After a drunken night out with a friend, we agreed to play sexting roulette. The idea of the game was to send a nude to each other but delete it before the other person could open it.
It was a silly idea, formulated by booze, but it stuck, with the first deleted message there on my screen the very next morning.
The game asked an interesting question, of which I was unsure of the answer: do I want to see her naked?
In fact, it asked many questions, among them: I wonder what she looks like naked – which was an answer of a kind to the first question.
With the most curious of conflictions, whenever my phone pinged I tried to play it cool. But the more I saw 🚫This message was deleted the more curious I became.
I, of course, was playing my side of the game. I’d send my nudes when I knew she was on the train, or at lunch, or visiting family, or had friends visiting her, before deleting it as quickly as I could.
As absurd as the game was, it was also ridiculously exciting, in the very weirdest way.
There was also the question of what she thought when she received my messages; whether she also harboured a strange desire to see me in my most natural state; if her mouth went dry whenever her phoned pinged. There must surely be something there, if she was willing to play.
And then one day it happened.
I had just sat down and opened my phone when I accidentally pressed on a message that had come through before I even knew it.
There it was. A photo. From her. A most revealing nude.
And it revealed a lot.
According to the picture, it turned out that she wasn’t she at all.
I wasn’t entirely sure what to reply, so just sent a laughing emoji and you win – even though, I suppose, technically, I won. It’s difficult to say, as we didn’t really set any rules.
Anyway, I sent another nude and deleted it. Just out of habit, really.
vss #70
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