You Can’t F*ck A Guy Into Falling In Love With You

If you go home with him on the first night, you won’t ever be his girlfriend.

When you tell him, “I don’t usually do this,” he won’t believe you. It’s what the last girl said, too. And the girl before that.

You said it last weekend.

You might want to play hard-to-get. Be coquettish and coy. It worked for the chick in Fifty Shades, right? That Christian Gray pursued and pursued her until he could take off her knickers, and she was so enamored with his efforts that she continued to give her body over to him even when he withheld his spirit.

And that’s what is dangerous, about that book. That film.

That it teaches us to believe that we can, if we do it well enough, fuck a guy into falling in love with us.

And we can’t.

Not one bit.

I’m not saying don’t have fun. I’m not saying don’t have casual sex. I’m not saying you have to play games. I’ve had enough sex for all of us – good sex, bad sex, fetish sex. Some of it was wildly erotic and hot and intense and other times it was lackluster and disappointing. I know sex. I know that almost everything we do is about sex – except sex itself. Sex is about power.

Sex without kissing on the mouth is about power.

Sex with terms and conditions is about power.

Sex where you leave right after is about power.

And so do those things. Enjoy those things! But don’t dress it up in fancy clothes and call it something other than it is. Carnal. Biological. Heartless.

Do it with your eyes open. Aware. Sex without emotion cannot breed emotion. You’re starting from nothing and you will leave with nothing. Your ankles behind your head or a butt plug on the bed-stand will not get you a husband. You can say the filthiest things, text the sexiest pictures, try the kinkiest things – but without a grounding in true intimacy, in laughter and commonality and basic goddamn eye-contact, you will not make him love you.

Why would you want to?

He might adore the way you can arch your back that way. Tell his friends about the freak he has on speed-dial. Secrets might even slip out, as he takes off the condom and you think about doing again. But it’s false. Not real. Even when you mean it at the time, what you whisper in the dark before he touches your waist doesn’t look how you think it does in the light of day.

When you know right where to stroke but not his last name. How many thrusts that deep until he cums, but not how many roommates he has. How big his dick is but not the span of his capacity to love.

With all of that – it is what it is. But. More importantly. It isn’t what it isn’t.

Have the sex. Keep it casual. Really, really, really. We all do it – or have done. I’m not slut-shaming. Not telling you nice girls don’t fuck. I’m no angel, either.

What I am saying, is this:

Please.

Please don’t ever forget.

You can’t fuck a guy into falling in love with you.

Don’t do it for that, then.

Don’t do it for love.

Out of everything, don’t do it for that.