An Elegy For A Nude

Art by Alexa Lunney

“You up?” 

“Wyd…pics?”

“Send nudes.”

These are messages so many of us have grown numb to. After a party, when one is alone in bed, or sometimes in the middle of the day while writing for a nonfiction creative writing class––these are some of many instances where we receive a request to send nude pictures of ourselves to a suitor or a random person over the internet. While somewhat titillating as a result of its rebellious nature, sending nudes can have consequences of epic proportions. 

As a freshman in high school, I remember receiving my first inquiry for pictures of my body. I was innocent, blinded by the allure of feeling desired. I was sitting on the bus in my maroon marching band uniform covered in white tassels and a large hat with a cream-colored feathery plume when he came up to me.

“Hey Griffin! I know you’re lonely, so I wanted to introduce you to one of my friends!” 

I was the only gay man in my year. The isolation killed me, so the glittering opportunity of a friend, or even my dream lover, made my pupils widen with images of wedding bells and sustained bliss. I accepted and allowed the popular trumpet player of the marching band––quite an oxymoron!––to give me his friend’s Snapchat.

The Snapchat friend was named “Johnny Ali.” Johnny apparently met the trumpeter playing on his Xbox online. The trumpeter found out he was gay and knew that Johnny was meant for me, a naive queer hidden in my own world. Johnny was shy; he told me he wouldn’t show his face much. I didn’t care. After returning from the competition, I immediately sent him a steamy mirror selfie of my face and shoulders floating out of the shower. He told me I looked good. I believed him.

Johnny and I spent hours getting to know each other. And by that, I mean he asked me about my favorite sexual positions, about the porn I liked, and about my body count. I laughed, noticing that Johnny was so sexual and bold. I was but a virgin, but he made me feel like a Greek statue chiseled by his compliments and the need to know me, even if at a surface level. He told me that my body was amazing while playing virtual truth or dare. Then he told me a truth: about how hard it was to be closeted and the difficulty of being queer in a town full of straight people. I felt like he really knew me and like I knew him. I was under his spell, and I wanted him to know more about me.

At night, below the canopy of my bunk bed with my door closed, he asked for my nudes. I sent them. He asked for more, then more and more. He told me all of the positions he wanted to see me in. He said I was perfect, then complained when I didn’t want to send more. I felt nervous, but I wanted his approval. For weeks, his games of love bombing then asking for more pictures continued. Meanwhile, the trumpeter periodically texted and asked about how I liked Johnny. I noticed a pattern. Johnny would lovebomb me, I would send nudes, then the trumpeter would text me. Soon, I realized that the games ran deeper than skin. Johnny and the trumpeter were the same boy spinning me in circles. He, Johnny/the trumpeter, was the boy in the closet staring at pictures of my nude body. I was humiliated. I later learned that he had pictures of others stored. My body was on the internet somewhere forever.

While irregular, my story is not entirely unique. People of all ages can have sexual urges, and the internet only exacerbates the problem. According to an analysis of several studies in The Journal of the American Medical Association, “More than one in four teenagers reported that they’d received a sext, defined by the study as a sexually explicit image, video or message that is sent electronically.” 

While teenagers should be able to safely explore their sexuality, it is illegal in the United States at either the state or federal level to have possession of or send nude images of anyone under 18, regardless of if the photos are of oneself, and can even be deemed child pornography. Additionally, as in my situation, you never know who will see your images. While it is difficult to screenshot on apps like Snapchat, there are always ways to save pictures of anything. Parents and educators often state that when a person posts on the internet, it stays forever; this is simply a fact. When putting oneself out there in this way, know that there is a risk of losing control of any pictures or messages that are sent.

That’s not to say that sending and asking for nudes has only negative attributes. It can be a way for two people to get to know each other sexually if done in the right context. I remember casually dating a guy who asked to video chat nude, and I obliged after a circle of trust was developed. Virtually, the two of us were able to get off from a distance while feeling safe. This should be the goal: trust. Revealing oneself to anyone comes with risks no matter what environment they find themselves in. Being naked is vulnerable, and leaves one open to sharing their deepest insecurities. If consent is found within these interactions, it can be entirely enjoyable and aid in the self-love process. However, the risk factor remains the same. 

With that said, you should be wary of the “You up?” text no matter what place you find yourself in. Without that baseline of trust, it might be better to leave that person on read.