A while ago we discussed The Curse of the First Date Fuck, and it’s funny how the concept has reared it’s head again – only this time it goes to show that things don’t always work out the way you want, even when you do keep it in your pants. The Curse of the First Date Fuck usually comes to light when you quite like a boy, think there may be potential for a relationship, get excited, and bang him to high Heavens on the first date. After that, there’s not much left to find out, and like many men he loses interest as there’s nothing more to chase after. You wish you’d played a little harder to get, rather than spreading your legs quicker than Erykah Badu when she meets a rapper with industry connections.
But, as it turns out, the curse of the First Date Fuck actually works in the reverse way too. Let me elaborate… After a decent date (and four drinks on an empty stomach) last week, this *really* cute guy had instigated going back to his for further “drinks” (in this case Bulmers would translate to balls deep). I weighed up the curse of the FDF; thought about all the hot guys I’d lost for having sex too soon and I looked that bitch curse in the face, put a padlock on my knickers and my chastity belt round my waist and told her no. She ain’t taking this man like that.
So I politely declined. I even briefly touched on the subject on the FDF, and how men lose interest when you sleep with them straight away, to which he agreed – and then told me I was doing the right thing by going home alone. It only resonated with me afterwards that the reason he said that was because he only wanted sex, and so hadn’t planned on calling afterwards, either way. Which is fine, it’s the decent thing to do, rather than
take advantage and leave me feeling more devastated than a Ralph Harris victim.
But that’s when I thought, ‘do I actually want a committed relationship?‘
Hold up. Hold the fuck up. Did I just turn down sex with a guy that I fancied and had sexual chemistry with because I was worried he wouldn’t call me?
When did I turn into such a Charlotte?! I’m twenty-fucking-four. Who cares if he don’t call. I got a damn career to get, never mind picking up socks off the floor and cleaning skid marks out my man’s pants.
Sure, he was a catch, but there was no way we were gonna be soul mates. He doesn’t even like East London. And he’s smart. Most people would rate smart as a good quality but when he’s dropping words you haven’t even heard of, you find yourself doing this a lot…
And when someone dominates the conversation that isn’t me, it just goes against the natural order of things. Sure, it’s fine being the listener every now and then – but for the rest of my life? Girl, please. I’d have done a Van Gogh before we even made it down the aisle.
Needless to say, I didn’t go back to his. Not when he compliment my legs, not when he was staring at my lips and not when he had his hand on my thigh and I felt a little tingle in my pants. That’s right, my self-control was rock solid. Even though it should of been my penis.
That’s when I realised… I wasn’t actually looking for a boyfriend. I wasn’t missing the arguments over who’s photos he liked on Facebook or having to visit his over-bearing family that I hated – I was just missing the sex. I loved my single life, how did I need a missed
orgasm opportunity to tell me that?
Because, if I hadn’t have missed that
orgasm opportunity, and gone back to his for mind-blowing sex (and it would have been mind-blowing… ’cause sometimes you just know) and then he hadn’t text me the next morning, I’d have beaten myself up for losing another man because I didn’t give him the chase. People under-estimate the power of knowing what you want, it changes the game completely. So it’s not the end of the world if you have to take a step back to put yourself in a better position (ahem). Trust me, ain’t no man you’ve known for less than a week worth tugging at all your insecurities for, let alone blaring Whitney Houston while uncontrollably crying into a tub of Ben & Jerry’s.
The Curse of the FDF exists sure enough – but so does it for the First Date Non-Fuck. Especially if all you really want in the end is a friend with benefits. It’s like my editor once said; “Why are you gonna wait until date four to then find out the sex is shit?”
So maybe if I had got laid, we could’ve had a relationship based purely on sex; friendship, intimacy, no strings or drama. But then again, after a great date and even better sex, one of us (me) might’ve got too attached. Anyway, obviously he thinks I’m Sister Mary Manogamy and haven’t heard from him since. And I’m sure it has absolutely nothing to do with him seeing me in drag on Instagram… Meh! *Flicks weave*