Hello, reader. How are you doing? Have you sexted? Some find it risque or risky. Some might think it’s undignified. I want to tell you what I learned from sexting.
bottomless well
So much of sex is supposed to be cutely thrilling in a light hearted way. I’m sorry I’m not good at that. Sex is my deepest place, where I keep a bottomless well of insanity. Probably I should warn new people about that, huh? Many folx have a bottomless well of insanity, though! It’s not just me…
By that I mean we have these huge feelings and do things we wouldn’t do in regular life. I will be told I’m insane for very human, animal reactions to abandonment and harm. Culture hasn’t given us ways of being direct and fair about almost any of what sex brings up. So feelings come out sideways–perceived threats are magnified. Being real about harm is hard when layers upon layers of shame confuse everything.
Sex causes the highest bliss; it also causes the finest terror. My needs shoot up like a firework and explode in the night sky. There is no middle place. I am maxed out, turned up to 11.
vulnerable
Even though sexting is virtual and only involving the sense of sight, all my emotions get stirred up. It feels vulnerable.
- Will I be understood and welcomed?
- Is the consent going well?
- Will I be rejected?
- Does this picture even look hot?
- What will happen to these pictures later?
- Will they be shown in a joking locker room way to someone else?
- Will they be ignored?
- Accidentally glimpsed by a bystander?
- Would it be better if they were horded in a file to masturbate to years down the line?
- Or mixed in with the pictures of ex-es and casual sex partners with forgotten names?
- Will this photo receive a little heart and one second of attention?
- Will I be appreciated?
- Honored and held with deep respect?
- Who am I to this person?
- Are my intentions understood?
Once I send the photo it has its own life; I might not have much to do with it anymore. Bravely, these images are released to have their own destiny. Probably they are forgotten. Right now I’m thinking of them sadly as data trash.
attention
Trying to solve a relationship problem about frequency of contact, I offered we could send just a picture or emoji some days. I offered to sext daily; the offer was appreciated. But I remember how scary it felt, when a sext was ignored a while. Ouch.
“I shouldn’t do that anymore,” I decided and took a day off. Then I gathered my courage and tried again the next day.
The sexts were an ask for attention. Variously, I could send a picture of the food I cooked, an art I made, a flower I saw on my walk… Sexts were an attempt to entice and impress carnally. I tried to conjure more love.
Love doesn’t work that way though. Right? Love isn’t earned.
Every relationship is an experiment. In the quest to get my needs met, I’m creative. I want to be valued for all different aspects of who I am, including the flesh. My body is valid.
artful
What I learned from sexting has to do with artfulness. Also gender. Self-portraits go a long way back. Certain lighting thrills me. Many questions surfaced.
- What facial expressions really feel like me?
- Does sexy authentically come from inside me?
- Or am I still repeating what I learned from tv commercials in the 1980s?
- What gender am I feeling today?
- Can I perform sexy from a place of transness?
- From a specific gender?
- From no gender?
- How do my breasts and mustache go together?
- Should I be ashamed of these stretch marks? Wrinkles? Uneven skin tone? Bruises? Bulges? etc
- Who should see this?
- How racy is this?
You know I have the autism; being appropriate is not my forte. I don’t want to squick anyone. If my forbidden bits are covered, I think of the person I have in mind and use my intuition.
reaction
Like so many ways of reaching out to share of myself, I’m new. I used to wish I was invisible. My youth was spent hiding as much as possible.
When I’m thinking about what to share, I consider audience and what reaction I’m going for. Some pictures I thought were tame, but they were received with profound lust. Some pictures I thought were gorgeous, but they were treated as mid.
Ideally there would be an abundance of time, and I could ask, “Did you like the picture I sent yesterday?” We could have a conversation. I could feel understood.
But life piles on top of life, and so many questions fell off the question truck. Needs rolled into a ditch. I wish I could come by in my lil prius and pick up the spilled onions and bunches of broccoli. I’m a deliberate person of integrity to the point of compulsion. I actually like myself a lot. But it’s hard to be social when I don’t match other people.
what I learned from sexting
Sexting gave me practice taking selfies. It made me look at myself. I see how my breasts have changed over the years. I love myself more than ever.
I’ve shed inhibition–thank goodness for that. Thank goodness I can be subject and object at the same time, with some power over how I portray myself. Fat, disabled bodies have been harshly used. I’m happy I can have control over at least the creation part, if not the product.
You know how some people shame others for sexuality, like how so many conservative people shame sex workers. “Why are you debasing yourself like this?” they ask in a snide way. The judgement is caustic. I think it’s about fear.
I never felt debased when I was sexting, but I did feel unsure my offerings would be held with care. In that sense, sexting is like sex. I know what it means to me, but it will take a while to understand what it means to the other person, if anything.
