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His screen name, parafling, was a nod to paraflying, the tiny parachute/tricycle flying machines he had once or twice enjoyed.
He had peeked into a number of active chats to see how many women were there, and logged on to the ones with a promising ratio.She knew nothing of his cybersex life, or if she did, she ignored it.A burly, round-faced man of 42, with a thickly muscled neck and shoulders, thinning hair, and a goatee, he was seated before the computer in their living room in a small, two-story town house in suburban Philadelphia.The only window is high on the wall, over a tall filing cabinet, and opens into a well, below ground level.
The space feels like a cave, which has always struck Deery as about right, because her job is to talk dirty online to strange men. She has athletic good looks, with tawny skin, big brown eyes, and long straight brown hair that falls over her shoulders.Deery would begin a dialogue, dangling the illicit possibility, gauging how serious her mark was.