I got the new iPhone 5 just in time. Much to my embarrassment, I have been the recipient, and possibly the sender of pictures of a rather sexual sort. It is what the kids today call “sexting”.
So, armed with my new thumbprint, Pentagon level security, I venture to my beeping phone, to find a message from HIM. Half mortified, Half shocked, and Half concerned about what he will want in return, and 1% microcosmically turned on ( Yes, I know, more math that does not add up, for those of you have been reading). I check the hilighted message to find a penis. Why am I shocked? I am of age. I have been married, twice in fact. I have changed little boy diapers. I’ve seen those things before. But this is my phone. This is a picture of a naked man. No, in all actuality, it is just a part of a naked man. Actually, it is a rather nice, large penis that had been carefully pulled through a zipper of a pair of jeans. It was a nice picture, albeit of a penis. Nice jeans, nice belt. The artist in me analyzes the composition and negative space. All nicely done. So, again, in an effort to gain trust here, I show you a discreet version of what I received, covered by a sticky note. ( I will never tell him that I did not need to use the large note. The 2×2 worked just fine 😉 ).
So, BFF, you have never heard the details of this picture, although I wanted to share it with you. You declined to be a part of my shameful behavior. Or at least that is how it felt when I told you. I still wonder what you were thinking, and I have a feeling you will tell me.)
It is, however, an unsolicited picture of a penis. Had we spoken about sex and romance? Well, kind of yes. But as we had not yet been in the same room, or even the same zip code, there was something unnerving about receiving this. What would Siri think??? What would BFF think???
So, back to the picture. It was more than a sexy picture of a naked man. It was a picture that, for all of its blatant openness, was loaded with meaning, offers, requests, and yes, LOTS of excitement. This man found little old me pretty, and exciting. Implied was the request for something in return.
Once the icy feeling passed from my body, I contemplated what I could send in return. Being pretty computer savvy, I thought about pasting my head atop a famous Sports Illustrated Model. I asked BFF for advice, and much to my surprise, she seemed to suggest that a little bit of fun was OK at this stage in my life. This surprised me, because I thought that there was no way she would understand what I was going through. I love her dearly, but as a long time married lady, she could not understand the feelings of rejection, and loneliness that I have experienced over the years. Could she? She pleasantly surprised me with her “modern” response. Do I dare? As someone who practically showers in her clothes, I really have not looked at myself naked in years. I see myself naked, but do I really SEE myself? Does anyone see what others see? Could I actually attempt to use my phone; the same phone that I use to call my children and my mother, to attempt to take a picture of some part of my anatomy?
Now, let’s be clear. Upon receipt of the penis, he did not exactly ask for a photo. But, he did say that it “would be nice, considering how attracted” he is to me. Now, not being a teenage girl, and actually being a mother, I know BS when I hear it. But there was a part of me that wondered how it would feel to have a secret, illicit photo sharing romance protected by my thumbprint. There was actually a part of me that was excited that I could have something that was my own. My own secret romance, with secret texts, and secret pictures and secret giggles, and more secrets upon happy, giggly secrets. I felt young again. I had fleeting thoughts of jet planes to Paris, and bouquets of flowers arriving at my door.
So, after putting the chicken in to roast, I went upstairs to my bedroom, to figure out how I could hide the baskets of laundry, or the stacks of papers and things that had become my chaotic life when I ceased to have a housekeeper. This picture needed atmosphere. I locked the door, and told my kids I needed to finish up some work. I took off my t-shirt and stared at myself in the mirror, up and down. I became angry at myself for all the times I promised to go to the gym, but slept in. My vision was however, transfixed upon my C-Section scar. Three babies, one scar. One scar that has become a slight fold in my stomach. Pacing, around my room, wondering how I was going to begin my elicit affair, if I could not even snap one picture as a return gift for the above mentioned penis picture. It is quite possible that some tears fell down my face. In fact, I am quite sure that I stood there crying for some time, until I heard something that brought me back to reality. My very own, very real reality.
I hear giggles. My kids were giggling as they played with the dogs. It was very subtle, but all of a sudden, that fold in my belly was no longer a defining characteristic of who I saw physically. Instead, it was just a part of me that was almost as important as the arms that carried those laughing babies. Maybe my stomach wasn’t as flat as it once had been. Maybe my arms were not as toned. But my belly was roomy enough, and my arms were strong enough to carry those children, and hold them when they needed a hand or a hug.
So, I fluffed my hair, put on a white shirt, unbuttoned it, and let it casually fall off my shoulder. I snapped about 50 pictures until I had decided that I did the best I could with what I have. How did it all turn out? Well, he ended up with a breast. Well, the left one, to be specific. Carefully exposed and edited in iPhoto. Why the left one? Well, it is slightly bigger than the right one, of course!