I’m A Fuckgirl


“Hey, Brad. It’s Michelle. I’m so sorry to bother you, but do you have a shovel?”

I had a shovel. I always kept one in my trunk. What I did not have was the will to shovel my car out of 12 inches of snow, and I had places to be.

“Sure, I’ll be right over.”

As anticipated, Brad came to the rescue, and shoveled my car out for me, because “it’ll be faster, anyway.” After he was done doing my manual labor, I invited him in, gave him a spiked hot chocolate, let him go down on me, and then suddenly “wasn’t sure I was comfortable with this” when it was his turn. I sent him on his way and promised I’d text him with plans for that night. I didn’t text him, though. Seeing him twice in one day seemed like way too much of a commitment.

I feel like a traitor to my gender in some ways — or at least like I have trouble to relating to my gender. Not in a Caitlyn Jenner way or anything, I just… I am not, and have never been, that girl jonesing for a relationship. I’m not about sweet text messages. I once stopped talking to a guy for telling me “sweet dreams.” When a guy calls me “beautiful” or talks about his mom being excited to meet me, I’m turned off. And I fucking HATE to cuddle. I hate feelings. In fact, I’m disgusted by them.

I am a fuckgirl.

Relationships sound fucking awful. And I know that’s what girls who “can’t get” boyfriends say, and we’re all supposed to be secretly hoping some guy will sweep us off our feet one day, but I mean it. I don’t want to have to check in with some guy every fucking time I do anything. I don’t want to have to assure him that his dick is “perfect” when really, I’d happily welcome another inch or two. I don’t want to feel guilty for flirting with a guy at a frat party. I don’t want to fall asleep in my boyfriend’s bed while waiting for our food to be delivered at 1:30am, when there are people out there partying for five more hours, dancing, and making out, and having adventures until the sun comes up. I’d resent any person who stopped me from being one of the party people.

It seems like something’s wrong with me, and maybe there is. I find myself, nearly always, getting “what I want” from guys, and then discarding them, and then hitting them when I need them again. Whether that be a hookup, or some chores, or simply an Insta pic to make some other dude jealous, I never want anything “more” from guys, and the second they catch feelings for me is the kiss of death. I completely lose interest in a guy when he tells me he likes me.

I’m not here to brag to you about what a fucked up person I am. Manipulating a bunch of dudes, and being immune to human emotion — while a useful skill — isn’t something I’m proud of. It’s not something I’m necessarily ashamed of, but I’m aware I’m not winning any Nobel Peace Prizes for it. I’m here to educate. I’m here to protect you from guys like me.

The first thing you need to know: the second you try to change our minds, the second you try to convince us you’re different is the second it’s over. We’re like dogs. We can sniff out commitment from a mile away. And the second we pick up the scent, we’re gone.

Secondly, and this is important. The less you care, the more he will. Everyone likes a challenge. Almost all of my hookups have eventually admitted they were falling for me, and it’s not because I’m particularly beautiful. It’s because I was cool. It’s because I didn’t care. Instead of telling them I was different, I was different. That has sucked for me — I’ve lost many a good slampiece to his stupid “feelings,” but this should prove useful to you.

Finally. Why do we do it? Why do we manipulate people who have feelings for us. Why do we walk all over someone who’s doing everything they can to make us happy. Why do we continue to take and never give?

Because you let us.

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