Cyberlove

           "It's just not working!" Karyn levered herself away from Joe's eager hands, which had begun exploring her blouse buttons almost before his car's engine stopped.
           "What now?" Joe asked, in that tone he used whenever she wanted to talk and he had other priorities.
           "Us. It's not working," she repeated, sitting up straight in her seat, not looking at him, hoping the neighbours weren't spying again. They really should be doing this privately, inside the house. But that might take hours, and she had to be free in twenty minutes for her cyberswim with Zippo the Shark.
           Joe's hands kneaded her shoulder tentatively, assessing the tension in her muscles. With a sigh, he removed his arm. She groped for words.
           "I've been thinking....what I mean is....it's not what I want right now."
           "We're practically engaged," he said flatly.
           "I'm only eighteen. I need more time."
           "Who is he?"
           "No!" she said, too loudly, too quickly. "There's nobody. I just need time to think."
           How could she tell Joe about Zippo, who might be waiting for her in the Internet chat room this very minute? She could almost hear his drawling voice: "Hiya honey--what's your bra size?" That's how it had begun. Karyn, alias Allyshandra (a name she had found in a floridly romantic fantasy novel), venturing timidly into the conversation, abruptly accosted by Zippo the Shark. If it had been a live encounter, she would have snapped, "Get lost, creep!" But she was hidden behind Allyshandra, who replied huskily, "What size do you want it to be?" There was no audio, of course, but the timbre of their voices echoed in her mind as her fingers flew over the keys and her breath came faster.
           "What's he got that I haven't got?" Joe demanded.
           "I told you--there is nobody." Romance. That's what Zippo had. Mystery, Unpredictability. Beneath the sex maniac exterior, the soul of a poet. His erotic whisperings had brought her body to attention in a way that none of Joe's earnest efforts had.
           "I thought things were going great," Joe complained. He was sulking because they were in his car instead of her bed. Her parents were not home, and lately she had been much more passionate, teasing and scratching. He was sure that they would get past petting and into real sex soon. He had stocked up on condoms and arranged a heart-to-heart talk with his uncle Jesse, who had been a popular ladies’ man before he married Tara and settled down. He had even read a couple of those silly romance books with play-by-play descriptions of sophisticated erotic encounters. He was fully prepared to be the perfect lover. What more did Karyn want?
Joe had no idea that Karyn’s ardour was fueled by fantasies that had nothing whatsoever to do with him. She was melding with Allyshandra and the Shark at every opportunity. When they were in their secret cybercubicle, the Shark described in meticulous detail love-making beyond anything she had dreamed of, and Allyshandra had countered with outrageous suggestions. Sometimes, she had phoned Joe after a session. But all the time she was in his arms, she was thinking of the Shark. It wasn't fair to Joe.
           "We can still be friends," she offered, stealing a look at her watch. Fourteen minutes. She had fourteen minutes. She couldn't be late. The Shark usually was. Unpredictability was his style. He might be on time today. Or early. It was their one-month anniversary.
           The Shark had promised to reveal his real-life identity is she would. Would he like "Karyn"? At least it had a "y"--"Karen" would be too ordinary, too embarrassing.
           "Bullshit!" Joe broke into her dreamy anticipation. "Last fall you were bawling, begging me to get engaged--and now you tell me we can still be friends?"
           She winced. They had been together two years then, and she was getting bored. She had needed something more to spice up a relationship that was going nowhere. Parties, announcements, tearful hugs, designer gowns with matching shoes, entries in the bridal registry. But that was before she met the Shark.
           "Forget it! Just forget it!" she snapped. She pulled off her ring, the one Joe had given her for her last birthday, and slapped it into his hand. It wasn't an engagement ring, really, but she had chosen to see it that way. She wished she had time to explain, to be tender, to make him understand. But she couldn't be late. Not tonight.
           She shoved open the door of the car, tumbled out. Tires squealed angrily as Joe powered away. She ran to the house, fumbled with the key. She dropped her coat, flew up the stairs, booted the computer system. Four minutes. Not yet. Make him wait for a change. She took a deep breath.
           The photo perched on top of the computer hutch stared at her reproachfully. She was interlaced with Joe, smiling triumphantly. They were engaged to be engaged. On the frame, a metal plate announced in elegant script: MR. AND MRS. JOE COSTELLO. 
She slammed the picture into a drawer, face down. No, what she was doing wasn't fair to Joe. But it would be even less fair to leave things as they were.
           One minute. Better not to seem too eager, but she couldn't wait.
           "Hiya honey, what's your bra size?"
           "You've worn that one out, you predator, you. Try again." Allyshandra was wearing a new gown. Trailing, silky, with observation ports.
           "You name and number, then, you vixen," he purred, "just in case the Net breaks down."
           She caught her breath. Would he like "Karyn" or hate it? Should she lie? She undulated seductively. "Well, Sharky baby, you'll just have to go first and show me the way."
           Pause. Would he?
           Slowly, deliberately, the letters marched across the screen:
           "My name is Joe. Joseph Costello."