Reasons Why I’m Never Going To Have Sex With You
Um, you're creepy? Um, you're too old? Um, you're too aggressive? Um, you smell like onions? Um, I think you have a boyfriend? Um, you just graduated high school? Um, I just ate a burrito and am not DTF? Um, you're not cute? Um, I need to feel empowered by rejecting you?
You’re too attractive and it gives me anxiety. I don’t trust someone who’s as beautiful as you and I bet you’re lousy in bed. Seeing our naked body parts sit side by side will force me to compare, which will undoubtedly end in a sexual meltdown. Trust me, sleeping with babes of Ryan Gosling caliber usually ends in bored sighs and/or tears.
You’re like the last person I would want to see me naked. You’re not a warm person and I can tell you have trouble achieving intimacy with someone. I can see it already: My naked body standing in front of yours and you shaking like a leaf. You’ll attempt to be vulnerable with me but it won’t work. The walls will come up and the whole experience will feel so cold and detached. In order to have good sex with someone, you have to be willing to let go completely and go balls to the wall. You have to want your partner to feel good and wanted. I mean, you get uncomfortable just hugging someone at a party. So…no.
I just don’t want to have sex with you. It’s terrible, I know. In theory, you’re the first person I should want to bone. You’re smart, funny, and adorable, but there’s something about your personality that lends to creating the most unsexy dynamic ever. You’re like an inappropriate uncle to me at this point. When we’ve tried to kiss before, my body has involuntarily recoiled. You’re like Seth Cohen from The O.C.— someone who’s so cute but the thought of seeing their O face makes you seriously want to vomit.
You’re a terrible kisser. Terrible kissers don’t make it past first base and maybe a little fondling. If you can’t master my mouth, how can I expect for you to master my penis? Kissing is an art that’s easy to master. If you don’t know what the hell you’re doing by the time you’re in your twenties, I shudder to think how lost you would get while navigating my body map. “Wrong turn,” I would scream at you. “Go back. Take a left. No, don’t take the shortcut!” Bad kisser, bad everything else. #sowwy.
Um, you’re creepy? Um, you’re too old? Um, you’re too aggressive? Um, you smell like onions? Um, I think you have a boyfriend? Um, you just graduated high school? Um, I just ate a burrito and am not DTF? Um, you’re not cute? Um, I need to feel empowered by rejecting you? Um, you live in the middle room of a railroad apartment and you have a damn bunk bed?
I can tell that I’m going to hate you the second I orgasm. Your face, your body, everything feels amazing until it’s done, and then everything becomes ugly. When I’m horny, you’re George Clooney. When I’ve finished, you’re George Costanza.
I’m never going to have sex with you because I see no real benefit, because I need to know that I have the ability to say no to someone, because I would rather watch episodes of Felicity right now.