I recently noticed a slave in the tavern I frequent who was vaguely familiar to me, and it got me to thinking on a few things. That's a frightening thought to some, because "me thinking" often leads to "me writing", and consequently. "you reading". Well, the girl was familiar because she, along with her master, formerly frequented a web based chat board that had more idiots than a square dance function at an Alabama high school. Her presence interested me, so I asked her a few questions, and found that he had given up being Captain Bligh on the Ship of Fools, and they both had moved to a place that I knew, for a fact, a few Goreans called home. How bizarre. It reminded me, in a way, of a fellow I once knew some time ago. Now, if you can ignore those strange wavy lines that appear when I have a flashback, I'll tell you about him.

The first time the guy was really spotted tossing collars on females was on a role playing internet game commonly known as a MUD. The acronym stands for multi-user dimension, or, as at times it seemed. Many Underage Dorks. Since I played at one time, I suppose giving out a very poor review files me away in the same drawer, but there is some enjoyment in pure role-play. The difference with them is that no one from this game considers the humanoid race of slavers they play to be anything from a philosophy standpoint. But, one thing was for sure. The thought of the dominance over females certainly had its trappings, and consequently, he searched for other activities of this nature. The BDSM chat channels held his attention for a time, watching little spank and bondage scenes, but the luster quickly faded off of that silver tarsk. Then one day, as he tells the tale with a smile, he happened on to a Gorean website. So enter the world of Internet Relay Chat and the first Gorean chat room. Oh, it was intimidating. There was a great deal of watching, learning, and listening. And it was incredible how well these people pretended they were masters, slaves, and from another world! His cyber-sex was never better.

Then one day something unusual happened. In the virtual paga tavern, one of the men was very harsh with a woman. He was almost brutal, and it sure looked as if the girl didn't even deserve it. Incensed, another fellow left this tavern and opened one of his own, and the friend of whom I speak, went along with him. The new place was grand! It had a virtual mineral spa, a bevy of white silks, and even a web page with flickering torches! The slaves were so happy (and that was important since there weren't very many), and they set up some rules to protect them from the evils that float in the minds of the dreaded HNG. No one was to beat on the slaves. No one was to make the slaves feel bad if they served poorly. And above all, no one used a white silk in any manner unless they were good and darn well ready. After all, they were virginal.. But everything didn't go perfectly in Gorneyland. No, not at all....

At some point, realizations set in on every subject. This subject is one that ends up being incredibly important to many people, and and it finally struck my friend like flamedeath on a bazooka toting Cosian standing in a puddle of Tharlarion piss. Once you begin contemplating the entire picture of this lifestyle, certain illumination globes go off here and there, but when someone who is the co-owner of your tavern, a person you call "brother", ends up being nothing he claims... it hits very hard. It turns out this fellow, I'll call him Doofius, went to visit his slaves which were some ways from him. There were actually four women with him that evening, two who acted as slaves by their own accord, and two that claimed slavery but would not kneel before him. He actually used one of the girls, very briefly I'm told, and hidden away from view. One of "his" girls. One of the girls that would not kneel. A girl he would later ask to run away with him to California...

Later, that same girl would kneel, and that I do know for a fact. Because she knelt for the man whom I am writing about. Indeed, it was the man who would become me. Of course, it took me quite some time before I was at the point where that was possible, and a great bit of wrestling with my own personal demons. In fact, it was more like a steel cage match with Satan and his minions tag teaming, and I'm the guy from the Charles Atlas commercials who gets the sand kicked in his face. Those were some very rough months for me personally, and I wandered about from tavern to tavern, from hall to hall, and even a few inns, camps, towers, and castles. I learned. I saw good people and bad people, all whom were Gorean. I saw other good people and bad people, all whom were not Gorean. It became as clear as a the line of sight between a Cosian free woman's ears that custom was simply that, and the deeper meanings are not held in custom. Needless to say, some of the places I frequented didn't get the traditions correct, either. But later that year Excursus would be born, and would revisit all of those taverns, halls, inns camps, towers, and castles to make light of such indiscretion... That, in itself, is another story.

The point that I try to make this month is simply that I do believe I made it. I am nowhere near perfect, and not what one would call a "consummate Gorean". Yet, here I am. I met some fine people along the way, and realized that the man that seemed harsh in the first tavern I spoke about was simply purposeful and just. It was me who did not understand, and would not understand for some time. And that, to me, is the "other" function of the multitude of channels and websites that make a travesty of a philosophy I hold dear. While it may be used as a tool to demonstrate what Goreans who wish to follow this path should avoid, it can also, on rare occasion, spawn a male who becomes a Gorean man.

(This particular column is dedicated to a good friend, Bear, who answered when I asked.)