6 reasons not to fuck him on the first date

#1   You actually quite like him. 3/5 times he will not message you because you fucked him on the first date. 2/5 times he will message you, but only to fuck again. And 1/5 times, he’ll message you because he actually quite likes you, too. That’s real maths.

#2   You’re sad and/or mad because of another boy, and tend to make rash choices instead of confronting your feelings. Lashing out your fanny is not the answer; you will feel bad about it the next day.

#3   You’re worried about other people calling you a ‘slut’. If you’re a grown ass woman and you are potentially not doing something because you’re scared of what other people are going to brand you, you are not grown enough to be doing it.

#4   You think you’re a ‘slut’. Just don’t do it. You won’t feel good about it.

#5   You’re doing it for validation. We’ve all been there. Done it because we can. Because our skinny jeans took 3 minutes to get over our thighs that morning. Because he wanted to fuck us anyway. Having sex with a man because he calls you ‘hot’ and ‘sexy’ will not make you feel hot and sexy the next morning. You need to be a confident woman who loves and owns herself and her body first.

#6   You’re shit-faced. Almost irrelevant because you won’t really remember at the time, will you? But if you are intoxicated to the point at which you won’t remember what decision you made or why you made it, you should probably refrain from allowing strangers to enter you. If he’s a good guy, he won’t have sex with you in such a state anyway.


Liar, liar

As I mentioned here and here, I make bad decisions. W was a bad decision I knowingly made over and over.

We met on Tinder. After a week of constant talking, we realised how much we had in common and how similar we were. So we met for a drink after he was done with work and I was done with the library. I was awkward but we got along great. A couple of days later we arranged drinks and a sleepover. During drinks I had second thoughts, and started texting my friends saying that I wasn’t sure I was attracted to him and felt like it was just friendly. I stayed over anyway. We watched two of my favourite movies, The Big Lebowski and Megamind. Things happened but we didn’t have sex. The next day he bought me breakfast and took me back to the library. Sounds great, right? We definitely had great friend potential, I wasn’t sure of my feelings further than that. Regardless, we kept meeting up after work and during lunches. We’d go for coffee, take walks around the city, hook up in bathrooms – it was fun and easy.

After a month of this, we finally had sex. In a bathroom on campus. I knew I shouldn’t have done it as soon as it was over. Whoops. I said that I didn’t want to sleep with someone who was sleeping with other people, so he said that he wouldn’t. In hindsight, I’m unsure why I said that. I didn’t have feelings for him beyond friendship, I think I just didn’t want to share.

The next day I was at drinks with my best friend. He came up on her Tinder. I told her to like him. They matched. He chatted. He lied. I was raged. I pretended everything was fine. I got him to come see me on campus with the promise of a blow job. I confronted him. He denied it. We were done. I went out and got blackout drunk.

A few days later he text me something about wanting to put his dick in my ass. Brilliant. We spoke the next day, he suggested make up sex. No. But then I thought about it and decided we could have sex without the friendship. I got him to come fuck me and walked off without any chat after. He text straight away to say it was a weird experience. Oh well. I stayed distant, he tried to be friendly.

Eventually, we fell back into a friendship. I don’t know how or why. I didn’t trust him. We then spent a week together, from morning ’til eve, studying and hooking up everywhere. Bad, bad choices. Having a friendship with someone you don’t trust is hard. I wanted to be friends with the boy who was basically my twin. I wanted to be friends with the boy who’d wait ’til I looked up from my work and then rip out pages of his textbook with his teeth and eat it to make me laugh. I wanted to be friends with the boy who’d sing along to Childish Gambino, Taylor Swift and the High School Musical soundtrack with me. But he was overshadowed by the boy who’d tell lies. He was overshadowed by the boy that I just couldn’t trust. How do you have a friendship with someone like that?

The answer is that you can’t. There’s just no way. A few days ago he came clean about a pointless lie that he’d been running for at least a month. A lie that I had never believed and was completely unnecessary. After this I told him that we couldn’t be friends because I didn’t trust him. As hard as I tried to ignore him, he wouldn’t let me. It seems I’m pretty weak like that. But yesterday it all blew up.

He told me he got back together with his ex-girlfriend 4 days after they actually had. In that time he had talked about having sex with me, asked for sexy snapchats, and sent the odd dick pick. That’s just not okay. Not to me and not to her. There were other things, too – but I’d be here forever if I wrote about every cuntish thing he did. If I wasn’t already 100% certain that there was no shred of the boy that I thought I’d been friends with in him, when he said

I value myself more than others so I do what I want. [Being a] cunt is a side effect

I knew I was done. You can’t come back from that.

