Letter From the Modern-Day Courtesans (Because Not All of Us Are That Weak)
Greetings, ladies and gentlemen. I am here as a representative of the wild girls, the ones you still dream about. We are the women who were irresistible, whose double-time, exotic lives fascinated you to the extent that you let yourself fall in, just for a moment.
We seemed bulletproof, which made the moment when we looked into your eyes and asked for understanding all the more magical. Sprawled out on our beds, naked, wanting and looking up at you, we made you feel like more of a man than you’d ever imagined possible. You fucked us hard, gently, lovingly, brutally; your cock felt new and powerful, like it was showing you what this whole “living” thing is really about.
When we weren’t there, you were thinking about our chipped nail polish, dirty laundry, and unkempt hair. You’d wait in our beds for hours, sometimes, breathing in our smell. You inwardly worshipped us and shivered when we licked up your thighs the way no one else ever had.
You wanted to kiss us, hold us, protect us, fuck us, guard us, show us off, put us on pedestals, bend us to your will, parent us, support us, wake up next to us, go down on us, caress us and love us, the way you were taught that you should. What we had, you called it true love.
That other person you were seeing, about whom we were endlessly understanding and helpful, you promised that it would be over soon. “He just doesn’t understand, he’s so fragile.” Or, “she needs me right now, the timing is off, but one day I’ll leave her, you’ll see.”
We smiled and held you, helped you through your domestic disputes and sent you back to them with a kiss and some encouragement. You felt understood and special; for the first time in your life, you understood why all the movies and songs were about love. You understood the transcendent nature of true love, that beautiful and divine occurrence everyone wishes for. Our love made the stars align and angered the jealous gods. There was plenty of time. You didn’t need to overhaul your life, because you could just bask in the warm glow of our affection until you were ready.
But one day, a day you’ll never forget, you realized that we didn’t need you. We’d forgotten to call for a while, we pointed out a weakness you thought you’d hidden from the world, we fucked someone else, we told you we were moving or getting married, or maybe we just said it: “I don’t need you.” You called us filthy names, you shoved us, you shouted, broke things, broke down and fled. With your knees on the cold tiles of your bathroom floor, you held your head in your hands and cried. You threw a temper tantrum to rival those of your 3 year-old nephew and still didn’t feel any better.
Eventually, you came back. You told us how we’d broken your love for us, how we were faithless, worthless, and damaged. We looked back at you coolly, empathically, even a little sadly. You tried to hurt us, to get a reaction, anything, but we just watched you rage. Eventually, you wore yourself down and stormed out.
You slammed the door on your way out, but you’ve never really left, have you? You look for us on the internet, browse through the naked pictures that we maybe sent you or you maybe secretly downloaded off our computers. You check our email and seethe over the casual way that we describe the breakup to our best friends until we change the password. You hide the tank tops and underwear we left at your place in a box under your bed so it won’t lose our smell. You just know that we’re hurting inside, so much, and that if we’d just apologize you could save us from this hell we’re in, living without your love.
You never saw us wash you off in the shower. You never saw us carelessly wear the boxers you’d left behind, the ones you think about sometimes and hope that we kept (or burned, maybe). We feed the fish that you named, tap on its glass, and make fun of it for watching us get dressed. We eat cereal in bed and watch bad TV. We paint our nails different colors and wear weird lipstick. We fuck on top of the covers and sleep under them. Without you, we still have all of the little oddities that made us so heartbreakingly, endearingly unique and vulnerable to you. We still are exactly as we were, stumbling through life with our eyes wide open.
You fell into our life and thought it was a movie. You thought we were the Manic-Pixie-Dream-Girl to your Zach-Braff-Man-Child, but what you failed to realize all along is that we are as bulletproof as we look. We are our own safety net. We never needed you. What could you have given us? It was us who made your cock so great, our own understanding that you got to share while we were connected. We knew how to love without worship or ownership. We appreciated you for who you were without worrying whether this was going to last forever. We respected you enough to treat you as we would want to be treated. But then we saw that when you said you wanted respect and love, what you meant was you needed submission and coddling. Once we realized that, it was over, because we’re lovers and fuckers, not your mother and wifey.
We think about you sometimes, but it’s not like you’ve got your own playlist or anything. We appreciate your role in our life, but it’s not like you defined it. We assume you’ve moved on, too, and when we think of you, we smile and shake our head. You must have mistaken us wild girls for courtesans.
Your Wild Girls
A | A | A
Being a female, I can begin to understand the view that there is and isn’t sexual dysfunction in an adolescent female’s sexual life.
Now I know I’m going to get a lot of shut for this but there this has been something I’ve been fond of for about all of my life.
You break it to them as softly as can. They immediately beg you to stay.
As much as I appreciate someone telling me to keep my chin up when going through a hard time, I’m fairly certain I’d rather them let me punch dance out my rage in their backyard.