The first few weeks of *seriously* texting a new boy are, arguably, the most important. It’s like being captured in a never-ending first date. You’re on your best behavior, projecting the most flawless image of yourself as possible into his psyche. That’s a lot easier over text and Snapchat than it is in real life. In reality, everything happens in real time, but on text, everything is suspended. You get to decide exactly what you want your response to be to something he says, instead of just blurting it out on the spot. You can position yourself upside down perfectly in a snap to look like you have huge boobs and big sparkling eyes and, with the help of a mirror, a perfect ass.
After awhile, though, you’re tempted to get real. Maybe things have been dragging on between the two of you and you want to take the next step, whether that means sending a bold sext, or telling him your real feelings instead of pure casual flirting. It’s hard to say which can be more intimidating. Either way, you decide to make that move and step outside your comfort zone. You send the very explicit sext that you’ve been dying to say out loud, or you admit you feel things for parts of him besides his penis. Like, his heart and maybe brain. Terrifying, I know, but shit happens. You take a deep breath, and you hit “send.” And then…
10 Seconds Later: Oh my god oh my GODDDD.
30 Seconds Later: Can I take it back? If I put my phone on airplane mode will it stop sending?
45 Seconds Later: Oh shit, it’s blue. It says delivered. It fucking sent.
One Minute Later: Could I have found a better angle for my boobs? Can he tell the left one is bigger? Is he going to be weirded out that I suggested staying at my place? I don’t need him to show up with a ring. Is sleeping with me in my bed after sex too much to ask? Is it?!
Two Minutes Later: Well, if he thinks I’m insane, he’s not wrong.
Five Minutes Later: How long does it usually take for him to text back? Is five minutes normal? Is anything going to be normal ever again?
Ten Minutes Later: *frantically Googles the best ways to disappear off the face of the Earth*
20 Minutes Later: It’s over. He hates me.
30 Minutes Later: Fuck it. I give up. He’s never going to talk to me again. I went too far.
31 Minutes Later: *Puts phone on silent as a dare to the universe.* (Everyone knows that when you have your sound on, nothing will happen. But when it’s on silent the world wants to chat.)
40 Minutes Later: Your roommates have all read the text and told you it was definitely sexy and that he’ll definitely respond. You feel better for a few minutes. Then you look at your blank screen, toss your phone onto your bed and grab the wine.
Two Hours Later: You’re halfway into a bottle of your favorite red when you wander back into your room looking for a blanket. You absently grab your phone and your heart soars as you see his name on your screen. You don’t have to leave the country.
“Hey. Sorry, I was at the gym.”
He was at the gym. You melt a little bit. He works out. That’s sexy. That’s enough for you to forgive him not texting back for two full hours. Not everyone can be perfect. Then he says he wants to come over, and the whole ordeal is forgotten. Next time he goes to the gym, though, he better remember to warn you ahead of time..
Image via Shutterstock
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Shannon Layne
My favorite things are tiaras, compliments, and free drinks, which are becoming harder to come by the more I tend to show up at the bar in sweat pants. The proudest moment of my life so far has been landing an actual, paying job that allows me to Facebook stalk people for a living. I tweet about my mom way too often, who is constantly trying to remind me that I'm not nearly as cool as I think I am. Please send me funny stories to read at work here: shannon.laynee@yahoo.com
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