by Mark Morford

Created on: November 25, 2008

DRUNK. WANTSEXSEXNOW. TXT ME!

Where were you when text-message sex came and went like a naughty geeky thief in the night?

Ah, memories. The longing for a simpler time, when the Net was young and the e-thrill was new and alt.sex newsgroups were all the rage and e-mail was actually titillating and interesting you could send a potential (or current, or past) lover a dirty flirty little e-note full of promise and verbal licks and awful punctuation. And lo, it was Good.

And maybe you even attached (if this was later in the game, say, 2003) a dirty digital self-taken picture of yourself all woozy and oiled up and sprawled across the couch after four glasses of sake and a half-hit of ecstasy and you hit the Send button and instantly got that little rush of connection, the thrill of invitation, of hey get your butt over to my place immediately because I'm ready for you now now NOW.

Ah, the good old days. How fleeting our modes of lubricious connection, love, lust. How blindingly fast the relationship modes change and if you don't at least pay cursory attention it will pass you by so quickly you'll be caught standing there thinking, Hey gosh these newfangled push-button cordless telephone thingies sure are swell. And wow, power steering!

It has now, I'm forced to admit, happened to me. Hot mutation in the hookup/relationship sphere has already occurred and I've almost totally missed what all text-message addicts already know, which is that the thing now is not to e-mail, not to chat obnoxiously on your cell in Whole Foods or annoy everyone on the bus or in line at Peet's, not to send kinky drunken e-mails late at night or post grainy cell phone pics straight to your MySpace blog that no one actually reads. No, the new thing is to look down.

Look down, that is, at your cell, your Blackberry, your Treo, at the tiny screen of whatever the hell SMS-ready gizmo you carry and scroll through your most recent text messages and the best and most urgent and delicious thing to look for now is, of course, the titillation, the invitation to flesh, the text-message booty call.

What the hell happened? How did I miss the fabulous/silly sextext movement, all the flirting, foreplay, hookups, innuendo, raunch, lust, graphic details of tongue position and moan potential and legs-around-my-neck placement, flings and breakups and rejections and verbal porn, all wrapped in delightful ultra-compressed carpal-tunnel txt shorthand and whipping across 20 million tiny screens in some sort of cute sexy

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