“You should write about the art of sexting.”
It was a message I got a few weeks ago from a married guy friend of mine.
“Wait, people still do that?” I asked him.
“Yes,” he said. “Doesn’t everyone?”
Then it was just awkward because I felt like a clueless prude and he’d just admitted what was in his inbox.
Sure, I’ve sexted.
In fact, I’d venture to say I’ve sexted quite a bit over the years.
But it’s been a minute since I’ve done so.
The last person I was sexting with was someone I was actually having physical sex with on a regular basis.
Don’t get me wrong, the sexts were fun — he sent me a rather “skinful” photo while I was in a movie.
I could hardly wait to get out of that theatre and tackle exactly what I saw in that picture.
Most of our sext-messages were us figuring out what we’d do next when we saw each other. Maybe it was productive sexting, because when we got together, we got sh*t done.
Other than that, my sexting past hasn’t served me quite so well.
I sent topless photos to a crush I had in college. My face wasn’t in the pictures, but everything else was.
Six months ago, the guy sent me the pictures back, and said he kept them for nights when he couldn’t sleep.
You get the picture.
Even though we all know what happens when nude photos are exchanged, it’s not something I want to hear about seven years later.
“That’s got to be a little flattering though, right?” an acquaintance asked me.
No. Not at all. It was a picture of my boobs and I was wearing sheer underwear.
To me, it was sad. I was clearly at a low point in my life and all I wanted was an inkling of attention from a guy who didn’t care about me in the least.
I’m not saying don’t sext. In my experience, it can be fun when both people can trust each other.
And when you can actually meet up and release all the energy from the sext? It’s quite nice.
But we’re not past the point of having to be cautious — even SnapChats can be saved.
My friend, the apparent sext artist, pointed out how fun it is to get a racy picture from his wife midday.
I’m not going to argue with that.
If I were lucky enough to be in a relationship right now; I’d love to rock that dude’s world mid-meeting with something hot.
But, I’m single, and it’s not often I get hit up for producing porn.
“That seems odd,” my single guy friend told me.
Apparently, so many people in this world are swapping sexts, and I’m sitting over here in my sweats being lame.
“You’re hot,” he said. “Pictures are going to be part of the conversation.”
Who are these people?
So, I sent him a picture of me wearing an apron — not remotely sexy, as I really was making jam.
He texted back, wondering what was under the apron.
Under the apron, I was fully clothed.
For a moment, I felt like a digital prude.
It was a Wednesday night, I was in my apartment alone, making jam from organic strawberries. I was wearing jeans, and my hair was day-old.
No, it was not porn-worthy. But, if a guy sent me a photo of himself cooking alone in his apartment, I’d consider that completely sexy.
Bonus points if he’s wearing sweats.