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.

The Fading Firefly

The fog had surpassed looking thick; it felt thick. I felt enveloped in it. I could barely make out the others in front of me, their signals twinkling faintly and sporadically. I dipped and looped, dancing gracefully – almost hauntingly – in the night sky. It was almost tragic that no one could see me. That wasn’t the point, though.

As it does, panic found it’s way to me, and grace quickly devolved into something more staccato. For just a moment, I was secretly glad that my light was hazy.

When the fog lifted, I waited with bated breath for the lights.

Only darkness waited patiently to greet me.

There were no more lights to follow; there was only space. I was once again enveloped.

Bright and solitary, my light shone out like beacon.

No one came to find me.

I started to fade.

Breaking Patterns – no advice given

The other night, in typical single girl fashion, I was sprawled out across the sofa watching Sex And The City. The episode was centred on the idea of dating ‘patterns’, how we all have them, and how hard they are to break. Obviously this prompted a ‘thought provoking’ question from Carrie:

Are we all, in fact, just dating the same person over and over again?

I don’t think the writers dug too deep with this one as it’s fairly obvious. But hey, here I am writing about it, too. Essentially, everyone has a type. In my mind, my type is tall, dark and handsome – like Superman.

could anything make you more weak in the knees?!

In reality, however, my type is cunts; just the most awful people I could possibly find. I’m drawn to them like a hipster to a beanie. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not talking typical cool, bad boy sort of guy here – there is nothing cool about the boys I get involved with. They’re just straight up bad people.

And I know it. I know it’s my pattern. I see it coming every single time. But I never break it. I don’t even try.

And because it’s my pattern, and everybody knows it, it has been analysed during girl chats a fair few times. This has come up more than once…

go see/read ‘The Perks of Being A Wallflower’ if you haven’t already!

Now, I don’t like to think of this as true in regards to myself. Mainly because it makes me look a little bit pathetic and like I don’t think I deserve to be treated nicely. Maybe I don’t. I don’t know. I’m not that in tune with my feelings.

I think it’s more likely that I’m just a glutton for punishment. I put myself in a position to be hurt over and over again by the same type of person, if not the same person themselves. And I make it so easy for them. I line myself up in front of the target board, move it a few feet closer, and become a fucking sitting duck. Just waiting for them to take a shot. My vital organs practically begging to accommodate their bullets.

If you’re a regular reader, you may know that the most recent major antagonist in my life story is W. We still snapchat. We still whatsapp. He’s still a cunt. I still let him be a cunt to me. Every interaction ends in me being upset or angry – predominantly angry, though. There have been a fair few of these incidents recently, though I don’t want to get into them as I like to look the least pathetic and lame I possibly can. Just know that none went well, and that my point is that I knew that they wouldn’t. Every time I reply or instigate a message or a snapchat, I know that it’ll end badly. End badly for me, that is. He couldn’t give a fuck. It leads to a lot of feeling like this…

Sometimes I think I’m breaking the pattern. I’ll go on a date with a nice boy who’s polite and doesn’t make it an aim to try to make me cry. And then I’ll never text him again and text one of the boys who’s rude to me instead.

If you have the answer, please don’t hesitate to enlighten me. In the mean time, though, I don’t see anything changing. I think I’m just waiting for this…

Aren’t we all, though?

The Four Week Bucket List – Results

So my four weeks have passed and I reached none of the goals outlined here. Before I tally everything up, you can see what I have done here and here, and I’ll tell you about the last date I went on.

I call this one the boy because, at the tender age of 20, that’s what he is. I was somewhat tentative about meeting him but he had good chat so I thought why not? When we met at King’s Cross I instantly thought he had a young face. Then he spoke. Brilliant. He had a young voice, too. But he was cute so off we headed for coffee. We sat down and I asked him what he wanted. He asked why I was offering to treat him. I deflected the question as I didn’t want to tell him it was essentially because he was a child and I couldn’t let him buy me anything. When I came back with our drinks, the first thing he said to me was

You have really long legs

I was so in there. Coffee was nice; we chatted and flirted for a couple of hours until he said that I should come back to his. I countered with suggesting we go to a museum instead. This was quickly shot down. He grabbed my hand, pulled me up, picked up my jacket and lead me towards the door. How could I say no to that?

