Cyber Sexy by Richa Kaul Padte

Author:Richa Kaul Padte
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9789353050382
Publisher: Penguin Random House India Private Limited
Published: 2018-04-11T16:00:00+00:00

Homemade

FOR AS FAR back as I can remember, I have always hated how I looked. My skinny, too-long arms, the awkward bridge of my nose, my non-existent curves—the further I progressed through adolescence, the longer the list grew. As if to seal the deal, this sorry state of affairs was continually confirmed—or brought on, to date I’m not certain—by my complete lack of boyfriends. I made my way through school in varying stages of unrequited love, eventually arriving at the firm belief that love was returned only to those whose prettiness merited it.

Years later when I crossed oceans and found a new home, I slowly grew into myself: happier, freer, less painfully awkward. I also started getting a lot of male attention—a phenomenon that, vis-à-vis self-confidence, continues to be my life’s biggest chicken-and-egg mystery. Boys wanted to dance with me and kiss me and take me home. Many, many more boys than I ever wanted to do these things with. Over the years, I got used to it; I even revelled in it. But despite feeling a rising sense of self-worth, my subconscious worked hard to explain these attractions away. I was exotic, a novelty, a challenge. I was skinny (but not pretty), cool (but not sexy), smart (but that was it).

In my early twenties, this internal trajectory slightly shifted when I was dating a sexually confident and extremely kind boy. He lived several cities away from me, so we mostly conducted our relationship over the phone. He had a BlackBerry, and I had a slightly upmarket Nokia—one that replaced Snake with decent cameras, front and back.

The first time I photographed myself, it was late one weeknight; I was bored and I was curious—to know what I looked like sexy, if that was even a thing. I lay on my bed, looked into the camera using the phone as a mirror, and clicked. And clicked and clicked. I looked over my photographic bounty and swiftly deleted most of them, keeping a sparse few as records of my possibly sexy self. The next time my boyfriend was visiting and going through my phone (because apparently this was okay in my early twenties), he found them. He loved them. He thought they were tremendously sexy, and through his eyes, I almost felt like I could be.

I started sending him the occasional photograph. A picture under my bra, taken in the work loo. A photo of my stomach, taken on my bed. I kept my face out of nearly all the pictures—not because I was afraid of the consequences, but simply because my face is my least sexy attribute. He sent me several back, but despite his sexual inventiveness in bed, they rarely featured anything other than a disembodied picture of his penis. I started hitting delete before I’d even opened them—they were devoid of mystery and held little erotic appeal.

During one of the rare nights we spent together, he suggested we take a video. He had a digital camera, I had very few cautionary tales in my head, and so we went for it.

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