For the second time in my life, I find myself with a beau living south of the border — and I am realizing all over again that the Internet is an omnipresent third wheel. That means a butt-load of sexts, selfies, dick pics (ugh) and watching the other touch themselves on screen. I suppose that also means I can now broach the subject with at least some prowess. And so, here are a few things I’ve learned about after much romance on the Internet:
Unless your man’s idea of foreplay is brushing your hair as you sip vino and listen to soft pop, I tend to prefer online arousal, especially in sext form. Putting carnal urges into actual words (punctuated with “Mmms” and phallic-shaped emojis) is mentally and physically stimulating and means that you can get wildly adventurous. I mean, don’t say you want him to do anything you wouldn’t want him to do face-to-face (ahem, or otherwise), but this is the best platform to gauge the other’s boundaries or fantasies without spoiling the mood. And this doesn’t always have to be explicit — a guy once told me he wanted to touch toes in the bathtub while we chit-chatted (you know, about life or whatever), and BAM: partially nude selfie instantly sent his way (more on this later).
An added bonus is that you are now a mobile sex machine. Feeling frisky in line at the grocery store? How about during the Christmas concert at your grandmother’s retirement home? Go on with your bad self, girl!
But men are visual creatures. (I find this claim somewhat belittling to their gender. Like, are you too animal or stupid or lazy to use your imagination? I’m a writer and therefore a very good sexter/painter of hot scenes, if I do say so myself. And, it isn’t like sexting is terribly difficult to begin with. It’s rather crass to choose a fuzzy image of my butt over a steamy description of what I want you to do to said butt. This theory extends to the dread and enchantment of The Dick Pic. Any dudes out there care to differ or defend?)
And being such visual creatures, they really aren’t hard to please. So in the case of Internet banging, the selfie is tantamount to foreplay. Feast your eyes, NSA! By now you know the basics — check the background for small children and the foreground for unshaved armpits. Someone once advised that I not eat solid food for the 12-hour block preceding the shoot, lest I reveal a wobbling belly. Huh? The (only) good part about your man not being present at this very horny moment is that you can angle your body and manipulate mood lighting to minimize a burrito-belly. And really — has a man ever taken a look at your naked bod and said, “Nah, I’ll pass. Come back when you lose six pounds.” Didn’t think so.
Once escalated to fornication — technically speaking, masturbation — your laptop is really the best apparatus because your hands are free to explore. Now, your sexting has intensified into talking dirty. The first time I tried it via Skype was cringe-worthy. I felt like an idiot and couldn’t help but voice unrelated commentary (“I think I just made eye contact with your dog. Does he need to be let out? I think maybe you should let him out.”). Then I tried it on a phone call, sans video, and it felt more intimate to be only a voice and to hear only his in my ear. I eased video back into our routine and, coupled with a glass of wine, my inhibitions went out the door alongside that dumb dog.
Post-coital cuddle (or lack thereof)
A warning: the instant you hang up, you will definitely feel a sense of loss. This is a major pitfall. I like (want? need?) to be touched, regardless of whether it’s doable. There is something about seeing your amour through a screen, but not being able to touch them — to snap the lid of your laptop shut and blow out the candles in a hollow and too-quiet room — that will make them feel worlds away even if you’re neighbours.
Don’t worry; it isn’t all that bad because the cure is as fun as the ailment — the sure-fire way to get over post-internet-sex loneliness is to get physical.