Sexting Etiquette 101

Socially awkward and (digitally) dyslexic, I clearly don’t know much on the topic of sexting. But, if there’s one thing that a previous dating encounter has taught me is that one might actually need to have sex with the other person before it becomes appropriate to snapchat dick pics and initiate other forms of mobile misconduct.

I met Corey* (I promise, no resemblance) at a party over the summer and was instantly attracted to him. The type that walks past you, and you say to your friends, “did you just see that guy?” Normally, I would retreat to the corner and avoid eye contact, but fortunately a friend of mine forced me into a blackout state and encouraged me to buy him tequila shots.   We spent the entire night together, and he ended up getting me home “safely” around 2am, and a drunken make-out pursued, nothing more. Following his exit, I received a text (while eating a leftover sub) about “the sexiest thing he’s seen in a long time.” What? Uh, me? (meatball still in mouth.)


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Official Date 1 (Thursday): He was such a gentleman. Conversation and flirtation were on par. He touched my knee. The sexual tension escalated. At the end, he walked me to my door and we made out. He politely texted me that night following our date.

Date 2 (Thursday) was much more drunken than the first. The sexual chemistry was magical. He walked me home and we aggressively made out. My bra ended up on the sidewalk while an onlooker yelled, “get a room!” I ended up going upstairs (alone) to partake in his further aggressive sexts about “his boner coming through his pants.”

That Sunday evening, on my way back from Maine, I received numerous texts from him begging me to come to his place when I got home. The conversation soon escalated into what he wanted to do to me in a dark train car. I wasn’t sure if this was normal or not, considering I wasn’t even confident if his penis was larger than a crayon. But quite frankly, I didn’t care. I hadn’t experienced this much sexual tension since college, and was relishing every moment of the chase and sexual build that I had only once had the will power to control when I was a sad 20-year-old virgin.

Date 3 (Thursday) was two stops (drinks and food), which actually seemed like an eternity when all I wanted to do was finally take this digital foreplay into action. Upon return to the scene of the “sidewalk bra,” we walked up to my apartment, only to discover my roommate home on the couch. Not really the ideal setting for crazy, christening sex in my (non) soundproof converted bedroom. He decided to go home, but that we would hang out on Sunday when he got back from a Bachelor party.

Sunday evening: I distinctly remember texting Em on the cab ride over, “heading up to Corey’s to finally have the most anticipated sex of the century.” When I arrived, we put on some lame Jamie Fox movie as background, and immediately started making out. The progression followed at a natural pace, including a last minute condom (and Twix bar) run to CVS. When he got back, he FINALLY put it in…

20 seconds and it was over.

I can’t even begin to describe what was running through my head. Are you seriously done? Is this going to be a regular thing? Also, when is it okay to eat that Twix bar? So many thoughts.  He never acknowledged, so we continued to “watch” the movie and eventually passed out.

The next day I re-evaluated. Did he think that was normal? No, he had to have been embarrassed. Especially after all of that sexual initiation on his part. Regardless, it was more than worth figuring out if this was a one-time thing or a regular occurrence. Plus, I think I may have actually started to like him.

Over a week later, we ended up meeting up for drinks to give it another shot. It was funny actually, as on this date, the sexual undertone had been 100% removed from the table (and replaced with a nice cheese plate). Ironic, as shouldn’t post-sex relations usually enhance the mood? Clearly 20 seconds is a hard act to follow.  Regardless, we still had a really good time, and went back to his place after. I was anxious, eager, excited, among many other feelings, for the second time around.

It was like night and day. The positions, the rhythm, the “energy,” the timing (yes, it was long!). Down to a science.  I was felt a wave of relief come across my body, and actually started thinking… hey, maybe this could actually be something?

…And then we turned on the lights.

Blood. Everywhere.

I was mortified. Period. (Yes, pun intended.)

And needless to say, that was the end of that. I didn’t really hear from him after. No call. No follow up sext…”hey, can’t wait to massacre you again tonight.” But I did get a dry cleaning bill in the mail a couple weeks later…

Kidding! But seriously, all kidding aside, what’s the moral of this here sad story? (because I feel like we always need to leave one.)

SAFE SEXT. A good rule of thumb…don’t do or say anything via phone, which you have not yet performed (or seen) in real life.



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