Right. I am all for sexting. Mainly because I like portmanteaus (or ‘panteaus’, as I like to call them) and think we ought to portmanteau EVERYTHING that we do by text.
Imagine it. We could have ‘banxting’ (banking by text) or ‘voxfaxting’ (casting X Factor votes by text), or even ‘cunxting’ (dumping people by text). Behold the future!
Secondly, sexting is exciting because it’s fraught with frisson. There’s always the chance that you’ll accidentally sext your auntie (or your partner haha, am I right, adulterers?), and any communication that uses a special code is always thrilling.
In fact, I’m going to send you a sext RIGHT NOW, and you have to decipher it using this list of acronyms. No, it’ll be fun! We can pretend we’re in the Bletchley Circle!
Here we go: NALOPKT POS 43 Did you get that? That’s right, I said ‘not a lot of people know this, parent over shoulder loves you’. Isn’t that nice? See, sexting isn’t ALL horrible vowel-free bonking metaphors.
And apparently sexting among elderly people is on the rise. This is great news for me, because it means ‘LCOT’ (lovely cup of tea) and ‘WIWY’ (when I was younger) will finally become bonafide sexting terms, which will save me constantly typing the entire phrases out on my own phone (I am in my thirties).
Of course, sexy texting is most prevalent among teenagers, and most teenagers are dickwads. And if you send a dickwad a tender portrait of your pelvic region, the chances are it’ll end up on Vine with a misspelled caption.
My advice to teenagers is this: keep sexting. Don’t let dickwads get you down. I once called a teacher ‘Mum’ in front of MY ENTIRE CLASS, so I know all about adolescent humiliation.
But if, despite these setbacks, you still manage to get all steamed up over the letters NIFOC then you have a) strength of character and b) a very rich inner life – and that’s something to be encouraged in future generations.
Finally, sexting is brilliant because things just SEEM sexier when you write them down. Don’t believe me? Think back to the last time you gave anyone a verbal amorous instruction. Did you deliver it in the concise, confident tones of a Nazi dominatrix, or was it self-conscious and faltering, and inexplicably full of ‘how-do-you-do’s and ‘whoops-a-daisy’s'?
Ladies, we can cut right through that amateurish Readers’ Wives orating with a single SMS that reads ‘RCK ME LK HURRICANE’. I am just, as the phrase goes, saying.
Of COURSE I think that teenagers should stop sexting. I think EVERYBODY should stop sexting. It’s horrible. I don’t even like the word ‘sexting’. And yet I keep writing the word ‘sexting’. Look, I’ve done it again. Ugh, this is horrible. I hate the word ‘sexting’. UGH, I’ve done it again. STOP.
Admittedly I’m not exactly the biggest fan of intimacy in the first place. I hate hugging. I don’t even like to look people in the eye if I can help it. A man shook my hand earlier. It was a bit sweaty, and I still haven’t fully got over the trauma.
If I had my way then dating would work like this:
STAGE ONE: Man sees woman. STAGE TWO: Man and woman exchange polite nod. STAGE THREE: Man and woman go to the shop and purchase a baby. STAGE FOUR Man, woman and baby all eventually die of loneliness. See? What’s wrong with that? Nothing, that’s what.
But OH NO, because you people have to sext each other before you can exchange polite nods nowadays. It’s all suck my this and jizz across my that with you people. You make me sick.
It wasn’t like this in my day. Mobile phones didn’t exist when I was a teenager. Back then, if you wanted to sext someone, you had to call their pager.
This meant basically dictating the contents of your smutty, erection-fuelled fantasies to a disinterested call centre worker from Birmingham who’d then repeat your message back, type it out and send it onto the recipient.
And, trust me, once you’ve heard a middle-aged Brummie who clearly regrets every single decision that has led to this moment say “So the message is ‘I want to rub my fat balls all over your greasy tits’, right?” in a slow, world-hating monotone you will never be able to use your reproductive system for anything positive ever again.
Also, you know who sexts? Vernon Kay sexts. Jason Manford sexts. Tiger Woods sexts. Basically the only people who send sexts are awful middle-aged men who are married and probably know Peter Kay.
Imagine geting a sext from Vernon Kay. “Eee, I’ve got a reet lob on. Show us what yer perineum looks like”. Imagine sending one back instead of instantly blinding yourself with knitting needles.
If you’ve ever sent a sext to anyone, you’re implicitly stating your support for Vernon Kay’s life and career. Don’t do that. You’re better than that. You’re all better than that.
NOTE: My definition of sexting includes putting a little ‘x’ at the end of text messages. You know who you are, you depraved filth-whores.