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" I&amp;#039;m swearing off text sex. You know, phone-to-phone, text-to-text, dirty rotten vowel-free sex. It was Dave, my boss at the record store where I worked, who first introduced me. Dave was a scary man, an ex-convict with a volatile temper and a rap sheet to match. He was jailhouse-bald with a smoker&amp;#039;s smile, muddy tattoos, and pants three sizes too big.  Our &amp;quot;affair&amp;quot; began innocently enough. I was ringing up bargain-bin CDs when - bzzz - my phone began to vibrate. It was Dave, texting me from across the store.  &amp;quot;Thos jeans ur wearing tday make yr ass look hot. I want 2 fuk it.&amp;quot; I wasn&amp;#039;t sure whether to blush, laugh, or call the cops. This was my boss, after all. A guy who, up until now, had demonstrated zero interest in my ass, let alone any wish to defile it.  I contemplated my next move. What was the harm in playing along? They were just words (mostly) - erasable ones. &amp;quot;Tell me more,&amp;quot; I wrote, and hit send. The onslaught began - bzzz, bzzz - each message dirtier than the next. Dave&amp;#039;s lack of inhibition was unnerving and hot. But as we neared the end of our shift, I started to panic. What if he tried to consummate something? How would I explain that my texts meant nothing and that, truthfully, I thought he was kinda ugly and creepy and had the vocabulary of a sixth-grader?  Luckily, it never came to that. On Sunday, Dave called in sick. On Monday, he quit. I forgot about the incident until recently, when a guy texted me some boozy, suggestive messages about the kinky things he wanted to do with me. Yikes. Was text sex becoming America&amp;#039;s preferred way to drunk-dial?  To be sure, sexting has its upsides, with its anytime-anywhere accessibility. But still, it&amp;#039;s not without pitfalls. Take my friend Meredith, 25, a fashion writer who used to text her man from the office with notes like, &amp;quot;I&amp;#039;m at work - let&amp;#039;s do it on my desk!&amp;quot; and, &amp;quot;I&amp;#039;m gonna bite your ass!&amp;quot; After a few too many drinks one night, she accidentally sent a smutty note to her best friend. The pal wouldn&amp;#039;t drop the faux pas for months. &amp;quot;You want me to do what?!&amp;quot; she&amp;#039;d crow, and burst out laughing. Lesson learned. Maybe there&amp;#039;s something to be said for the good old-fashioned phone call. After all, what if texting is just another way for my generation to continue disengaging from a real search for connection? Or worse, what if it causes us to lower our standards? I&amp;#039;d never sleep with Dave the Ex-Convict if I met him on the street, so why do it via text? The whole thing made me feel kind of dirty - and not in the good way. Ashlea Halpern is the senior editor at Time Out New York. She lives in Brooklyn. "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.marieclaire.com/sex-love/advice/a2289/phone-sex-text-message-digital-sex/>