Alexandra Molotkow shares her experience:
I remember the rigours of typing with one hand. I remember careening toward orgasm and politely sticking it out until the guy finished. I remember guys who logged off prematurely, and how easy it was to find someone else to help finish the job. I remember the reliable mix of disgust and pride afterward, and I remember that pride always won out after not very long. Although it felt dangerous, I believed it was safe. I never gave out my real name, my phone number or my address. I never expected to meet any of these men—most of the time, I would have blanched at the thought—and each tryst ended with the simple closing of a window.
The Dish 