On sexting

If you search Twitter, or the internet more widely, for blog posts on the subject of sexting, you really would think that only teenagers do it. Everything I could find was about how to try to persuade your teenage kids not to try it. There was one piece intended for middle-aged divorcees reminding them that if they’re tempted they should remember to password protect their phone, not leave it where other people can see the screen (actually, I could learn a few things from that – I once switched my phone back on after a flight and accidentally shared a dick pic with everyone else who was standing in the aisle), and certainly not to do it when drunk. Then I remembered a blog post I read recently about the joys of reading the Mumsnet forums, and thought I’d check out what they had to say about it. The result? I ended up feeling *really* sorry for this woman’s ‘DH’.

Anyway, what got me thinking about it was the fact that I’ve received a couple of (admittedly very softcore) sexts in the past couple of days. I said that I wouldn’t share my #100happydays posts here, but if it wasn’t for the fact that they need to be documented by photos, the sext would definitely have been today’s happy moment.

I don’t get photos any more. That’s what you get for expressing pretty strong views on cock shots. Twice. I retweeted this yesterday, and although I don’t share the author’s affection for cock shots of men she doesn’t know, I do agree with this:

“… it’s the dicks I do know that capture my attention. I like to think about who that dick’s attached to, the ways that person excites me—whether physically or intellectually—and the good times that dick and I have shared.”

And actually, word-sexts, rather than picture-sexts, have the same effect. I don’t think the best ones are lengthy descriptions of what you’re doing right now, or what you want to do to me, a simple ‘I’m feeling/doing x, and I’m thinking about [your] x,’ is more than sufficient to fire up my imagination. But I like them for the more than the fact that they make me horny. I like them because no matter how many times that you tell me I’m hot, no matter how many times you get hard in my presence, as soon as you leave I develop the memory of a goldfish. I’m not capable of remembering that that’s how you feel about me for longer than three seconds when you’re not here, so those little reminders out of the blue? They make my day.

Now I just have to learn how to reply.