A message to all Fuck Boys / Brads: I am a real person who is independent to your imagination. You don’t actually have a genuine interest in me, you have just romanticised the pursuit of me. Now fuck off.
Quarantine has taught me a really valuable lesson when it comes to dating: raise your standards, sis.
Let me start with my pre-pando dating life. In March, just before lockdown, I was shagging a gorgeous 6ft 2, perfectly bearded, hung like a horse, man (hello if you’re reading this, you know who you are, dick). For the purpose of this, we’ll call him Brad. The truth is, Brad is now a just distant memory of bad sex and shit jokes. He’s also the ideal example of the type of man I should stop giving my time to. I mean, the joke is probably on me for falling for the act because once you get past the looks and weak attempts at sarcasm, what else did he have to offer me?
Since then, I’ve had precisely 152 days to:
- A) get over him
- B) ask myself, why did I ever think he was enough?
Introducing, the fuck boy…
Now let me make this very clear, I’m not looking for a dowry or anything materialistic for that matter. Nor am I out here looking for a husband. Put really simply, I’m a single woman in her twenties living her best life and trying to get her pussy eaten, respectfully. I also want loads of attention.
So, why is it that I give fuck boys my time? We all know the type – He’s distant, doesn’t care about your time and he won’t commit or be consistent. But he’s ADAMANT that you’ll fall in love with him. He’s self-absorbed, does stupid things, and fucks with your emotions. He doesn’t respect you or the women he talks about, but it’s blatant that he heavily relies on them.
He has no idea where your clit is, nor does he particularly care. You’ll feel shit after sleeping with him because he’s probably made you do something you weren’t comfortable with. He’ll put no thought or imagination whatsoever into a date – if that’s what you even call a trip to his local Spoons. He’ll use your Hinge prompts as the only source of conversation, and then won’t even pay attention to what you say. He uses you for your emotional labour but lacks emotional intelligence. He’s really shit at communicating, like really shit. And he’ll gaslight you when you try and confront him about any of the above. Fuck OFFFF Brad.
As I type out that list, I feel disgusted at myself for ever putting myself through it.
Where’s the creativity, where’s the mental stimulation, where is the respect?! And whilst my clitoris has built up enough ambition over the past few months to be put in 7 positions for 70 mins, why do I keep shagging disrespectful, emotionally unavailable men?
Why do I even fancy men?
…is the question I asked myself in one of my procrastinating daydream sessions I’ve had whilst working from home. It went a little something like this:
Me to me: Why do you like men, Katriana?
Me: Erm… tbh, they’re mostly very annoying and I don’t really understand them. They also either smell of B.O or Lynx Chocolate, neither of which I find appealing. Sometimes I wish I was born as someone who liked women.
Me: Ok no, seriously. Why do you like men?
Me: *thinks* I like it a lot when a tall guy hugs me cos it makes me feel all cute and tiny. I think sharp jawlines and arm muscles are sexy af. When I hear men grunt it does mad wild things to me. It’s nice to feel wanted by a guy. I also like it when they care about me and like my insta pics and stuff. Think that’s it?
Me: Oh, yeah. So why is that when you come across a fuck boy you fall for their bullshit, and then create a version of them in your head that you fall in love with, a person that you are trying to but cannot fix? Why do you put yourself through it? WHY?
And it was after months of dick deprivation and lots of reflection, that made me realise that I’ve got a toxic habit of seeing what isn’t there when it comes to men / fuckboys. I give myself something to believe in rather than seeing what’s directly in front of me. My mates see a demon, and I see an angel.
The Game Changer
Ok so let’s fast-forward to my first post-lockdown sexual encounter, which was a massive eye-opener for me. Before I do, I want to address that I don’t think we’re allowed to by law have sex with strangers yet, there is a global pando, so I’m not condoning it. Ok, let’s call him… Paul (absolutely nothing to do with my Paul Mescal obsession).
So, I’m at a house party in Brixton and after an intensely cathartic, but absolutely essential, cry-chat in the toilet with my 2 best girls, I decided it was time I made a move on the guy who’d been flirting with me all night. After all, it had been months since I’d had any physical affection, and he was fit. We were among the last 5 people standing and I had come up with a plan in my head… once everyone else had gone outside for a cigarette, it’d only be him and I left in the room. And then, I’d pounce and straddle him on the sofa.
Once everyone had left the room, I jumped up to close the living room door behind them and, before I even had the chance to make my move, Paul asked, “Can I kiss you?”
*at this point, the little voice in my head screamed: DING DING DING, he’s into it. And he’s respectful?!
The plan continued as normal after that, I wrapped my legs around him on the sofa and it felt SO fucking good to be that close to a man I fancied again. His hands on my arse cheeks whilst I was grinding on his crotch – I was melting. My vagina had started gushing, so I held his hand and walked him into the closest bedroom.
We got into the bedroom and low and behold, he said: “I really want you to sit on my face”. The 9 words I had fantasised about hearing for months.
*Ok, so now my mind is divided. Half of me was like, OMG, he really wants to give me oral, this is so rare but so amazing, surely I must say yes?! And the other half was like, fuck I’ve just been partying for hours, and haven’t showered since yesterday, I’m also a bit stubbly, so let’s not.
The second feeling in my head got the better of me, which I (weirdly) felt very comfortable explaining to him. Things got even more weird when he was totally ok with my decline. He didn’t interpret it as ‘ok let me try harder’, or make me feel frigid or boring. All very new and somewhat confusing to me.
After loads of [really good kissing] and dry humping (underrated), I explained that I didn’t want to have sex with him but that I was really enjoying the fumbling. Again, he was alright with that. But not just alright, like he was completely fine with it.
*WTF, GUYS LIKE THIS ACTUALLY EXIST?
For the first time, I had a playful and casual sexual encounter with a man and felt no pressure. No pressure to perform or to compromise my boundaries.
To some of you reading this, it may seem really obvious that these are the types of people we should spend our time on, but for me it was a huge realisation. Isn’t it sad that it took one guy to treat me well in order to realise the amount of bollocks I have tolerated over the years?
I always knew the theory of consent and respectful sex, but I hadn’t ever really experienced it in practice, nor did I know how to apply it to my own sex life. And when I did, it made me realise that I had been putting up with far too much shit from men. SHOUT OUT 2 PAUL.
I saw him again after that, and again after that. He puts thought into dates, and communicates regularly and I’ve never had sex like it – where communication plays a vital role. (E.G he’ll ask what I want to do next). It doesn’t have to be forced or mood killing, it can be so sexy and it works both ways.
Don’t be wowed by the bare minimum
All of the above, to me, was an absolute mazza of an experience that totally refreshed me of the usual fuck boy behaviour.
But actually, and this is the really important bit, consent and respect are the absolute bare minimum we should expect when it comes to sex. A text or phone call during the day, is the bare minimum we should expect when it comes to communication. Interest in you and what you have to say is the absolute bare minimum. These things are all fair expectations to have of someone you are sleeping with casually. And as nice as Paul is, I shouldn’t have him on a pedestal because, ultimately, I deserve to be treated with respect.
In the words of the Goddess of Destruction (follow her), “if a woman’s pleasure isn’t at the centre of the sex you’re having. You’re doing it all wrong.
A message to all Fuck Boys/Brads: I am a real person who is independent of your imagination. You don’t actually have a genuine interest in me, you have just romanticised the pursuit of me. Now fuck off.