The one I texted to a guy I had no intention of sleeping
with again. I was drunk, and in the mood for someone relatively remote and
distant. Some flirting, general horny chit chat, an early night with some of
his personally-tailored smut and my own right hand. I got the smut, but only in
exchange for a blurry, oddly-angled close-up of my fingers deep in my own
vagina. The regrets come partly because I’m not 100% sure the guy will have
kept it to himself, but mainly because I don’t even wank like that. It’s an
inaccurate depiction of my own masturbatory habits, and thus I suspect one of
the least sexy pictures I’ve ever taken.
The second one I regret wasn’t taken by me. Halfway through
a particularly energetic fuck, in a position the guy clearly loved, he asked if
he could take a picture of me. I said yes, and he did. Looking at the picture
afterwards gave me a genuine jolt of delight. As one who generally thinks my
body is wrong in all the classic ways, this pic surprised me by being a
quickfire, candid, naked shot in which I actually felt I looked hot. The
morning after I was walking on air: delighted at the slightly sore feeling of
satisfaction after a delicious, no-strings fuck, and hugging myself in the
knowledge that maybe I was sexy after all.
Four hours later I found out that he hadn’t just shown me the photo –
he’d sent it to half the people in his address book.
What am I ashamed of?
When people talk about naked pictures, one of the most
common go-to emotions is shame - body shame, slut shame, the shame that comes
from feeling like a dirty little fucker who should have known better than to
let someone see your private bits. I think I’m so used to hearing about shame
when naked pictures or videos are circulated that I find it hard to calculate
what my actual feelings are towards the incidents above.
Sure, I’m angry – I’m angry because trust has been broken,
or might be broken, or because the significance of my rare pic-giving hasn’t
been fully appreciated. There’s perhaps a pinch of self-loathing in there too.
Not only am I not the greatest fan of my own body, but smartphones are not the
most flattering tool with which to show it off. I’ve often been tempted to send
something, but given up after spending half an hour contorting in front of a
mirror to make sure that my tits are in shot, my face isn’t, and my knickers
sit just right without showing a bikini line shadow or an uncomfortable bulge
of hip fat.
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