Being 20, he is still a student. But he’s currently on a placement year, though still living in a student house and living like 20 year olds do. After searching his kitchen for something to drink, he found a bottle of Sours at the back of a cupboard with no lid on it. He handed me the bottle.

I’m an adult. I can’t drink that.

Bloody youths.

We ended up watching Supersize Me. Least sexy movie ever. Obviously my super sexiness countered this though and he was all over me. So the boy is super fit. Like his body is just solid. He does one arm pull-ups like Arrow. LIKE GREEN ARROW! If that means nothing to you, you’re lame. So I was a little self concious about getting naked – think Emma Stone telling Ryan Gosling it’s like he’s photoshopped in Crazy, Stupid, Love, except neither of us are that hot.

in my wet dreams

Plus, I didn’t want to sleep with him after having slept with the American a couple of days before. He was having none of that, though. The boy was strong. And rough. And super dominant. He backed me into a corner and pinned my arms above my head, demanding I do as he say and take off my jumper. Now, I think of myself as a strong girl; I can hold my own. But the boy had me. He picked me up, threw me around, pulled my hair, bruised the shit out of my torso, and it was crazy hot. The boy was a man. Naturally, things started to escalate. I then so delightfully put a stop to them by announcing that I needed to pee. He was thrilled.

Upon my return we decided to have dinner. Having already looked around his kitchen I knew the options weren’t going to be great. I don’t want to give much attention to this part of the evening. He made me egg fried rice. Enough said.

After dinner we quickly picked up where we had left off. No surprise there. But he had no condoms. I was somehow super sensible and restrained and didn’t have sex with him. Huge surprise there – even I was shocked at myself! Honestly, I went into the date not expecting much, but I had a really good time. He’s still a kid; he exudes that youthful flippancy and indifference that’s just tiring once you’ve grown out of it, but he’s pretty cool. He earned a reply when he messaged me the next day, and we are still talking.

So! Let’s evaluate the past four weeks, shall we? Here’s what I set out to do, and what I did do is in bold:

  • ten dates – went on seven
  • not pussy out of talking to cute boys at bars (post coming shortly) – every time I was at a bar I was already on a date! Fail
  • bang two new people – banged one, although could have easily been more
  • learn how to do the splits – didn’t even try
  • dance more – every day in my room, bitches
  • have one last incurable hangover – haven’t been out once! Tragic
  • sort my shit out – not even a little bit 

As you can see, I wasn’t that successful. And now I am 23 and super responsible and dignified. We’re going out for my birthday tonight. I’m obviously not going to embarrass myself in any way and will execute the night with shit loads of modesty and grace. Watch this space.

The Four Week Bucket List

In four weeks from today I shall be turning the ripe old age of 23. There is nothing special about this – there are no balloons for it, Taylor Swift doesn’t sing a song about it, and no one really gives a shit. It’s that awkward, shitty kind of age where you feel like you should be more grown up than you are, have your shit together more than you do, and generally just not be the hot mess that you are. So, as I have a month left of feeling just about okay with being a hot mess, here are some things I would like to do..

  • find love

Lol, guys, it’s not that kinda blog.

Fo’ realz now –

  • ten dates
  • not pussy out of talking to cute boys at bars (post coming shortly)
  • bang two new people
  • learn how to do the splits
  • dance more
  • have one last incurable hangover

And on a more serious note –

  • sort my shit out

Because, let’s face it, Blink were right when they said,

nobody likes you when you’re 23

Four weeks from now I will have a much more grown up list.