The first time I answered my phone mid-hookup, my boyfriend Tej didn’t seem to mind. After all, there was something recklessly hot about your girlfriend faking sick to her boss on the phone while simultaneously stifling the sounds of an early morning orgasm. The second time was his turn; a conference call scheduled expressly to be taken from home while receiving a blowjob. Not my fantasy, necessarily, but so went compromise. And thus it continued, an unspoken game we’d play in the early, hot days of our relationship, our phones presenting themselves as sexy obstacles of foreplay.

Somewhere along the way, technology stopped being just a turn-on. A glance over at a new text message became de rigeur before quickly turning the offending phone upside down out of guilt, though even that soon gave way to multi-second pauses spent answering quick phone calls from bosses, parents, and friends. The more sex we started having, the less sexy it started to become.

As anyone in a relationship can tell you, chances are high every time you lace up won’t necessarily be the 81-point game of your sexual career. But to hear Tej, my now ex-boyfriend, tell the story of the time I tweeted during sex — accidentally, involuntarily, momentarily — I may as well have forgotten to show up for the championship winning game altogether. The facts are far simpler: our eight-year on-again, off-again relationship was nearing off-again, and as such, the sex, though still good, had become routine.

“Did you just tweet during sex?!” He yelled at me as he climbed back towards the headboard.

Things were already touchy between us after he had discovered a friend of mine had mused on Twitter, “What’s worse? Dating a finance bro or one who DJs reggae music to blow off steam?” (Tej, of course, did both. In retrospect, she may have been onto something.) After a two-hour debate of why I felt the need to use Twitter at all, one that was ended only by my stripping down to a bra mid-diatribe, we’d smoothed things over; an hour after that, microblogging was a distant memory — as was my bra and everything else I had worn that night.

Which is exactly when it happened: another tweet, accompanied by that telltale text message notification. I didn’t think twice about taking a quick peek at the stack of work and personal cell phones we both now had no qualms about keeping within inches of the bed. Maybe it was because this one was yet another zinger about Tej, and I felt guilty, or maybe it was because Tej and I had just become a little too familiar with each other. Either way, it took only seconds for me to type out a quick response, one that defended the man who had currently taken up residence in a position that left me a little too hands free.

I maintain to this day that the only reason Tej was upset was because this occurred during one …read more

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