Sex and technology

I’m sitting in a restaurant and feeling incredibly anxious. I need to check my Facebook messages, my Twitter account and my Violet Online blog for comments. But I can’t. I’m out with my date and we both said how much we hated technology. It would be rude, and I hate being rude.

So, my phone is in my handbag and we’re actually talking. We haven’t been interrupted by a beep once. And it’s kinda nice. He has my undivided attention. I have his. But I haven’t updated my Facebook for about three hours and I’m taking serious strain. Actually, I am in agony.

I gotta do it. I excuse myself and my handbag and I head to the ‘ladies’. I lean against the bathroom wall and take out my phone. Status: Can’t wait for my date to go to the loo so I can check my Facebook. As I’m peeing, I get 4 likes. Not bad, I wouldn’t mind keeping an eye on it. Reluctantly I put my phone away, head back to the table and look into my date’s eyes. They’re a very dark brown. Smouldering. Nice. We have dessert, and then we go back to my apartment.

I suggest he opens a bottle of wine. I pass him the corkscrew and tell him I’m just going to check my mails while he pours. I have to check them, I explain, it could be work. I open my laptop. I have 12 new emails, 14 Facebook notifications and my Twitter is going nuts. I don’t dare check my blog because that means danger.  I quickly reply to a few Facebook posts, update my Twitter – ‘On a Date and he’s gorgeous, worthy of more than 140 char…,’ and go back to the lounge.

He’s sitting patiently, on the couch, wine in hand, no phone or computer in sight. He’s really nice. We chat, we snuggle, we kiss. But I have a dilemma. I’d promised my girlfriends that if the date went well I would let them know just how well, via emoji.

One smiley face – if he was nice.

Two smiley faces – if we kissed.

Three smiley faces – if we had sex.

Four – if the sex was brilliant.

I had to sneak out and send a message. One smiley face. So far, so good. When I came back I noticed he was on his phone, typing a message. He was possibly sending someone a silly emoticon too. But he quickly put it back in his pocket when I came into the room.

‘Violet’, he said. ‘I’d love to spend the night with you. The whole night’.

‘Oh’, I said. ‘I’d like that too.  Give me a minute’.

I went to the bathroom, sprayed a bit of perfume, put on some gorgeous lingerie, instagrammed my panties, checked my phone one last time, tweeted how excited I was, then – with a little difficulty – switched everything off.

And so he spent the night. We had sex and God it was really really good. And then we had more sex and then again and again and  I had no idea a man could come three times like that and I loved it but hey, I also had stuff to do. I was really glad when he finally pulled up the covers, nuzzled my neck and passed out.

How do men do that, just pass out?

When he was in the deepest of sleeps, I crept out of the bed and fetched my laptop. Relief.  I climbed back in next to him and quietly went online. I sent four smiley faces to my girlfriends. Read my mails. Checked my Facebook. Smiled at my 32 likes. Updated my twitter. Wrote this blog. And finally,  I could fall sleep next to him. It was perfect.

God Bless technology

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