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On sexy texts

Recently I received a text message that contained this gem:

“you’re waiting, bent over the desk, chemise immodesty parted…”

Now, sexy though that may be (for the record, it is), it is not something that I want to have bleeped to my pocket. Texts have a disturbing immediacy that emails don’t. An email says ‘I have something to tell you, and I have taken the trouble of sitting down and composing it.’ An email elevates you to a status of importance. It usually contains more information, some gossip and, if you’re lucky, a link to something that you might like. An email respects you, it lets you know that you can take your time in replying, mull over your response, and consider carefully before you commit to anything in writing. I love email.

A text, on the other hand, is a conversation killer. You could be halfway through a gripping novel, a relationship crisis or a cheese soufflé and your mobile leaps up; blaring, buzzing and all but hitting you in the face screaming ‘pay me attention! I’m important! Feed me words, you fucker!’

I don’t like texts. My friends complain that most of their texts go unanswered, but that’s because most of their texts come when I’m in the middle of something that I think is more important. I frequently experience irrational bursts of hatred towards my nearest and dearest because they text me inanities while I’m at work, inanities to which I feel duty-bound to reply.

And if you (get ready to shudder) “sext” me at work, chances are it will enrage me even further. Lovely though it is to imagine you bending me over something solid then humping me frantically like a bonobo with an audience, it won’t help me get this strategy document written.

Here’s where I backtrack so you don’t think I’m a giant bitch

I’m not always a terrifying harridan – I think some texts are great. There is nothing I love more than a good old romantic text, particularly one that doesn’t invite an immediate response. A well timed:

“It might be the whiskey talking, but the whiskey says I miss you every day.”

can be the best thing that’s happened to me all week. A romantic text is always welcome. And on the few occasions when I am in the mood for conversation or sexy chat I’ll leap to my phone like an excited teenager, cradling it in my arms and soaking up the misspelled words and predictive-text fuck-ups contained therein.

But these moments are few and far between. The fact remains that, on the rare occasions when people do text me with sexy content, there is an 80% chance it will make me want to punch them.

Sexy emails? Great. I’m sitting at my computer so would probably have been planning a wank anyway. Sexy texts? It’s like a double glazing salesman ringing your doorbell during dinner and then slapping you in the face with a semi-flaccid dick.

Don’t even get me started on phone calls.


  • girl, I love you. But you are wrong. And right.
    Yes, text can be a downer. It can be an upper too. I am known for my epically long texts. I simply treat them as an extension of email and that’s it.
    First – the text you got was delightful. I would have changed my knickers after that one. So you whinging about it just sounds ungracious you cow :-)
    Secondly, every communication is what you make of it, whatever the medium. So don’t get hung up on it. Caviar is still caviar even if you get it on a chipped plate.
    Still, loving the thoughts of yours, mwaah! x

  • Beepbeepbeep says:

    Am sad to see you, as one so attuned to pleasure, missing out on the delight of texted filth! But I guess different strokes for different folks…

    Some time ago I indulged in utterly inappropriate texting during one of my busiest ever periods of work. I still instinctively leave my phone face-down.

    Like a Pavlovian floozy I ended up having a detectable physiological response to the notification sound of my phone. Which was slightly disturbing when it turned out it was my mother texting, I must admit.

    Now somebody in my office has the same text notification sound I had in those days. Still get a little wet when I hear it.

    Thanks for the blog x

  • bambilish says:

    First blog of yours I’ve disagreed with!

  • girlonthenet says:

    Wow, lots of disagreement. I can only assume that whenever someone else’s phone bleeps the person next to me has been blessed with a torrent on welcome filth. This will aid me greatly in my erection-spotting in the future.

  • Daisy says:

    Another in disagreement, I’m afraid. I love getting hot texts but more than that I love sending them. Nothing I like better than sending a picture message of my tits or maybe my ass, when I know my boyfriend is having a dull day at work. :-)

  • N. Likes says:

    Context is all: it depends on the person sending the text, on the relationship you have, and on the way in which you relate to texts generally. In my case? 98% of my texts are sexts. No one texts me when they can e-mail me. I welcome them.

    And accordingly, my phone doesn’t vibrate, doesn’t ring when I get a sext. Or a text. The immediacy is stripped away.

    My wife never wants to get a sext, because 90% of her texts are texts, and so she ends up having the experience you describe. So I respect that.

    Of course, there’s that one guy – if HE sexts her, no matter when, it’s all good…. ;-)

    • Girl on the net says:

      True. I think I’m reasonably rare in my general grumpiness towards this sort of thing. I know many, many people for whom a sext would brighten up their day.

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