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22 December 2023
I now know what it feels like to be a prostitute, thanks to Star Wars. Honestly, how many people outside of George Lucas’s personal assistant can say that?
I found out what it’s like to be a member of the world’s oldest profession through the online world of the Star Wars Galaxies MMO. For those unfamiliar with the term, a "Massively Multiplayer Online" game is one in which every person currently connected exists in the same game world, which is constantly continuing, whether you are playing or not. For example, in the case of Star Wars Galaxies, you might log on to discover that Imperial Forces are attacking your hometown of Anchorhead, and have been doing so for about 30 minutes before you ever showed up. And that Imperial Commander? He’s actually Brad Pederast, murdering your buddies from the comfort of his home in Octorok, Wisconsin.
So after an intense evening of building up my online persona’s marksman skills but not having much virtual money to show for my efforts, I decided to create a new character with the sole purpose of turning a profit. The obvious course of action would be to set up a store and build guns to sell, but I had a feeling that being a fake businessman would bore me to tears. Besides, this was Star Wars Galaxies. And what, above all else, is so sorely missing from the lives of so many Star Wars dorks, myself included? One word: tits.
One of the skills you can learn in the game is that of a professional dancer, relieving any battle-hardened (pun unintentional, I think) warriors you should meet of their combat fatigue in exchange for whatever tips they could spare. However, in my regular role as a novice marksman (as well as from a bit of real-world experience), I had noticed that the dancers who seem to earn the biggest tips are of the curvy, female human variety. So, in the interests of making more money, I shelved my first idea of creating a bikini-clad Mon Calamari named "Fishy O'dor", and modeled my dancer after a busty Japanese girl. I gave my online avatar seductive eyes, pouty lips, and one damn sexy body. I then subsequently set my virtual hottie loose on the planet of Naboo.
I headed into the nearest cantina, where I found the typical crop of brawlers and commandos listening to the usual slitherhorn-players, and watching the provocatively-attired dancers. Ready to fill that pretend bank account of mine, I made my way onto the dance floor and began to shake my polygonal moneymaker. I started receiving a few tips, making sure to thank the more generous patrons so that they’ll be sure to send more cash my way. I noticed a few of them typing some dumb chat comments like “Work it, girl!” or some such harmless nonsense, apparently trying to gain the favor of my fake woman. But I didn’t worry too much about it. But before too long, the night took a turn for the fucked-up.
A system message popped up: "Creepy Guy wants to trade with you." (Creepy Guy’s real name has been changed to protect the poor pervert.)
I opened the trade window to find that Creepy Guy (another player) was offering to give me a necklace. I paused for a second, not quite sure what to do. Creepy Guy then sent me a text message.
Creepy Guy: "Go ahead. Take it. It's free."
I figured, "Why not?", and accepted the gift.
Me: "Thanks."
Creepy Guy: "Try it on."
I opened my character’s inventory, and double-clicked on the icon of the necklace. Instantly, it appeared around my girlie’s neck.
Creepy Guy: "That looks good on you."
My Brain: Umm,...
Another system message popped up: "Creepy Guy tips you 5,000 credits."
Creepy Guy: "Go buy some new clothes. Something sexy."
My Brain: Okay, I think I see where this is going.
My Greed: Yeah. But this guy might give you more money.
In a decision that will forever darken my online playing experience, my lust for more money (albeit the fake kind) won out over my first instinct to run like hell from this dude that was hitting on me.
Me: "Okay. Be right back."
I ran across the street to the bazaar terminal, where you can buy all types of stuff, clothing included. I clicked through a few options, trying to find something a bit more suggestive than the t-shirt and pants I was wearing, but at the same time cost-friendly, so that I could keep most of the 5,000 credits for myself.
My Brain: Dude, what the fuck are you doing? This guy’s like an online predator or something, and you’re trying to find something cute to wear? Run while you still can!
I had been presented with a way out. I was outside of the cantina. I could’ve headed to the starport and caught a ride to another planet. Or I could’ve shut the game off and deleted the character entirely.
My Greed: But he didn’t seem to mind spending 5,000 credits on a "girl" he just met. Think about what else he might cough up if you play your cards right.
Greed won again. I found an inexpensive bikini top and a skirt, and tried them on. And, damn, I looked fly as all hell in my new getup, if I might say so. Seriously. On top of the killer body I had created my sex machine with, I now had an equally hot ensemble. I swear, I would have fucked me if I could have. I just knew I would be making the mad scrilla now.
I meandered back into the cantina, ready to kick back and watch the tips pour in. I walked past Creepy Guy on the way in.
My Greed: Say something. Get his attention. Get more money.
Me: "You like? ;)"
Yeah, that’s right. I typed a smiley. Shut up. I figured it was something that a real hot chick would do.
