Life is full of regrets. And for so many of us, those regrets live inside our phones, in the form of awful, terrible, no good sext attempts we can never, ever take back. In this world, each of us is doomed at some point to be the Jonathan Franzen of our own private erotic novel, churning out the most genital-withering garbage ever written. At other, equally dark times, we are Franzened upon. Either way, it’s pretty bad.
All of which is to say: On Friday, we brought you part one of the grimmest sexts you’ve ever sent or received. Here, with my personal and profuse apologies for inflicting this on you all, is part two.
“After a lot of practice, I have perfected Santa’s technique of cumming down your chimney. I’ve got to show you.”
He was a dirty old man, more than 20 years my senior, and some of the things he thought qualified as “sexy talk” were just awful and also wonderful(ly hilarious).
I don’t have screen caps, but his sexts would routinely mention wanting to do various things to my “honey pot.” I could get more explicit, but just remembering the phrase “honey pot” used as a euphemism for my vagina makes me shudder enough.
Oh, another favorite: he also called my ass my “caboose.” In a completely sincere, non-ironic way. He was sooooo goddamn olddddd.
“I would eat the corn out of your shit”
The submitter explains that this couple has been together over a decade, and one of them had a yeast infection.
“I just need it! It’s like I’m a diabetic and there’s insulin in your ass and I have to get it with my tongue!”
After a drunk night out with a friend he texted me that he’d “Love to bend you over an airport bench and fuck your brains out.”
Why “airport bench?” No fucking clue.
It was so weirdly specific. I didn’t want to embarass him by asking the next morning. I regret not asking. I want to know what that was about.
*Flaccid dick pick*
Caption: “Suck thy flesh, zoo.”
This was when predictive text had been a thing for a while, and me and my brothers were trying to get my dad to use it as it was so painful to watch his slow texting. He acquiesces, sort of, but one day storms into my room shouting that “the phone won’t write what I tell it to write”. I go “oh let me show you...” and swipe the phone to assist. He was sexting my mum. It was grim.
Our submitter tell us this was from “an ex I was avoiding” She adds, “P.S. — dick not that big.” We guessed as much.
This is a photo of our own Jane Marie, editor of Millihelen, standing silent and aghast as comedian John Hodgman reads her sexts aloud during a “truth or dare”-themed performance of a thing called The Talent Show. Yes. It was as hideous as it sounds.
“I had no idea it would happen,” Jane Marie tells us. “One of them was about how my manicure would look even better wrapped around a dick, which is so on-brand.”
Let’s not touch our phones ever again, OK, gang?
Image via /HBO