Yet nearly two decades since Chat RP’s heyday, there is still very little (if any) awareness of it.
Literary scholars and magazine writers don’t notice it, and in fiction circles, Chat RP is still practically unheard of.
And this new lover need not reveal the mundane boundaries set forth by their race, nation, or gender.
They are an invisible challenger, forcing the writer to confront their own desires, to probe them: why Her stocking clad feet and lower legs — or what was visible of them from under her long, black dress — were dainty and voluptuous, a characteristic which wouldn’t be so amiss to describe the woman herself.
Neko-cats, the old and the “enhanced,” the elf and the tentacle alien, all mix in orgiastic pleasure, for it’s not merely the imagined body that titillates the mun, but the writing, the opportunity to extend your literary imagination.
My own characters have profile images of “anime traps,” men who are either gay or so feminine that cisgendered males find them attractive.
Names like “Panda_girl” and “Daughter_of_hades098” post what looks like nonsense, but I can feel them too searching for a heart to warm against their own, a muse who can convey themselves better than the language they possess.
I snub them, exit the chat, and skim the other room names: “Beastality 4U,” “Nekocat Daycare” “Dirty School Girl RP” and “You are in a mansion rooming with an opposite sex roommate what will it turn into.”I enter a chat room called “Hooter’s Bar and Restaurant,” and scan the room’s posts for a significant other.
The writer was known as a mun, meaning “mundane,” and was only referred to via the character (“Kawika’s mun”), while written gestures like “need not mention the subject at all.“I have no qualms with very slowly disrobing,” turning back to @Kawika G, “I didn’t catch your name, miss.But I’ll dare, since you seem so tired, to imagine something to wake you. Specifically, a lap dance, from you, to the lucky volunteer, me.” Voice was sweet, dripping playful charisma, “But don’t you think about touching me.Five seconds into a chat room called “Slave Adoption Center,” I receive three invites to private sex plays. From the small purview beneath a sunhat, finds a table and, kicking legs up, sifts through a newspaper kept rolled up in a left sleeve, letting the sweat-mixed print rub off on fingers.first time in two years entering a roleplay chat room, and though the medium has transformed time and again since I began, the writerly high I get from spinning the perfect post, and partnering up with an anonymous writer to clash literary talents, still remains palpable. I dig deeper into my trench, and prepare the next round. It was early in 1997 when I first entered a chat room and pretended to be an invented character with an anime face and a pansexual appetite. You could recognize Kawika creeping open the tavern door, holding the bracelet’s silver chain to keep those crystal charms from announcing a new presence.