Creepy Guy: "I like."
System Message: "Creepy Guy tips you 5,000 credits."
My Greed: See? What did I tell you? You just made 5,000 credits just for looking sexy!
My Brain: You are such a whore.
I couldn’t argue with my brain. I was compromising my integrity for the sake of money. I would never dress sexy for some guy in real life. I swear. And I would never type a smiley. But apparently I would do both if the price was right.
The plan was working, it seemed; several other patrons had taken notice of my ultimate sexiness and began throwing tips my way. A bidding war eventually broke out to see which customer I would dance closest to. Then one of them sent me an in-game instant message.
Even Creepier Guy: "How would you like to make a lot of money for more sexy clothes?"
My Greed: Perfect. This is exactly what we were shooting for.
Me: "You have my attention."
My Brain: This can’t be anything good,...
Even Creepier Guy: "I’ll give you 20,000 for cybersex."
My Brain: Told you!
I shut off the computer.
Damn. I should’ve listened to my brain, my sense of reason. I should have known not to present myself as something I’m not just for the sole purpose of making money. Not even real money. Fake money. Monopoly money. Christ, I felt disgusting. Is that what it finally took to get me to realize that I shouldn’t be acting like a slut, even if the game world isn’t real? I’m sorry, but no amount of money, Star Wars or American, will get me to type about sucking dick.
It’s a strange feeling now, to have that experience as reference. I can imagine how much strippers in the real world must loathe their line of work, but can’t turn away from it simply because the pay is just too fucking good. And conversely, I now understand that no matter how much money you give to a stripper, she’s still only pretending to like you. It’s really kind of sad, from an outside perspective, to see just how dumb we men are, thinking that a handful of cash is all it takes to win a woman’s approval.
It’s been a few weeks since the incident, and, in retrospect, I have a hard time feeling good about myself, considering that I would hide who I actually am and instead tell people what they want to hear, even in an environment as harmless as an online game. In the time since, I have somehow managed to muster enough self-esteem to continue playing the game as my primary character. While my evening as an intergalactic woman of ill-repute was certainly an educational one, not to mention lucrative, I have resolved from now on to present myself only as the person I truly am: a copper-skinned Twi'lek sharpshooter for the Rebel Alliance on Tatooine.
Oh wait,...
PURCHASE THIS OR SIMILAR ITEMS
I found out what it’s like to be a member of the world’s oldest profession through the online world of the Star Wars Galaxies MMO. For those unfamiliar with the term, a "Massively Multiplayer Online" game is one in which every person currently connected exists in the same game world, which is constantly continuing, whether you are playing or not. For example, in the case of Star Wars Galaxies, you might log on to discover that Imperial Forces are attacking your hometown of Anchorhead, and have been doing so for about 30 minutes before you ever showed up. And that Imperial Commander? He’s actually Brad Pederast, murdering your buddies from the comfort of his home in Octorok, Wisconsin.
So after an intense evening of building up my online persona’s marksman skills but not having much virtual money to show for my efforts, I decided to create a new character with the sole purpose of turning a profit. The obvious course of action would be to set up a store and build guns to sell, but I had a feeling that being a fake businessman would bore me to tears. Besides, this was Star Wars Galaxies. And what, above all else, is so sorely missing from the lives of so many Star Wars dorks, myself included? One word: tits.
One of the skills you can learn in the game is that of a professional dancer, relieving any battle-hardened (pun unintentional, I think) warriors you should meet of their combat fatigue in exchange for whatever tips they could spare. However, in my regular role as a novice marksman (as well as from a bit of real-world experience), I had noticed that the dancers who seem to earn the biggest tips are of the curvy, female human variety. So, in the interests of making more money, I shelved my first idea of creating a bikini-clad Mon Calamari named "Fishy O'dor", and modeled my dancer after a busty Japanese girl. I gave my online avatar seductive eyes, pouty lips, and one damn sexy body. I then subsequently set my virtual hottie loose on the planet of Naboo.
I headed into the nearest cantina, where I found the typical crop of brawlers and commandos listening to the usual slitherhorn-players, and watching the provocatively-attired dancers. Ready to fill that pretend bank account of mine, I made my way onto the dance floor and began to shake my polygonal moneymaker. I started receiving a few tips, making sure to thank the more generous patrons so that they’ll be sure to send more cash my way. I noticed a few of them typing some dumb chat comments like “Work it, girl!” or some such harmless nonsense, apparently trying to gain the favor of my fake woman. But I didn’t worry too much about it. But before too long, the night took a turn for the fucked-up.
A system message popped up: "Creepy Guy wants to trade with you." (Creepy Guy’s real name has been changed to protect the poor pervert.)
