He was a small man — shorter than his secretary, Becky, I noted — and was impeccably dressed. I was glad that I, too, had dressed for the occasion...I won’t bore you with the details, but after having a very bitter-tasting cup of coffee that Becky supplied, I was seated in a special lounge chair facing a screen. The room was darkened and the show began. I was shown dozens of pictures of girls. Each one showed two, and the two girls were always different or engaged in different activities. In each. Not all of them. But a few. Especially the one. To the one you gave all. Every desire, every fantasy, every painful truth about yourself. You shared what only someone who cared would do. Even private details about how unhappy you are with your life. Your loneliness. Your home life. Your work. Your many nights of unbearable sadness. Always there. Listening to your every word, promising to be there for you, responding every time you emailed or pinged on Yahoo. The one you chose to be your online. More

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