Dani, a 28-year-old restaurant manager started using HighJoy because she says she likes sex but doesn't want to sleep around. She also doesn't like how most dating sites facilitate meeting only those people close by. "Living in L.A., it's really hard to meet people and date -- there are too many metrosexuals."

So, through HighJoy, she found a man named David who lives in Spain; they first started communicating when he contacted her complimenting her photo. She responded because his profile showed he had similar music interests (Neil Young, Coldplay, Beatles, Rolling Stones). After three weeks of talking through the HighJoy chat console, they started to use their cameras and toys to have sex. "You can't just go out and have sex with anyone these days, but with this you kind of can," she says. "Real sex is a different kind of intimacy [than this], but this helps get the ball rolling."

Recently, David has been talking about coming to visit her, but Dani says if he doesn't, that's OK-- what they have has gone beyond a normal online courtship, but it's fallen short of an actual relationship.

"I feel closer to David than I do to anyone else I've chatted with, because I've let him be intimate with me," she says. "I've never felt this close to any of the people I've [talked to on other dating] sites ... If he were here, I'd date him, but at the same time, if I never hear from him again, I won't be heartbroken."

My curiosity was piqued after talking to Dani and Greg. Maybe I could have a torrid little online fling, if only so I could tell my grandchildren that I was one of the first ones to have Internet sex. I suddenly was picturing myself as some bold, futuristic sex babe -- I'd be Jane Fonda in the killer sex machine in "Barbarella," or Diane Keaton going into the Orgasmatron in "Sleeper"...

I told all this to a friend with whom I'd been joking about writing this article. I'd been e-mailing him links to weird products I was stumbling upon (like this or this, and he'd instant-message me stuff like "Honey, I love it when you hit Ctrl+Tab!" But when I said that I was actually thinking of doing it, the jokes stopped. "You've swum too deep and I can no longer follow," he said.

I was deep indeed. Was I crazy to even be considering doing this? I decided to consult New York sex and relationship expert Regena Thomashauer, aka "Mama Gena."

"Anything that gets people to relate to their sensuality is a step forward," she told me. "It's possible that people using these devices are people that would be too reticent to have one-on-one contact in person, and for them this is an improvement over having no sensual life at all."

I wouldn't say I don't have any sensual life at all, but I have been single for a few months, and somehow during the course of researching this article, I had begun to find something alluring about the naughtiness involved in a virtual tryst. It was excitingly risky without any of the dangers of bringing a 3D stranger into my bedroom.

As I gamely scrolled through the profiles trying to pick a partner, I found that an amazing number of men were into "anal beads" and "double dildos" -- things I might be able to deal with in the context of a relationship, but upfront it was too much information.

Then I got a message from a 24-year-old in Florida whose profile seemed innocent enough -- he said he was a college grad who likes Jennifer Garner types, and fantasizes about sex on planes. He had no photo, which meant I could mentally summon up Hugh Jackman. Neither of us had audio or cameras, so we just started to type back and forth to each other.

Floridian Hugh was shy, and our conversation was haltingly awkward. He told me he worked in insurance and I told him I had my toy plugged in. He politely asked me if he could try moving my dildo in a "non-sexual way just to experiment." The vibrating ears moved furiously, and I told him of his progress on my end. "Awesome," he wrote. Within a half hour we were having an awkward instant-message version of phone sex. I could've done without his frequent use of "LOL." I also could have used more courting (not to mention foreplay), but I was on deadline, dammit.

To my astonishment, there was something weirdly sweet about the whole thing. Unlike porn, this made me the recipient of all the attention. It was kind of touching that someone -- even a stranger -- wanted to pleasure a real me in lieu of getting off on Jenna Jameson. At the same time, I didn't feel as physically and emotionally exposed as I would be having sex with a man I'd just met if he were actually in my bed.

The physical awkwardness of typing and touching myself was a problem -- kind of like trying to eat an ice cream cone while washing dishes. Yet it was more intimate than phone sex, since Hugh had control over what I was feeling.

Problem was, he was no pro. I had to tell him I was distracted by his constantly asking if I preferred the shaft going to the left or right and to just move the thing himself. Eventually, he started to get the hang of it. I think we were both a little amazed by the whole thing --"Wow! We're really doing this!" he wrote -- but just as we really started to get going...

The vibrator stopped working. The bunny ears refused to move. Hoping it wasn't the batteries -- I didn't have any others! -- I unplugged the whole thing from the computer. This made the screen freeze and I had to restart.

When I logged back on five minutes later, my cyber Lothario was gone, and echoing in my ears were the words of my grandfather banging the vertical hold knob of his pre-cable television so many years ago: "One day, they'll make a better version of this that actually works," he'd say, "and it'll be great."

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