I opened the trade window to find that Creepy Guy (another player) was offering to give me a necklace. I paused for a second, not quite sure what to do. Creepy Guy then sent me a text message.
Creepy Guy: "Go ahead. Take it. It's free."
I figured, "Why not?", and accepted the gift.
Me: "Thanks."
Creepy Guy: "Try it on."
I opened my character’s inventory, and double-clicked on the icon of the necklace. Instantly, it appeared around my girlie’s neck.
Creepy Guy: "That looks good on you."
My Brain: Umm,...
Another system message popped up: "Creepy Guy tips you 5,000 credits."
Creepy Guy: "Go buy some new clothes. Something sexy."
My Brain: Okay, I think I see where this is going.
My Greed: Yeah. But this guy might give you more money.
In a decision that will forever darken my online playing experience, my lust for more money (albeit the fake kind) won out over my first instinct to run like hell from this dude that was hitting on me.
Me: "Okay. Be right back."
I ran across the street to the bazaar terminal, where you can buy all types of stuff, clothing included. I clicked through a few options, trying to find something a bit more suggestive than the t-shirt and pants I was wearing, but at the same time cost-friendly, so that I could keep most of the 5,000 credits for myself.
My Brain: Dude, what the fuck are you doing? This guy’s like an online predator or something, and you’re trying to find something cute to wear? Run while you still can!
I had been presented with a way out. I was outside of the cantina. I could’ve headed to the starport and caught a ride to another planet. Or I could’ve shut the game off and deleted the character entirely.
My Greed: But he didn’t seem to mind spending 5,000 credits on a "girl" he just met. Think about what else he might cough up if you play your cards right.
Greed won again. I found an inexpensive bikini top and a skirt, and tried them on. And, damn, I looked fly as all hell in my new getup, if I might say so. Seriously. On top of the killer body I had created my sex machine with, I now had an equally hot ensemble. I swear, I would have fucked me if I could have. I just knew I would be making the mad scrilla now.
I meandered back into the cantina, ready to kick back and watch the tips pour in. I walked past Creepy Guy on the way in.
My Greed: Say something. Get his attention. Get more money.
Me: "You like? ;)"
Yeah, that’s right. I typed a smiley. Shut up. I figured it was something that a real hot chick would do.
Creepy Guy: "I like."
System Message: "Creepy Guy tips you 5,000 credits."
My Greed: See? What did I tell you? You just made 5,000 credits just for looking sexy!
My Brain: You are such a whore.
I couldn’t argue with my brain. I was compromising my integrity for the sake of money. I would never dress sexy for some guy in real life. I swear. And I would never type a smiley. But apparently I would do both if the price was right.
The plan was working, it seemed; several other patrons had taken notice of my ultimate sexiness and began throwing tips my way. A bidding war eventually broke out to see which customer I would dance closest to. Then one of them sent me an in-game instant message.
Even Creepier Guy: "How would you like to make a lot of money for more sexy clothes?"
My Greed: Perfect. This is exactly what we were shooting for.
Me: "You have my attention."
My Brain: This can’t be anything good,...
Even Creepier Guy: "I’ll give you 20,000 for cybersex."
My Brain: Told you!
I shut off the computer.
Damn. I should’ve listened to my brain, my sense of reason. I should have known not to present myself as something I’m not just for the sole purpose of making money. Not even real money. Fake money. Monopoly money. Christ, I felt disgusting. Is that what it finally took to get me to realize that I shouldn’t be acting like a slut, even if the game world isn’t real? I’m sorry, but no amount of money, Star Wars or American, will get me to type about sucking dick.
It’s a strange feeling now, to have that experience as reference. I can imagine how much strippers in the real world must loathe their line of work, but can’t turn away from it simply because the pay is just too fucking good. And conversely, I now understand that no matter how much money you give to a stripper, she’s still only pretending to like you. It’s really kind of sad, from an outside perspective, to see just how dumb we men are, thinking that a handful of cash is all it takes to win a woman’s approval.
It’s been a few weeks since the incident, and, in retrospect, I have a hard time feeling good about myself, considering that I would hide who I actually am and instead tell people what they want to hear, even in an environment as harmless as an online game. In the time since, I have somehow managed to muster enough self-esteem to continue playing the game as my primary character. While my evening as an intergalactic woman of ill-repute was certainly an educational one, not to mention lucrative, I have resolved from now on to present myself only as the person I truly am: a copper-skinned Twi'lek sharpshooter for the Rebel Alliance on Tatooine.
Oh wait,...
PURCHASE THIS OR SIMILAR ITEMS
artid
2005
Old Image
6_6_starwars.jpg
issue
vol 6 - issue 06 (feb 2004)
section
stories