On Wednesdays, Amanda Chatel will be sharing stories about her strange, fascinating and sometimes wonderful dating life. If it makes you want to date, check out TheGloss dating page.

I’m not into sexting. It’s just not my thing. Dirty texting with words, I’m a huge fan; but the chances of me sexting a photo of my vag or boobs, well, there are no chances. It will never happen. I have friends who think it’s all the rage, and I’ve been subjected to these back and forth photos between them and their fella du jour, but with my luck I will lose my phone the same day I send my first nude photo and then some stranger will get an eyeful of my luscious bod. I’m joking, of course — about the luscious part.

I was on my second date with T. Our first date had gone pretty well, so I was excited as to how our second date would go. He lives in Williamsburg, so I headed out that way to meet him at one of my favorite places in that neighborhood, The Rabbithole. We had a couple glasses of wine, some great food, and everything was going swimmingly. By the third glass of wine, I thought I could love him as wine has a tendency of confusing me — as do fellas with beards who wear Sperrys and cross their legs properly. I also decided that before the night was over, I would be having sex with him. It may not have been the traditional third date that we’re supposed to stick to, but as I already stated, I decided I was falling in love.

So while I’m planning our future together in my head, he got up to go to the bathroom. I felt my phone vibrate, and since he had left the table, I didn’t feel rude checking it. When I saw it was from him I thought of two possible scenarios: 1. he decided this date was a bust, but was kind enough to text me on his way home, or 2. he missed me even though he had only been away from the table for less than five minutes. However, it was neither of those. Instead, it was a picture of his cock and balls in his hand. It was not a photo of him peeing, mind you, but him holding his manly bits and posing them for the photo. I was unsure how to respond. Do I text him back, thanking him for the picture? Was I supposed to compliment him on it? I was confused.

When he came out of the bathroom, he asked me if I had received the photo. I told him I had. He then proceeded to tell me that he was going to “plow me with it later.” Had we been on more than two dates, I could have easily responded to this comment. I have very sick and dirty thoughts going through my head at all times, but I was unable to convey them at that moment.

“Now it’s your turn,” he said.

“My turn for what?” I asked.

“Go to the bathroom and take a photo of your pussy so I know what I’ll be plowing later.”

“No, thank you.”

“Why? I thought you were open-minded and freaky?”

Yes, he said ‘freaky.’

“I’m very open-minded,” I explained, “I’m just not into taking photos of my kitchen (this is what my sister and I have been calling it forever), and passing it along to people.”

“I won’t show it to anyone,” he said.

“That’s fine. But again, no, thank you.”

It was after this that things went downhill pretty fast as he harped on how I was a prude (as if!), and how I wasn’t exactly the person he thought I was. Because, as we all know, after one and half dates you know someone so well, that you’re able to make such a statement.

When the check came, he paid for it although I tried to pay at least my half. He wouldn’t have it. We left the restaurant, and he told me he was tired and was going home. There would be no “plowing” that evening, but there would be several more cock shots over the next few hours as he proceeded to point out to me what I was missing. We went on a third date, but that was it. I’m starting to think maybe I should get on this whole sexting bandwagon if that’s what all the “cool” kids are doing. Maybe.

Are any of you avid “sexters?”