In 2006, at any given time, you could scroll through the photo gallery in my cellphone and find semi-nude photos of sculpted male pecs or cylinder male parts. In my e-mails, I kept archives of selfies just in case the headless men trapped in my overly expensive device requested a pic back. I was heavily invested in “nudies.”
A single gal in college at the time, I was pretty in tune with my sexuality. I wanted to have sex (in hindsight it was more like naked humping) without the commitment because my heart truly belonged to someone else who was unavailable at the time. Whatever the f**k that means.
It was during that era, when smartphones equipped with the high quality cameras began to rise to the forefront of technology, that my generation picked up a savvy for photography. Having such equipment, in the literal palm of one’s hand, made it easy to indulge in blossoming social norms like: exchanging photos, constant interaction with growing social media platforms and the Internet.
Anyhoo, my sex-life really ramped up after high school. I was “doing it” more than ever and feeling a sense of pride in my sexual romps. Somewhere in between school work and hanging with the girls, swapping enticing photos to secure the interest of a hopeful partner became an obsession and a hidden sign of my desperate need for attention through compliments from the opposite sex. I was craving male attention and getting it by any means necessary.
At times, I would host personal photo shoots, styling myself scantily clad clothing. I’d dress set my bedroom, living room or whichever area my parents weren’t in and wouldn’t be visiting for late night snacks. I never went fully naked, but I was close.
Nudies became a new way of dating, or lack their of. Because boys my age were only into sex, I conformed to their wants so I could stay a relevant thought in their mind. And I wasn’t just sending them, I was receiving them. I learned how to weed through the pics as a way to disqualify sexual partners. If it curved too far, looked to small or anything that resembled a Pomeranian’s coat above the male genitalia would be automatic grounds for termination (from my life that is). Nudies became common for me and girls like me.
I have issues (if you can’t tell). I consider myself to be a beautiful girl, but I just don’t think other people see what I see, like the mirror is playing tricks on me. It could stem from my elementary and junior high school days, when I was bullied about my height, short hair, smile, no-frills brand clothes and every other thing they could pick on me for. I never really got over it. At 5’6, 36 DD, and lengthy stems, nudies became a way of being beautiful. I lived for that moment when I would press “send” because I just knew I would get a response that would make me feel accepted.
I eventually grew out of that phase when I settled down with a man who made me feel beautiful because I was the smartest and most hard-working, loyal person he knew. The way he stared at me reassured me that I wasn’t ugly like the school kids would call me. I felt wanted for more than just sex and that’s when my depreciated value of sex was rebuilt. That message came after years of being “out there” and a few embarrassing moments I won’t mention.
I still struggle with self-esteem issues but I’ve learned that my cravings for attention are standard (I don’t care what you say, every woman wants to feel accepted, sexy and enticing). It’s how to respond to the mental groans that build character and confidence.
So girlies, put your clothes on and take it from me, it will come back to bite you in the a** but you’ll be OK!
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