I am no stranger to having an online social life. For a long time, it was the social outlet I needed, given that I often lived and worked in isolated areas. When the Boyfriend started to build up a new life from the remnants of his old, he joined groups and particpated in things. Mostly the online bit came after, and usually involved message boards run by the groups.
There is a lot of stuff that is discussed in these forums; I’ve been there, done that, myself. Everybody knows that if you are going to interact through message boards, then your screen name had better be pretty cool. Or at least not totally lame.
Inadvertently, while waiting for him to access some online information for me, I glanced at the particular forum he had open and he pointed at a name featuring in the discussion posts, saying that was him. I nodded, absorbing the information in what turned out to be a totally lacklustre effort by my short term memory.
Sometimes, though, my brain, albeit a slow self-starter, can go on ticking over anomalies in screen saver mode; it works out what makes sense and what doesn’t, and it will (eventually) try to clarify things.
Which is why today I turned to the guy, with my brow all wrinkled and fuzzed in incomprehension, and asked, “Why the hell did you call yourself Spankmonkey?!”.
There is very definitely a line between being open and being brazen with way too much information.
Yes, it’s masturbation and that is nothing to be ashamed of. Logically, I know this. Part of my brain wanted to applaud the honesty he had displayed, realistically acknowledging the fact of his single, celibate lifestyle; recognising that sexual needs could be dealt with in a variety of situations and by a variety of ways and nothing about that is wrong.
I wouldn’t do that. I am not that brave. I felt rather pathetic, actually, given that I always like to tease him about how much more experienced I am. (What can I say? My years before marriage were definitely all about empowering the inner slut. I used to think of myself as trisexual, as in try anything once). And yet he was the one who was totally at ease with himself.
The other part of my brain neglected logical form and ethical stance and screamed: “Sicko! Run from this Perverted Son of Onan!”. There was also a teensy, tiny fear that somebody so uninhibited about their activities might just have deeper, darker secrets down the track.
Yes, I know all about supporting one’s partner in their sexual life and if he wanted to be obsessed about masturbation on the internet, and he wasn’t hurting anyone by so doing, then I should just deal with it. But I couldn’t,.
That is not what makes me a bad girlfriend.
Misreading his actual screen name is just really stupid but doesn’t actually make me a bad girlfiend, just possibly in need of eyewear.
Laughing too hard to apologise to ol’ Sparkmonkey doesn’t make me a bad girlfriend.
What does make me a bad girlfriend is immediately stopping any affectionate nicknames, such as ‘sweetheart’, ‘love’ or ‘darling’, that I had previously used for him. This girl is going with SpankMonkey all the way.