So yesterday I got a job offer to write a whole bunch of sexts.
‘Send me an example,’ the guy said.
Damn cheek, I thought, how can anyone doubt my sexting abilities.
Anyway, I typed…
I would like you here, now, my bed, your hand, my panties, oh god, god…
He interrupted my sexting.
‘That is perfect,’ he said. ‘You have the job. I need fifty by the end of day.’
We agreed on a price, and I quickly hammered out fifty sexts. I’ve learned that when you write for this site you don’t ask questions. It’s pretty badly paid, I wasn’t going to waste too much time.
It’s also quite interesting sexting without emotion. Because it’s a bit like writing about the weather.
Oh that feels good. Ooooh, yes. Hot. Steamy. More. More. One more time. Please. Oh oh, yawn.
It did nothing for me but hey, dollars…
I sent off my sexts.
He replied almost immediately.
‘I did not ask you to write pornography Violet. I wanted quality sexts.’
I was outraged.
‘Excuse me. Excuse me. We are talking sexting here. What is a quality sext? ‘
‘Well you know, your punctuation, your grammar, you need to work on them…’
I blew up. For my few USD, I thought my sexts were brilliant.
‘We’re not writing a piece of literature here, Mister. This is sexting you asked for. Not Mills and Boon. Not a declaration of love. These are sexts for gods sake. No-one mentioned we’re aiming for a Nobel prize’
He went very quiet.
‘Fine,’ he typed. ‘Do me another fifty’.
And that’s the thing about men. It’s sexting.
They don’t really care what you say.