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My girlfriend can be a little wild in the sack—and I’m not complaining. She likes to try everything (and I mean everything—now I’m just bragging). But now she wants to make a sex tape. I’m kinda weirded out by it. Should I just go for it?
Ask yourself one thing: Has one person ever truly turned a leaked sex tape around and made it a life-changing move, one that brought true happiness and contentment otherwise unachievable through other human means?
Don’t say Kim Kardashian, because a) shit like that only happens once in a lifetime, like some sort of total eclipse; b) you sure as hell don’t have a savvy Mama Jenner spinning your shit into literal gold; and c) it is certainly arguable that Kim isn’t even truly happy or content—how can you be, with a MAGA hat-wearing husband having Twitter meltdowns every other Tuesday?
But we digress. The point is, sex tapes are all fun and games, until the Cloud hands your ass back to you—literally, by way of all your friends’ group chats. And that’ll screw you even harder than anything you can film on your fancy front-facing phone camera.
Heed our plea: The risk simply isn’t worth it. The fact that you’re asking us if you should already shows you’re on the fence, so let us enumerate all the legit reasons why proof of your peen doing some hard work isn’t worth it:
- It leaks, and people who literally have no business knowing your business will be all up in it;
- You break up, and you’re both left with this thirty-second clip of you bumping uglies hanging over your head as some sort of nasty leverage;
- You film yourselves, and instead of it elevating the experience, you end up feeling kinda gross and dirty (hey, we’re not all animals, right?) and realize it tarnished the connection somehow;
- It leaks (technology being what it is, the threat is very real, and therefore bears repeating);
- It leaks and your boss sees it;
- It leaks and your friends see it;
- It leaks and your mother sees it
Again, given the way this tech-obsessed-but-not-too-savvy world is, nothing recorded ever stays hidden in the depths of the Internet. Heck, it can even be argued that nothing is ever really hidden—for the right hacker with the wrong motivation, your personal files are like the corner 7-Eleven: always open and willing to serve up some goods.
But I won’t even back it up on the Cloud, you argue. I’ll keep it safe, you promise. Can you really? The idea of having something too profoundly personal and incriminating existing in this world is too big of a secret to keep, and it’s a burden to bear. You could have a USB hidden in the deepest recesses of your underwear cabinet; you could have photos locked in a bank safety deposit box, but you’ll know it’s there, and it’s only human to be paranoid—why add stress to your life?
The reality of the matter is, some things belong confined in the four walls of a bedroom, and between two people. You think having a sex tape is wild? Nothing’s sexier than no one else knowing exactly what kind of crazy shit you two can get up to. Focus on upping the ante with what God gave you, and not with whatever your postpaid plan renewal awarded you with. Nothing kills intimacy more than having gadgets within arm’s reach. Go old school: turn off the TV, hide your phones, and go to fucking town on each other with the lights turned down low.
And use that fucking mirror they have screwed on the ceiling and the walls, for crying out loud. That’s what they’re there for.