Summary

The article discusses the author's request for their friend to delete their browser history and destroy their phone and hard drive upon their death to protect their privacy, particularly concerning their research as a writer of sex and relationships.

Abstract

The author of the article has made a pact with their best friend to delete their internet search history and destroy their digital devices after they pass away. This request stems from the sensitive nature of the author's writing, which includes topics of sex, relationships, and erotica. The author emphasizes the importance of this act to prevent their family and others from discovering their research and personal interests, which could lead to misunderstandings and discomfort. The article humorously suggests extreme measures for data destruction, reflecting the seriousness of the author's privacy concerns. It also touches on societal attitudes towards sex and kink, highlighting the author's open-mindedness and the potential for posthumous judgment from less open-minded individuals.

Opinions

The author believes that their search history and digital footprint contain private information that should not be accessible to others after their death.
They express a strong desire to maintain their privacy and prevent their family from experiencing distress due to the nature of their research and writing.
The author values their work and research, despite acknowledging that it could be misinterpreted or shocking to some.
They hold a live-and-let-live attitude towards sexual preferences and kink, as evidenced by their exploration of various subcultures for writing purposes.
The author is conscious of the potential for posthumous judgment and prefers to control the narrative by having their digital presence erased.
They prioritize their best friend's peace of mind by not burdening them with the task of explaining the author's search history and writings.

If I Die First, Please Delete My Browser’s History

My dying last request as a writer

A Dead Serious Pact

I have a pact with my best friend: if I die first, she will delete the search history from the browsers in my computer. I need to remember to ask her to also do the same for my phone, as well.

Actually, she should just burn the phone. It deserves to be cleansed by fire after the things it has seen.

Come to think of it, she should delete my entire hard drive. First by regular means. Then a giant magnet. And then an anvil. Taking out my computer like a Looney Tunes character seems wildly appropriate.

For her, I promised to dispose of the bag of costumes she used to keep in her trunk. I’m not sure she kept those since she’s no longer seeing the guy who wanted her to dress up as a naughty nurse…in PVC. That’s something else I’ll have to discuss with her.

Regardless, kinky things aren’t something her family needs to know about her if she dies. Things could get weird at the funeral if that got out. Her parents don’t need that kind of grief.

What’s Hidden in the Search History Should Stay Hidden in the Search History

As a writer, especially one who writes about sex and relationships not to mention erotic romance and erotica, it’s a whole different kettle of fish.

If someone who didn’t know what I write about, or even that I am a writer, took a look at my browser history (which I do clear out, but not daily), they’d think I was porn-obsessed, a social media addict, and slightly illiterate. Only one of those is true. I’ll let you decide which.

I can only imagine what my family would say if they knew I regularly looked up things like what is an otter (referring to gay culture, not adorable water mammals who like to hold hands), how to spell ménage (because I can never properly add in accents), and what is futanari.

It wouldn’t matter that I’m dead. My family would tear me a new one right through my fresh new ghostly appearance.

And as my search history can attest, I’m no holy ghost.

The Depths of Depravity

The thing is, many of the terms and ideas I search truly are for research purposes. I don’t find the majority of it sexy, but I find it fascinating to learn what turns other people on. I tend to avoid anything that goes down into the violence and gore side of eros, but I’ve seen the edges of it and it can get dark very quickly.

But even searching for things on the fringes of fetishes, or sex things in general, can be considered taboo. Not everyone is open-minded about sex or kinkiness. Where I find it enlightening to learn about subcultures, others are appalled and disgusted.

Chacun son goût, I say.

Burn It All

For the most part, I don’t care what other people think of me. But I also don’t want to get into it with strangers and loved ones with hangups about sex and relationships.

Fighting on the internet or in person over what I do or what I’m interested in seems like a waste of time and energy.

This leaves me with a questionable search history and a hard drive full of stories that would turn more than a few heads if the more conservative people I know found out what was on there. And if I’m dead and gone, I’m not able to defend it.

This leaves me with a questionable search history and a hard drive full of stories that would turn more than a few heads.

So it’s easier to ask my undoubtedly bereaved best friend to delete it all and let people go on believing whatever they believe about me, which seems to border on girl-next-door sweetness with the occasional inexplicable S&M fantasy.

I don’t plan on dying anytime soon. But you never know. Mrs. Irene L. Luce (or James Dean, take your pick) wanted to live fast, die young, and leave a beautiful corpse behind. I just want a clean computer so my loved ones don’t have to deal with the fallout of a hard drive full of things they may not understand.

I’ll take my knocks as a writer, but let my loved ones grieve without the added grief of having to deal with my complicated browser history.

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