Words have the capacity to change perceptions. More often than not I have found myself intrinsically “involved” with fictional characters based solely on a delicious collection of descriptive words (and an alliteration or two, just for good measure). With the introduction of MySpace, I sought my justification through lyrical content…
I mean sure he needed more hairspray to hold down his side-bang than Poison ever used during the entire span of the 80’s, but his choice in teen angst scripture (aka Bright Eyes lyrics) was enough to lead me to the sort of fanaticism my never been kissed lady bits were yearning for. Then came the optimal screening process, Facebook. If they claimed to be “Born and BREAD”, I knew it was highly unlikely I was about to pounce on it (but… if they were to corner me in a hallway and tell me I’m pretty, I may have (had) to given in – that home town recycling bin is a hard habit to kick). Then there’s the Twitter (abomination) and good old Instagram (my go-to), which inevitably leads to the text message.
I have been called on more than once for my crafty use of innuendo via text. In person I can come across as a blabbering imbecile yet you toss me an IPhone and I suddenly become the Casablanca of data plans. So after years of cunning conversation, it seemed as though my limits were about to be pushed as I entered the world of sexting.
I had played in the minors but had never actually gone pro when it came to textual intercourse. He was an unlikely candidate, one of those always popping up sort of guys a girl in Toronto tries her best to avoid (yet seemingly goes out of her way to attract…). It was starting to get warm out, I was now seasonably required to start shaving my legs on a regular basis and two of my best friends had left for extended vacations leaving me in dire need of just about everything. The late night digit exchange occurred without a second thought as I miserably chatted away on messenger.
By the second day I knew I was a done deal as my face flushed with his demands of lust teetering on the BDSM forefront. I went to work only to be reminded every time I checked my phone that I was the type of girl who “needed to be punished”, taking moments to collect myself in public bathrooms as I read on and encouraged the revelation of being the type of woman “who wanted to be punished”.
I was being outdone…and I liked it.
Days went by and the words continued, expanding and contracting their importance in my fervid imagination. Push, pull, choke, suck, torment – my mind was a wasteland and my fingers defenceless to the words my libido typed back.
The words had roped me in like they had so many times before…yet this time was different. My fictional desire was about to cross-over to something a little more tangible than a hard-cover.
