my hope by indicating a Transport Centre. A station concourse, what better place could there be to meet people? I run there and finally come across interacting babes: Lady Julie, Little Fairy and Sasha Feline are there.
They greet me – with all due spelling mistakes – and I say hello too, with the slightly unpleasant impression to have winded up in something enclosed, as if I were the newbie in a libertine club where everyone knows each other. They make fun of me for being a “greenie”, and all this small “community” of “Yellows” forgets about me straight away and starts chatting amongst itself. They are talking about some family affair, respect, excuses… I don’t understand much and see the kinky perspective that brought me here in the first place sadly moving away.

As normal

As normal

Then comes Okarishi. In her I recognize my virtual soul mate. A “Green” like me. Has to be a sign. We’re going to take each other’s hand, drift away from this world peopled by smug Yellows, and flirt amidst the ropes, chains and dildo drills. But as swiftly and briskly as my sweet Japanese-slash-therefore-potentially-bondage-loving beauty appeared, she vanishes. Tough blow.

Kapitalist Diktatorship

I go back to my den and sit down in one of the sofas to take stock of this experience that has already been lasting for too long for too scarce a concrete result. But She is there. Okarishi. She is swaying her hips on my rug/dance-floor, to the sound of God knows what 90’s hit that still must be streaming in this world I wanted to be mine. Now my world is Okarishi. Here we are. Dancing. We are at “my place”, surrounded by all these accessories that ask only to be used. OK, I have a go. I right-click on my oriental beauty, determined to “Invite for Sex” the cute brunette in a maid’s outfit. That’s when a cinder block hits me right in the face: “Invite for Sex” is “VIP-Only”!

Nooooooooo!

Nooooooooo!

So this is the major flaw of what they extolled to me as a way to have a ball, unfettered and for free, with whosoever: it is NOT free. Nothing is free in life, bro’! I wanted to be naive, to believe in an ideal world of limitless love, without the shackles of the capitalist diktat.
Let’s not fool ourselves, I must admit I kind of saw it coming when that big “Upgrade to VIP” logo popped up in the upper right corner of the screen, but I quickly disregarded it. Bitter like after a night out getting badly sloshed, I decide to drag my resentment around this gigantic world to drown my sorrow. Easy enough to get lost in there, by the way: you click on a door and arrive in some place; you want to get out and click on the same door again, but you scarcely return to the place you just left… That’s how I found myself on a beach, in a karaoke, or even on a boat, through my disillusioned chance travels.

Golden retreat under the coconut trees

Golden retreat under the coconut trees

Virtually walking from bar to bar, and from club to club – the majority of which I can’t have access to because of my pariah/loser status, and welcome me with the message “You don’t have the permission to enter the requested region”, as if I was some illegal immigrant trying to land in Lampedusa – I FINALLY find the small heaven I was longing for: the well-named Palace Sex Pit. Quite a few people are there, yellow and green, and I also discern some bots positioned at the entrance of some sort of VIP zone holding several beds. When I right-click on those bots, I can either “Invite for dance” or “Invite for massage”, without needing that damn VIP-pass that caused my downfall.
The massage takes place on a bed, and it resembles a chilled out anal palpation in public, to the sound of an electro mix that steadily sends an unsettling “Face down ass up, that’s the way we like to fuck” that makes me want to gulp down happy pills in a field in Brittany. My avatar seems to enjoy the quality time he’s spending with that robot dressed like a manor bunny…. So I guess I’m going to savour that free stuff I fought so hard to get, to the fullest, for lack of anything better.

Happy ending

Happy ending

Originally translated from this post by Ms Alice

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