Finding parking when I come home from work is a pain in the ass. I had stayed a little later than normal, and the main street around me is under construction, so I had to park around the block and drudge my way down the block carrying my work bag and gym bag. I made my way to the kitchen and preheated the oven to 350 degrees. I pulled out the chicken breasts I had been thawing all day, along with some asparagus, onions, and tomatoes that I was going to saute alongside the baked chicken.
I turned on some Alt-J from the Sonos speaker in our kitchen and poured myself a glass of wine. There were a few texts I hadn’t checked yet, so I flipped through them as I waited for everything to heat up. The last one was from a girl I’ve been talking to for a little bit now.
“I wish you were here right now…” she said.
“Oh? Why’s that?” I responded, before slicing the woody stalks off the bottom of the asparagus.
“Because I’m about to go into my room and be a bad girl by myself for a little bit.”
I took another sip of wine. The oven was preheated, the veggies were in a pan on the stove. Everything was ready to go. As a person who cares very deeply about food, I wasn’t about to leave this situation alone. I looked both ways to make sure my roommate wasn’t home (not that it would matter, because literally everything that was about to happen, occurred through my phone), and responded.
“Sorry, I’m a little tied up right now. Wish I could join you.”
I’m not going to dive into her response, but it alluded to clothes on the floor and, well, being tied up. And then, as it always does, things escalated so quickly that we were texting each other about things that would only make my mother cry. Maybe it involved dog collars, maybe it didn’t. The point is, we both got heavy into it, and not a photo was exchanged during the whole thing.
Sexting is such a fucking bizarre concept. Few people would ever say that they wouldn’t want to receive a text about what their significant other (or girl you’re talking to that week) wants to do to you, or for you to do to them. Especially if it’s by surprise. It spices up the situation and puts you in a position where you’re now holding back a secret from the other people in that room.
“Why does he keep looking at his phone?” they might innocently wonder, noticing that you’re constantly checking back in nonchalantly. Little do they know that you’re text-plowing your girl (or guy, it’s 2017 and we don’t judge here) against the hypothetical window in the conference room at their office that you haven’t technically seen, but you’ve been in enough offices to know what a conference room with a window looks like.
Or maybe you’re grocery shopping and you find yourself in the produce aisle. You go to pull up your recipe for that new smoothie you’ve been wanting to try, and all you see is a text from her telling you all the different ways he wants to use his tongue on you the next time he sees you. You know you won’t actually do it, but that cucumber section is suddenly starting to look appetizing.
Now your heartbeat is racing. You feel a bead of sweat start sliding down your back as you imagine your partner the events of your sexting session occurring in real life, especially because they brought up that thing you’ve been implying you want to try. Will they really do it? Or are they just talking a big game because you’re not physically in the room with them?
And therein lies the downfall of sexting. You can do it anywhere, but it’ll ultimately leave you unfulfilled and unfocused on anything you’re actively participating in. Filling out an expense report? Looks like you might have to pay for that fourth mimosa. At your cousin’s soccer game? Guess you just missed their first goal ever. Boarding an airplane? Good luck explaining that bulge in your pants to the flight attendant as you squat down in the middle seat.
In this day and age, nobody can fault you for sexting. It’s been echoed on this site for months — hell, maybe years —but as long as you aren’t hurting anybody, you should be in good shape. Sure, maybe you’ll end up with a set of blue balls, or whatever the female equivalent of that is. But honestly, what’s the harm in engaging in some good old fashioned consensual sexual activity that isn’t really sexual activity because it’s completely virtual? Show them that you care. Show them you’ll deal with sexual frustration in a public setting because they’re worth it.
And then, the next time you see them, hump their brains out. .