I wish there was more control on the chats that you are first given cause I got a New York Chat room, yet I live in Florida so Im probably gonna leave that cause I wont understand most of the stuff people in there talk about.
I like though how when you select to talk to a random person, you/they are given permission if you accept them to keep talking to you.
However when two concerning adults enter a private chat, the "mods" monitor your conversations.
They have chat rooms that are meant for adults and certain lifestyles.
Anyways, I’m enjoying it so far (when I have the time for it) Give it a try! I don’t really get why you’d monitor private messages so closely —- especially if the parties are “of age”. I’m just saying that I’m 31 yrs old, and I feel I should have the right to speak to anyone however I’d like to.
It also seems to be really safe and the team does what it can to keep it that way! :) I get it’s for safety, but I’m not sure how this keeps me safe.
Soon, I was spending hours in the parallel universe of cyberspace, often through wonderfully wide-awake nights, uninhibited in a way I never could be in reality.
We had agreed, early on in our relationship, that we wouldn't have children. Several friends, however, were convinced that our lack of children created a vacuum.
I was convinced I wouldn't make a very good mother and didn't want my son or daughter, in 40 years time, to dread calling me, fearful I'd berate them for some emotional crime or other. I'm not sure I entirely agree with that, but it is true that when we bought our first house together, we somehow conspired to buy a wreck that required a lot of our attention and focus. I didn't want an affair, nothing grubby, nothing seedy.
I told no one, immersed and isolated in my secret life. In moments of fleeting clarity, I wanted to understand what was happening to me. Was it just my marriage problems, or was there something deeper causing me to behave that way?
I met all sorts of people, from all over the world, older and younger, and each seemingly as desperate for a true connection as I. Should I be blaming my mother, or my – mostly absent – father for feeling that something was eternally missing? I was born to a woman that didn't much want children, and who fell foul to postnatal depression a good couple of decades before the term was even coined.