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Seven days in Second Life

Posted on 27 Nov 2006 at 11:35

Sweetee's a dab hand with the furniture, but when she asks whether I've got any "sex balls" I'm left flummoxed. All is soon revealed (in more ways than one) when Sweetee teleports me to a virtual orgy with all manner of unspeakable acts taking place. Sex balls, it emerges, are the icons you click on to copulate with fellow players - and some of the options are exotic, to say the least. "Try that on with me, and that's the last feature you'll ever write," says my real-life girlfriend, who's suddenly peering over my shoulder. Suitably chastened, I swiftly log off.

Day 5

Following the shameful events of yesterday, I attempt to restore some respectability by finding myself gainful employment. There are plenty of vacancies for lap dancers (sex is almost as prevalent as gambling in Second Life), nightclub bouncers and bar staff, but I'm looking for something a touch more mentally challenging.

I try to put my journalistic talents (ahem? Ed) to good use at the headquarters of an in-world weekly newspaper, offering L$50 for news stories. Yet, the office is spookily quiet and when I buy a copy of the paper from the automatic vendor, it appears the "weekly" newspaper was last published more than a month ago. Even Second Life newspapers are finding it tough to compete with new media.

Unperturbed, I fill in application forms to become a Second Life tour guide, a librarian and a nanny. I also strike up a conversation with a smartly dressed property magnate, who suggests a career as an estate agent, helping newbies find a place to live. I'm tempted, but before I commit myself I decide to try networking at the local golf club to see if I can charm my way into an executive position.

I'm just putting on my imitation Pringle pullover and warming up on the driving range (you can actually play a full 18-hole course), when the game suddenly crashes. I spend the next hour furiously attempting to reload the software, each time stalling at the login screen.

I check the Second Life blog to find out what's happening, only to be told: "There are reports of grey-goo in-world, which may be causing teleportation issues and other slowdowns." I foolishly assume grey-goo is the Second Life equivalent of leaves on the line, but it actually turns out to be a serious attack on the network, and the game is wiped out for almost 24 hours.

I start getting cold turkey, anxiously checking the service status every half hour or so. But my withdrawal symptoms are nothing compared to those of long-standing residents, some of whom are foaming at the mouth on the blog comments, griping about loss of earnings, cancelled concerts and vandalised homes. This would be a spectacularly bad moment to mention "it's only a game".

Day 6

After the grey-goo clears, there isn't much left of Day 6. However, in the brief time I can spend in-world, I spot a pregnant woman. Intrigued, I do a search for pregnancy and come across a surrogate baby service, run by the business-like Joy Iddinja, who clearly takes her work home with her judging by her sizeable bump.

Iddinja is essentially the Cilla Black of the surrogacy world - she's a matchmaker for potential parents. Within minutes, I'm flicking through a catalogue, picking the woman who will give birth to my sprog. Through fear that my girlfriend will catch me having virtual nookie again, I elect for artificial insemination. Joy summons my chosen mother and tots up the bill (L$2,500 for the IVF clinic, L$1,000 for the surrogate mother, L$500 for her) and, after the most cursory of introductions, we're off to inseminate at the Bundle of Joy clinic. We're greeted by a female doctor in a white lab coat, at which point I lose my nerve and teleport the hell out of there.