So, last night, after watching the new Made In Chelsea (yes, I watch it; no, I’m not ashamed of that) I was telling a friend how the show essentially leaves me with no faith in men. This quickly turned into a bit of a ‘men are shit’ moan as I started watching John Tucker Must Die afterwards. Though he was technically not wrong to counter with positing that women can also be pretty shit, it wasn’t what I wanted to hear and our conversation went something like this:
Me – True, except I don’t know any shady girls. But 90% of boys I know are shit to girls
W – True. 90% of girls I know use men
Me – I don’t use men
W – Tinder Ginger?
I matched Tinder Ginger (TG) a couple of weeks ago, and, after a few days of talking, he decided to strike whilst the iron was hot and ask to meet up. So, we pencilled in plans for the following week. However, whilst I was slightly tipsy and out with my friends that Friday, I messaged him and asked what he was up to. Long story short – we met up, went for a drink, and went back to his.
I don’t think I need to tell you what occurred back at his, but I will; SEX. Sex occurred. Sex occurred after four months of not occurring.
I didn’t need to clarify that for you, did I? Who wouldn’t understand that that was essentially the plan from the get go? What boy doesn’t take a drunk girl asking ‘wanna do something?’ on a Friday night to mean ‘wanna fuck?’
With that in mind, here’s the rest of the conversation with W:
Me – I don’t think I used him. He knew what that was
W – So? Knowing doesn’t stop it being using
Me – Not if it’s mutual
W – You Tindered him for just sex. That’s by definition using. You used him. You knew it was just sex. He clearly didn’t as he’s still talking to you
Me – No one meets on Tinder and has sex straight away and thinks it’s more than just sex
W – He does
Me – Nah, it’s friendly
W – Is this how you get all your friends?
I maintain that I didn’t use the boy because there’s no way he didn’t know what that whole dalliance was about, and I think that knowing does stop it from being using. I didn’t lie to him or deceive him in any way. He understood what I wanted and complied accordingly. Also, he had a fucking great time. A better time than me, even. I know because I kept count.
TG was actually a really nice guy – a 26 year old graphic designer who not only somehow found the patience to listen to his crazy one night stand talk about her love of penguins in children’s books, but also knew the books, and their authors and illustrators. We got along really well, minus his incessant need to cuddle, and I ended up staying ’til half past one the next day. But it was what it was, and I didn’t really expect to hear from him again.
After I left his house, I went to meet W for lunch (in my same clothes – so classy, I know), and in the twenty minutes it took me to get to Carnaby Street, I knew that I didn’t really have any intention of seeing him again. I’d gotten what I set out to get and so I was over it.
Okay, so I suppose if you want to be a pedantic little bitch about it, I may have used him. If you’re not a cunt, however, you’ll see that the negative connotations of ‘using someone’ don’t really apply here and no gingers were harmed in the quenching of my thirst.
What do you think? Did I use the kid? Or is it just part of the nature of adult sexual relationships?