Last year, I had a textual relationship with someone’s boyfriend. Yep! Textual meaning sexual yet via text. I did. I own up to it and I’m not proud of it. Sexting, the combination between sex talk and text messaging, is one of the hottest things to make a romance or relationship spicy. Nevertheless, when it gets out of line or risky, how do we deal?
Bastian Stewart was single when we first began talking. He was sexy, tall, slim, light skinned with these beautiful dark eye brows, and full lips. I hated the fact that he smoked but I dealt with it. Besides, our “relationship” was textual; nothing more or less. I never even met him in person. We met on Twitter and through our mutual friend, Davis, I got as much 411 on Bastian as possible.
Bastian lived in Maryland. He was a big Christina Aguilera fan and he smoked…cigarettes, which was more than enough reason for me to quit this stupidity, but I kept it up. It wasn’t like when I text messaged him, I wanna taste your lips, I was actually going to taste his lips. I had dated smokers before. Hell, it was like I had been smoking by the time the taste rid my lungs from kissing. Between dating guys and focusing on my work, I text messaged Bastian aka the most boring texter on Earth and the rest of the Solar System. For some reason, I lived for his lustful replies to my provocative messages. Got damn papi! God yes! Sh–! just to highlight a few of his responses.
Between the sexting and freaky photos, I liked this low key connection we had. Some times, very rarely, we sidebarred the dirty talk for pop culture; Christian Aguilera, music, and Sex and The City, being the highlight of most of our discussions. That was until he met his boyfriend. I never asked the guy’s name, because, frankly, I didn’t want to know. This dude was going to be getting in the middle of my sexting sessions with Bastian. I hadn’t had the chance to really like this guy yet and now I had to give it up for his real life romance. Or did I?
When Bastian finally told me about his relationship, I was pissed; not pissed like GRRRR!!! But more Dawson Creek-like, which I suppose is more disappointed and ready to stuff my face in a pillow and die! For God’s sake, at the time, I was 23. I didn’t know what to base love or infatuation or sex or true intimacy off of when losers had been playing me since my first love. My brain was clouded. I knew I didn’t love Bastian, but it didn’t feel like my pride and ego were the only things bruised.
So, I got sneaky. I knew Bastian worked mornings aka the time when men seem to be the horniest. (Sidebar: I was such a dog. Yet, the type of dog you didn’t know peed in your lap until after you fell in love with that chubby face and droopy eyes.) Our casual conversation would quickly escalate to sex talk. Wish I had you bent over your desk right now, baby, I began. Stop!!! he would reply. You know you like that shit. So you stop, I answered. I know but I’m not suppose to, he mentioned.
Some times, emphasis on “some times”, I felt really bad for engaging in our sexting affair, knowing Bastian had someone at home. But I loved it. I liked him. I tried finding ways to make me stop liking him. I confessed to Davis about what we were doing. “He’s not your type, Langston. He smokes and drinks and parties all the time. That’s not the kind of guy you’ve expressed to me you like. Besides, karma is a bitch! You wouldn’t want someone home wrecking your relationship,” Davis told me over the phone. He was right, but I guess I didn’t care. I was severely jealous. I was bursting inside.
For months, I stopped talking to Bastian, but like old habits dying hard, I began again. In that time, I recalled one night, when he was still single, his phone called me by mistake. “Did you mean to call me?” I asked. “No, mybad,” he laughed, sounding sleepy. It had to be about two or three ol’ clock in the morning. “It’s cool. Goodnight,” I replied. “Goodnight.” Looking back, I wondered if that little mistake could have been the gateway for us to build something not based off sex. I’d never know.
However, we continued sexting. During a weekend, Bastian was making plans to come to Georgia. This was after a car accident I’d had that summer. After I told him about it, he let me know he didn’t know if meeting up with me was a good idea. I asked why but I already knew the answer. I don’t wanna be tempted to cheat, he messaged me, as I swore we would keep it platonic, which was a big fat lie for truly wanting to put my sexting words to much needed action.
It wasn’t a week later when I casually text messaged Bastian and found out he too had a car accident. He wasn’t going to be able to make it to Georgia. It was like God had shook the Earth a little bit to the right and made Bastian hit that car. The universes way of telling us, “STOP!”
Every now and then, when I saw Bastian’s Twitter feeds going down my timeline, I’d stop and read. Bluntly, he mentioned trying to decide on having sex with his boyfriend or smoking a cigarette outside before work. The message made my heart beat to a different tune. I didn’t like this. I didn’t even know if I wanted him to break up with his boyfriend for me. What did I want?! He lived ten hours away! Gay relationships hardly lasted miles a part. Throwing states in between was asking for trouble.
Nonetheless, I found myself analyzing his Facebook and Twitter, trying to figure out who was this guy who had one up on me. I drove myself crazy, figuring out most of the cutsy cuddled up pictures I’d seen of him online were with his friends. I couldn’t quite remember if I properly ended the textual affair with Bastian. However, I deleted his number and social network profiles to rid all of the temptation in me. I paused before deleting his photos out of my phone, rubbing the screen like a lost puppy dog. Oh well I thought and deleted the pics.
Recently, I checked Bastian’s Twitter to see what was new or old in his life. I typed in his Twitter name and the word “boyfriend” in the search engine. I found tweet after tweet about his relationship, which I assumed was the same guy as before even though it had been over a year. I cringed at the tweets and decided not to push that “follow” button on the site again. I didn’t want to go back down that road.
The entire thing made me ask myself, In a relationship, is sexting cheating? Are there different rules for gay and heterosexual relationships that say whether or not it’s permitted? The thing about what goes in or out of our underwear drawers is that no one can choose what goes in or out…but us.