What a Nice Guy by Phil Torcivia

Friday, April 15, 2011

Careful What You Send


      What a conservative, crotchety old man I have become. I don’t understand the texting, sexting, emailing, and skyping of nude images. The defense claims that it’s innocent fun between consenting adults, it’s private, and I’m too uptight. I insist that nothing sent through cyberspace is private and adults (especially) shouldn’t send anything they would want their parents, children, or coworkers finding.
      “You’re just jealous.”
      “Jealous that your shirtless, tattoo-sleeved, shaven-chested boy toy sent a picture to you and not me?”
      “No. You’re jealous that you’re not as hot as he is.”
      “Right. I wish I lived in his camper and had time to pose while one of my four borderline gay roommates took pictures of me to send to my fuck buddy.”
      “See?”
      Ugh. I had a young (of course, she was) woman I dated a few years back send me a lovely photo of her naked on the bed. She covered the naughty parts. I immediately called her and said, while I appreciated her intention, I’d prefer if she never did that again. Why? Because, no matter whom it is intended for, you never know whose hands the picture could land in.
      Let’s say I was oblivious and arrogant enough to head into my bathroom right now, shave down, apply a thick layer of bronzer, suck my gut in, set proper overhead lighting, and snap a few self-portraits in the mirror (the creepiest and least attractive of all pictures). Then I send them to a bed warmer. When my relationship fails (as most do, even for you), said bed warmer might find amusement in sharing my sexy (??) photos with her friends. Unless I have no pride, I’ll regret it.
      “Your man is teenager-ish.”
      “Every woman I show his pictures to says he’s hot.”
      “These women realize that he’s your love stick, hence they don’t want to offend you by saying what they really think.”
      “Untrue.”
      “Look, studly may be fit and sexy to some, but the mere fact that he’s willing to pose and send his picture around makes him as attractive as braided nose hair.”
      “You’re just jealous.”
      Help me out here, people. We’re all aware that nothing sent into cyberspace is private, correct? It also doesn’t just go away when potential hiring companies do background checks. What happens if you become famous? You don’t think these photos will resurface?
      “Well, when I send topless photos, I always make sure my face isn’t in the photo.”
      “What? Wait a minute. You send topless photos—glands, nipples, and all?”
      “Sure, but no face. That way nobody can know for sure that it’s me.”
      “But, it IS you.”
      “There’s no evidence.”
      “How about the fact that you took the picture and sent it from your phone? How about the fact that you just told me? How about the fact that the nipples in the picture, which are unique as fingerprints, match yours exactly?”
      “No face. No proof.”
      “So, if I Photoshop’d your head onto the picture, you’re telling me that wouldn’t be you, topless?”
      “You could do that with anyone’s face and some stranger’s boobs.”
      “But, this would be your face with your boobs. Hence, if you were to sue me for libel you would lose because if the tits fit, you must acquit.”
      “No …”
      “Tell you what—I’ll happily accept topless and headless photos of Ms. Aniston. Minor assembly required.”
      “Look, it’s not as if I’m posting these pictures on Facebook. I just sent a few to him only.”
      “Oh, and it’s not as if he would ever show any of his buddies your buds.”
      “He wouldn’t.”
      “Right. Just like you haven’t shown anyone his pictures … oh, except the women you surveyed, me, and my friend here.”
      “Face it, you’re just jealous.”

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