“There’s the post date text, the pre-sexting texting and the post sex confirmation of a good time had by both-or all depending on the level of kink.” Girlfriend with the four inch black heels and jeans and grey leather jacket grins and takes a bite of salad and a swig of iced tea.
“Really?” The pretty brunette with the gladiator sandals leans in, one eyebrow raised. With her fork she silently stirs around her plate of quinoa and then rests her chin in her hand. “Hey, there’s a market niche to exploit here. Condoms for phones. You know, a little sleeve to protect it from the spray and the fray. Fricken’ phones are way into sex.”
“Sexting is not sex.”
“What if you, like, cum during?”
There’s something about the pace of relationships, preservation of time, suspension of want; all the texts, the pics, the shared good morning smiles sent across the digital divide; some proof of connection when hands can’t reach out for some finger play over a long weekend.