Sexting... For the Awkward: How the Hell Do You Do It???

Did you know that “Sexting” is a real word now? Go ahead. Type it into Microsoft Word. See a red line under it? Didn’t think so!
I really think this whole sexting thing has to be some kind of “art” or just a brainless function. I mean, besides sending raunchy flix, how the hell do you sext? (I can’t believe I just typed the word “sext” on my computer and there’s no FUCKING RED UNDERLINE!!! This is crazy to me! Anywho…) I mean, I dunno if you noticed from my last post, I can find a million and one euphemisms for the word “vagina”, but that all too famous “P” word just ain’t one of ‘em. (Wait a minute! “Ain’t” gets a RED underline, but “Sext” doesn’t??? This can’t be life! Woosah.) Don’t get me wrong, I can use ithe "p" word, but to me, there’s a time and place for it. When it’s time to get down with the get-down and we’re in the throes of passion and he says, “Tell me it’s my p____, baby!” I'm right there with him, “It’s your p____, daddy! It’s yours!!!” No hesitation. I got it. But um, textually… that’s kinda not it for me. I get all cognizant of the words and I’m embarrassed and grossed out. Maybe that’s just something I’m gonna have to get over if I plan on flourishing in my career as an erotic novelist, huh? But what about the context of the text? That’s a little hard for me to compose as well. I mean, how am I supposed to carry this conversation with no real provocation? I’m not horny. It’s 1:27 in the afternoon. I’m eating Cap’n Crunch in my sweats in this bright-ass living room. And I get a text like this:

Him: Hey sexy. What u doin’?

Me:   Nothing. Chillin’. Wassup with you?

Him: Ain’t shit. I just thought about you and my dick got rock hard.

TIME OUT! Nigga WHAT? Aren’t you at WORK? So you mean to tell me you’re walking around the office with a hard-on? Naaaaah!
But you can’t text that back to him. Why not? Because he’s a man. And men can’t take rejection. And he got up the courage to tell YOU at One Twenty-Seven in the afternoon that thoughts of your sexy ass have stimulated his situation, and now his situation is situated. Now, what ‘chu gon’ do???

Now, if you’re a textual genius and you know how to handle this, good for you! But for the textually awkward/challenged such as myself, the first thing I realize is that this is the beginning of a sext. This man just sexted me!  So, he notices the delay in my response, and I get another text like this:

Him: Send me a pic, baby.

Now, I’m not the kinda girl who takes random sexy flix of herself. You’re not gonna catch me butt-ass naked in front of the mirror, bussin’ it open, contorting myself to get the right angle with this damn camera phone that I need two hands to use, but in order to get this shot right, I have to have my good hand holding my damn thigh out of the way, so I have to arc my wrist and do the “retard” hand so my thumb can be on the button to take the fucking pic that I have to take 32 got-damn times because it keeps coming out blurry cuz I’m shaking trying to keep myself steady for this one damn pose…
Naaaaaaaah nigga! Not me!  So, now, he wants a damn picture that I DON’T have. So I have to play cute and text him:

Me: Hang on baby. I’ma take a new one for you.

And you can’t say “JUST for you”, cuz who the fuck else have you been taking sexy pix for? So, now you take off your sweats, and run to find some cute panties, hop your ass in front of that mirror, buss it open, arch your back, do the retard wrist, and take 5 blurry-ass pics of you trying to be sexy at 1:32 in the afternoon. Now to find the least blurry shot to send to this man who’s been waiting for… 3 minutes? And you know that THREE minutes in text time is like three hours. So in sext time, it must be DAYS! 

So, I finally get the picture to him, and although I don't think it's up to par, he's a man, he doesn't care. All he wants to see is some skin. And the sexting continues:

Him: Shit girl! 

Me: :-P

Him: That ass lookin' good. Tell me what you want me to do to it. 

Um... what? I don't know. What the hell do you say to that? I already told y'all how I am about that "p" word. Am I supposed to be like, "I want you to fuck the shit outta my VAGINA"... Or, "I want you to eat this poon real good, baby."
Um... No. But I've gotta maintain the (non-existent) "sexy". So I hit him with:

Me: You tell me what you wanna do to it.

I think that's the right response. I'm just hoping he doesn't ask me another question. And thankfully he doesn't. He just talks of spit-filled head, and sticking his dick in every possible orifice of mine, and I'm just looking at my phone like, What is wrong with him??? It's not like we did something last night or even last WEEK. Not like I have any recent memories to go off. Nothing to pull from. No inspiration. Just this RANDOM ass conversation in the middle of the afternoon. No dim lights, no Trey Songz in the background. Just Guy Fieri talking about some "Winner, winner! Chicken dinner!"

Maybe if he chose a better time... Nah, cuz my awkward ass would still be uncomfortable. If that sext isn't an invitation for an invitation, I'm not tryna hear it. 'Cause if you actually DO turn me on and I've got to wait an extended period of time get some, I'm gonna be pissed. Aside from, pix, I can't really do the sexting thing. Besides, we don't need all this conversation. "I'on luuuuh deez hoes!"