He is essentially someone I should have cut out of my life months ago. And I knew that. But against my better judgement I gave him chance after chance. Of course it backfired on me. It was always going to. It makes me angry and sad. I’ve never ended a friendship before. Not intentionally, anyway. It’s different when friends drift apart slowly and you almost don’t realise it’s happened. Cutting out a friend who had become quite a big part of my life was and is hard. But it’s necessary.

If you are in a relationship – whether it be romantic, friendship, casual – and if it is not serving you as a person, if it’s not letting you grow and be the best version of yourself, then get out. Don’t waste time on people who don’t respect you, don’t value you, don’t put in what you do but expect you to do this for them. You are worth more than that, and so am I.

‘Let’s blame you’

So, I was talking to my uncle – who is, as much as I hate to admit it, the ultimate lad – about recent happenings in my life and the troubles I felt had hitched a ride with them. Basically, I was reflecting complaining about boys. What else do I have to do? Conversation went as follows:

Uncle – You do pick them though. More than most. Why is that?

Me – I make bad choices

Uncle – Yes. Don’t blame the guys; you picked them all. Let’s blame you

Rude, or what?! As he himself is a bad choice that multiple women have made over the years – which I started hearing about from a much too early age! – it seemed pretty natural for him to put the blame on the girl. But I was having none of it. Why is it my fault?! I pick them when they seem nice and normal. I don’t purposely seek out all nearby pathological liars with enough emotional baggage to fill Heathrow Terminal 5. It’s not my fault that I seem to be the lonely lighthouse in the fog to their lost at sea selves.

As I said last week though, there does come a point when I realise I’ve made a bad choice, but then just carry on doing it anyway. This is the point where it may be fair to shift blame to me. The point where a normal, sensible girl would get out is the point where I seem to go for it just that bit harder – definitely fair to shift the blame to me.

To be perfectly honest with you, I’d never really considered taking any of the blame before. Situations had always resulted in an “Oh, he’s such a [insert expletive felt in the moment]!! Why does this always happen to me?!” Well, it turns out this always happens to me because I let it. I am (partly) to blame.

Now that I am actually aware of it, I will definitely try to work on it. But as my uncle said,

It doesn’t sound like more than a grade 6 slut-up. You’ll be fine

‘I just don’t like behaving’

Life is messy. Sometimes it’s messy because of external forces we have no control over, and sometimes it’s messy because we make it like that. My life is a mess because I make it like that. I constantly make bad decisions. Knowingly. 

After some more preachy, overbearing, hypocritical words of advice, this time in regards to anal sex, W clarified his hypocrisy by saying:

I know how people/I should live my life. I just don’t like behaving.

And it dawned on me that neither do I. Secretly, of course. I’ve always been the one that people would call a dark horse or not expect certain behaviour from. When I got a tattoo at 16 no one saw it coming. When I got my tongue pierced at 17 it was an even bigger shock – this lasted all of ten days, by the way, as my mother inevitably found out and made me get rid of it. Did I really think that she wouldn’t find out? Of course not. These were obviously poor decisions on my part as I definitely knew they’d get me in trouble. To this day my friends still talk about social events from our 6th form years and when I say that I don’t remember, they respond with, ‘Oh, you were probably grounded‘. Sums me up as a teenager, doesn’t it?

I can always be trusted to make a mistake. The amount of times I’ve got with someone and said it was an accident just isn’t acceptable. Of course, this is pretty normal. Everyone makes drunken sexual mistakes. However, continuing to get with said accidents over and over again when I full well know it’s a terrible idea is where I excel. One of my best friends said that it’s okay for me to do such things because I’m a cold person who is capable of separating my feelings and not getting attached. This was probably pretty poor best friend advise on his part. Obviously, because I make bad decisions, I took it as a green light to carry on misbehaving. 

Some people get far too stressed doing things that they shouldn’t. I find it far too easy. When I was a child my uncle literally thought I was a sociopath. I’m not, obviously. I’m nowhere near charming or confident enough to be. I think it was traits like inherent indifference, violent tendencies and the ease with which I’d lie that concerned him. Anyway, the point is that not only do I find it easy, I quite enjoy it. And I’m really unsure what that says about me as a person. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t do things that are going to hurt other people or misbehave in a way that will affect someone else’s life. I make bad decisions for myself. If someone else is involved I just won’t make a decision at all because I would hate to make a choice that would disappoint them. Considerate, aren’t I?

So, why, when I know what the sensible, right thing to do would be, do I consistently do the opposite? Despite what my teenage email address may say I don’t really think I’m a masochist. Maybe I am. Maybe I subconsciously like the drama that making a mess brings. Maybe I’m an idiot who’s incapable of learning from her mistakes. Or maybe I just don’t like behaving. Either way, I always get a good story out of it.