Confession: I’m not much of a sexter. While I fancy myself a first-rate Casanova (or whoever the female Casanova is.. Colette, perhaps?) who brings it in the boudoir,* sexting has always kind of weirded me out. Fortunately for you, me and—let’s face it—humankind, I decided to push through the discomfort and learn to sext with the lyrical prowess of Sydney Leathers.
Six months ago, well into a bottle of Malbec…
Me (picking up Vi’s phone): I’m gonna sext your husband.
Vi (simultaneously nursing her baby, flipping a quesadilla and grooming her dog): Uh-huh…whatever…
I opened a blank text message, gritted my teeth and thumb-typed the sexiest question I could fathom.
ME: What are you wearing?
VI’S HUSBAND: Crocs, boxer briefs and a full Native American headdress.
I’d made a classic mistake; I leapt too far, too fast. Like Icarus flying close to the sun, I fell into a turbulent sea of my own prudish awkwardness. When tossed a softball of a flirty sext from Mr. Vi, I panicked, threw the phone onto a pile of magazines and downed my wine with newfound fervor.
We have to stick with what we know, people. We’ve got to walk before we run, french kiss before experimenting with anal beads… you get the idea. A couple nights later, I was ready to try again, with my own amore, in language that felt familiar, accessible.
ME: Hey honey.
I’ve been thinking about you all day.
MR DRU: Me too. Did you clean up that cat barf?
ROWR. It was so on. Emboldened, I took it up a level a few nights later.
ME: I just started a Curious George for C___. We’ve got 11 minutes of freedom. 😉
You know what that means, right?
Unfortunately, Mr. Dru’s response wasn’t all my libido hoped it would be.
MR DRU: In bathroom. Can you bring me a roll of TP?
I guess sometimes despite our high hopes for nookie we’re at the mercy of biology. Other times, however, technology is responsible for dousing the flames of passion.
ME: I’m working from home today. Want to come home for a niner?
MR DRU: ???
ME: It’ll be fun.
MR DRU: ??? Sounds painful. What’s a niner?
ME: Fucking autocorrect! Nooner! Nooner!
MR DRU: Hahahahahaha.
MR DRU: Eh. Staying here. The Nitro Burger truck is in my lot today.
Because I am stubborn, relentlessly optimistic and, frankly, a little simple, I remained undeterred. I decided that the most effective sext should combine all of the Dru Family elements of seduction and arousal: sex, snacks and sloth.
ME: Kids are asleep. Meet me downstairs. I’ll do all the work.
And I got cookie butter ice cream.
MR DRU: Ok!
(Ten minutes later)
ME: Where are you?
MR DRU: I’ll be down when I finish my ice cream.
Romance, thy name is iMessage.
*Another confession: Not by any stretch of the imagination do I “bring it” in the boudoir. That was just posturing to help create an effective intro for this post. For starters, there’s no boudoir in our house, just a creaky bed half-covered with unfolded laundry and strewn with tiny Lego landmines under every pillow and sheet. Mr. Dru is lucky if he receives my invitation for a quarterly conjugal visit from the guest room aka his Snoring Annex.
There. It just feels right being honest with you.