The last time a real life boyfriend broke my heart I was 15. I thought he was the coolest person on earth, my best friend and I used to follow him around town, having a go on his BMX and taking an occasional toke of weed. I was gutted for a week, until GCSE stress took over.
I’ve got a boner to pick with you
Theres something boys do which really riles me. I’m sure we’ve all experienced this. You’re giving him a BJ, you’re just getting you’re mojo, and the mofo grabs the back of your head and starts pushing you up and down. Mate. If i’m giving you a blowie, i’ve got a plan, I’ve got a ryhthm. This all involves a system and let’s face it, no one can’t go that hard for 15 minutes straight. If you grab my head and start “guiding” me, the quality of the blowie you are receiving has just dropped by 80%. I wouldn’t mash your face into my lady business and expect you to do a good job, and even if I could, I wouldn’t pound surprise rods down your throat while you’re trying to do something nice for me.
I don’t mean to generalise, but I will. There is something seemingly lacking in every boy that I meet. I have my four core desirable characteristics: Funny, Attractive, Clever, and Kind (FACK). You can’t have all four. Sometimes you find a boy with three out of the four, sometimes you settle for one with two.
This week I witnessed a truly god-awful date in the restaurant where I work, reminding me that not only have I not been on a date in an embarrassingly long time, but also of how painfully awkward they can be. The story is this: I was serving a couple who had met a few years ago, and had then been reunited on the dating app: Plenty of Fish (POF), the boy hand’t stopped pestering the girl for a date and eventually she gave in. I wasn’t fully aware of the situation until Nelson, our lovely barman, informed me that the female half of the date had been coming into the bar at every opportunity to get away from the male half and bitch about how awful he was. Before this discovery I had mistaken the fact that the couple were sat in silence, both on their phones, to mean they had been together for many many years and were bored of each other. When I went to take their payment, said boy scooted off, leaving the girl to pay their bill, and me and her to have a gossip. Apparently he was rude, arrogant, and both a conversation-ender and lazy conversation-maker, and to top it all off, had accepted her polite offer to pay the bill. This girl had been having such a bad time that Nelson had actually found her online on POF during the date itself, and sent her a cheeky “You’d have a much better time with me” message… time will tell if he makes a better impression.
Take a happily single girl and an other-worldly beautiful boy, and watch her walls crumble. I’d been swept up in a turquoise-eyed haze for the last three months only to come crashing down on a wave of reality: hot guys exclusively suffer from emotional deficits.
This question, “how many people have you slept with?”, which can be a hilarious conversation with your girlfriends over wine and cocktails, can be a deal breaker when it comes to romance, haunting the beginning of many relationships or at the very least, a big slutty elephant in the room (depending on the type of guy you’re with).
The general expectation is that girls should have slept with few men or else they are a ho, boys on the other hand, can happily sleep with whoever they like, if anything, it’s extra man-points. The disgustingly sexist phrase “a good key can open many locks, but a good lock can only be opened by one key” comes to mind.
Armed with the chat up line “Ici pour bonnes temps, pas longtemps” I took to French Tinder on my first trip to Paris in February. For those of you who don’t speak French, that says “Here for a good time, not a long time”. It is a line inspired by the Canadian who I thought I was exclusive with until my pal found him on Tinder with this very smooth line. Anyway, bad “ex’s” aside, it got me a superlike. Nice. This Superliker, Pierre, spent the next 2 months chatting me up via facebook, apparently desperate for me to come back to Paris so we could meet. Well, his wishes were answered because I love Paris and I LOVE my best friend Céline who is studying for her Masters there.
Ok I take it all back, there’s more to Fabio than met my eye on our first date. I wasn’t expecting much from date number two, but I was pleasantly surprised. Here’s a little play-by-play of our date:
So i’m driving to his house to pick him up for bowling. I’m wearing sk
in tight black jeans with a skin tight black top and…. I need to fart. My pre-date logic says, fart-away, having that gas in my tum is only gonna bloat it out into what I call, The Front-Bum (I hope I’m not the only one to experience this). In any case, more farting = flatter tummy.
As a happily single 20 something with a high sex drive but no committed ‘Facebook official’ penis (attached to a boyfriend, not myself), I’ve often touted the presence of a fuck buddy as the solution. Not only a solution to a dry spell, but also for when you’re craving male attention, feeling ugly, or bored or lonely. Friends sometimes say to me that wanting regular sex with the same man means I want a boyfriend, but it’s really not that simple. I REALLY don’t want a boyfriend. I want some very specific qualities of a boyfriend. Essentially, I want good sex, and I don’t want to sleep with a different man every time (really it takes a few go’s to get to know each other and let go, therefore it’s much more efficient to sleep with the same guy each time – guaranteed satisfaction). But I don’t want any of the commitment, sacrifice or agg that a relationship brings.
Theoretically, a fuck buddy could offer exactly this. But I’ve had 3 casual relationships in my life, and they’ve all been very different apart from one common factor, they all have a short sell-by.
Continue reading “Is a friend-with-benefits really the solution to being single?”
the holy fail 