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the screen, but Tdye was silent.
Still, Philip felt his presence as if he were in the room. In fact,
Philip got more pleasure from this PRIVATE SHOW than any other he had ever given. What would Sprakie say? He
needn’t guess. It would not be favorable. When finished, Philip
typed:

    Flaxen One says: “Tdye, are you still there? You
didn’t pass out on me?”
    Tdye says: “My name is Thomas.”
    Flaxen One says: “You don’t need to tell me
that.”
    Tdye says: “I want to.”
    Tdye says: “I need to.”

    Philip’s breath hitched. He retrieved his underwear,
preparing to return to the general chat. He eyed the clock to
assure that he had made a good hundred bucks for manluv , but
had a guilt pang for the enjoyment — and on someone else’s
dime.

    Flaxen One says: “Thomas, you say. You’re a student,
right?”
    Tdye says: “I write books.”

    The tide engulfed Philip’s mind and he wanted to
leap through the monitor and touch this invisible man, who writes books — this friend of Uncle Dean .

    Flaxen One says: “I like books. Did you like
me?”
    Tdye says: “I have never seen anything more
beautiful in my life than you in your complete unattire.”
    Flaxen One says: “I work for tips.”
    Tdye says: “I pay for art.”
2
    Philip had been waiting for Tdye’s return.
Now, as he sat at the edge of boredom with the attentions of Asspounder and Papuppy on the keyboard, the chat
queue lit up:

    Tdye has entered the chat room.

    Philip forgot where he was. The room disappeared. He
only saw that Tdye had entered the premises and the rest of
the trolls became background noise.

    Asspounder says: “You look so sexy tonight, mon
Flaxen!”
    Flaxen One says: “Evening, Tdye.”
    Tdye says: “How are you tonight, my angel?”
    Asspounder says: “Flaxen, are you ignoring me? You
look so sexy.”
    Flaxen One says: “Sorry, Asspounder. Thanks.”
    Tdye says: “Philip, can we talk?”

    He called me Philip. “Can we talk? Yes. Yes.
I want to talk to you.” Philip knew that Asspounder’s mouse
was hovering over the One on One button. I need to move
this along fast.

    Flaxen One says: “Tdye, we can talk.”
    Tdye says: “Private chat.”
    Flaxen One says: “Yes, now.”
    Tdye says: “If I can locate the button, I shall be
there.”
    Flaxen One says: “You found it before. Top right.
Top right.”
    Asspounder says: “I’ll see you first.”

    “C’mon, Tdye. Press it. Press it. Press . . .”
    The PRIVATE SHOW screen popped up. Philip
focused on the monitor line. If Asspounder gets here first, I
swear I’ll turn the fucking machine off.
    “C’mon.”

    Monitor 1 says: “Tdye has entered One on One
chat.”

    “Yes.”

    Flaxen One says: “Thomas. You’re in.”
    Tdye says: “I thought he would beat me to the
button.”
    Flaxen One says: “So did I, but you’re here
now.”
    Tdye says: “And I could spread you on bread, so
lovely you look tonight.”
    Flaxen One says: “Always the writer.”
    Tdye says: “Words fail me.”

    “Oh, my fluttering heart,” Philip said to the
camera, but of course, it was mute and not communicated, unless Mr.
Thomas Dye read lips.

    Flaxen One says: “You better start commanding me or
this will cost you a fortune.”

    Odd thought as Philip had never discouraged long One on Ones — the Master Card or Visa ca-chinking away.

    Tdye says: “No discounts?”
    Flaxen One says: “Tempting.”
    Tdye says: “ I just want to talk.”
    Flaxen One says: “Talk or not, I’m getting naked for
you.”

    Philip yanked his shirt over his head, and then
quickly wiggled out of his jeans. The jock strap was off in a
flash. It wasn’t the kind of strip he performed for the paying
public. In fact, it wasn’t any kind of strip at all. It was more
the anxious shuck one does on a humid day on the beach, when it was
high time to get to sea. To give this gesture some flare, Philip
twirled his jock strap over his head like a New Year’s Eve party
favor, and then plopped back