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PERSONAL ESSAYS
posted 3/15/2001
"Hello. I am from Antwerp. May I pleasure myself for you?"
As God is my witness, this was one of my first messages on the web camera conferencing system called ICUII ("I see you too," get it?). The corresponding image wasn't much better: a woozy shot of alabaster flesh, punctuated by stray chest and pubic hair. Somewhere, underneath the Hercule Poirot gut, was a small penis, not quite at attention. A polite penis.
Because I believe polite people should be treated politely, I responded. "Antwerp is in Belgium! I love Belgium!"
And I do. I'm from Buffalo, but one of my closest friends is from Brussels. She organizes international cyberfeminist conferences, complains about the bourgeois EU and never makes me feel stupid for not speaking French.
"Yes," my new companion replied. "I will now touch myself."
I had been told that ICUII was exploding in Europe. In my experience, when people describe an Internet phenomenon as "exploding," what they really mean is, "I was able to ejaculate." Curious one night, I decided to try out the service. I logged onto the web site at www.icuii.com and downloaded the software. It's free for the first month, which is more than enough time to get people addicted. Once the software was installed, I was offered a choice of various "rooms" in which to meet others. Most of the rooms had the prefix "adult" attached to them.
Insanely, the ICUII interface was constructed with the belief that room members would already be familiar with one another. I can only hypothesize that some poor programmer originally meant this to be a way to have one-on-one videoconferences with grandma, and then the Dutch found it. Accordingly, I saw a list of names, but no pictures of people. I soon discovered meeting people on ICUII was an odd cross between Halloween night and a political canvassing job. I was supposed to send random people (who I had not yet seen myself) a message with my picture attached. If they found my image pleasant enough, they opened their connection and we talked. If not, I became the online equivalent of a naked Jehovah's Witness.
The first ten minutes, the stakes seemed enormously high. But before I could relive bad Sadie Hawkins dances of yore, two things happened: I remembered I was a woman, and I discovered the Belgians. The first is easier to explain. Web camera culture is dominated by men who want to look. Understandably, attractive exhibitionist females who don't wish to charge for their recreational activities are as rare as people vomiting money. And yet, while my own womanly exhibitionism was heartily welcomed, it was by no means a necessary condition for fun on ICUII. The Belgians taught me this.
At first, I was disappointed. I thought perhaps we'd talk about Antwerp a bit. Maybe I'd even get an invitation to visit, or he'd offer to send some chocolates. Certainly, I had assumed that Hercule would try to encourage me to nude up myself. Instead, I sat fully clothed, watching an overseas mystery man prod and pull at his unit. Why was I even doing this, I wondered. How was my existence on this system adding to this guy's experience? Then it dawned on me. My presence as a living woman on the receiving end of this show was the experience this man was looking for. I didn't have to do anything; I merely had to watch him. In aesthetics, this is called the "theatre of witness." In junior high school, it's called "Hey, look at me!"
Since my first day, I have used ICUII to watch at least a thousand men jerk off. That is, if you consider being hidden behind a Word document, a Netscape window and a telnet connection being watched. As time passed, I discovered I didn't even have to look at the men on camera, as much as I had to appear to be looking at them. Now, what usually happens is I stare at my computer monitor and work, while they do their thing.
So why do I watch?
I'm not going to lie and say that I use ICUII for purely selfless reasons. I've tried my share of "headless sex" on camera with strangers, but I've found it lackluster. First, there are my body's aesthetic limitations. For better or worse, my best physical features my face, my neck and my shoulders are ones always on display anyway. After that, things go downhill. My breasts are too small to make a real visual impact. My stomach is flat, but this wonderful real-life feature is harder than you'd think to show off on a web camera. And I now officially have computer butt. Perhaps more significant, though, are my technical dilemmas. I roar into ICUII on a 28.8 modem, using an ancient Connectix "eyeball" web-camera. I have no tripod and limited lighting, so I am reduced to shaky hand-held shots to get my point across.
To imagine what it's like to get a beaver shot in my setup, try the following: first, go find a tennis ball (that's your camera). Now, squat under a table lamp, opening your legs as wide as you can. Hold the tennis ball in one hand, your pubis in the other (don't forget to stay in the light) and start rubbing away. Remember to keep your camera hand still while your pleasuring hand moves. And under no circumstances attempt to type in the chat window, unless you are using one of those mouth straws that Stephen Hawking has. You'll know you are doing everything right when your final shot looks slightly more appealing than a boll weevil running across a dark highway.
Having nearly injured myself more than once attempting on-cam sex, I now enjoy the service primarily for the people. I'm serious. Non-communicative Belgians aside, I find that ICUII users are a patient lot. This is perhaps because they are charged a one-time software fee, rather than a by-the-minute-rate. If they didn't have time to kill, I reason, they wouldn't be online jerking off for me. Using this logic, I feel far more comfortable beginning encounters with the line, "Hello! I see you are from Milan and your penis is out. Would you care to answer some questions about hostels before we proceed?" To me, basic tourist information seems a reasonable enough trade for the gift of my gaze.
In fact, sometimes I argue that my ICUII addiction is not just a kindness on my part, but a progressive political act. My cyberfeminist friends don't buy this line of logic yet, but think about it for a minute. We live in a world where the opportunities for men to be voyeurs are boundless, yet their chances to be sexual exhibitionists are fairly limited. I've read enough psychoanalysis to know that displaying oneself isn't where social control lies. Foucault once argued that the power in the confessional lies not with the confessor but with the priest who "sits silently, saying nothing." As I see it, ICUII is a rare opportunity for a certain type of woman to choose silence, rather than to be silenced. In this arena, I can encourage men to make spectacles of themselves while I play a role I'm not easily afforded in daily life: omnipotent voyeur. Plus, I catch up on my Excel spreadsheets simultaneously.
Multi-tasking the sweetest pleasure of modern life.
international cyberfeminist conferences, complains about the bourgeois EU and never makes me feel stupid for not speaking French.
And yet, while my own womanly exhibitionism was heartily welcomed, it was by no means a necessary condition for fun on ICUII. The Belgians taught me this.
in the other (don't forget to stay in the light) and start rubbing away. Remember to keep your camera hand still while your pleasuring hand moves. And under no circumstances attempt to type in the chat window, unless you are using one of those mouth straws that Stephen Hawking has. You'll know you are doing everything right when your final shot looks slightly more appealing than a boll weevil running across a dark highway.
