I Fucked A Fuckboy…

Dimitar Belchev

Your adolescent years are the ones where you don’t know who you are. You’re finding yourself, creating what and who you would become. 

At age 20, I’ve never had a boyfriend and I was soon getting tired of the right one to lose my V-card to. I thought to myself, “What if met the right one at 40? Would I wait till then?” I decided that it wasn’t worth the wait and that I could just fuck one random person and I wouldn’t feel any emotional attachment. I thought I was this strong person who could ignore whatever feelings that would come my way. I was wrong. I soon realized…

Who your first is isn’t important, but they become important. 

I didn’t really dig into who he was. All I knew that he was pretty cool, had a couple of tattoos and was into photography. I went to his place and we just did it and that was it. After it happened, I thought that I wouldn’t care. But I did. I went home and started looking through Instagram and I found out quite a few things about him. He seemed like he just came out of a shitty breakup. The more I searched the more I found and the more I knew that he was indeed a fuckboy. Every day that week the scenes would flash in my head and I would be thinking about it. Soon, I was worrying about bumping into him at the clubs. And today I finally did. I was so scared that he would see me. Much to my disappointment, I wasn’t as strong as I thought I was. I was afraid that he would recognize me and tell his friends that he fucked this girl and that they would judge me. Because I wasn’t pretty enough, and I never will be.

So I did the cowardly thing – I left. I got out of there as soon as I could. I couldn’t stand being there. The fear of getting seen by him. And his friends. I got a cab and left. Once I got home, I started watching the stories that his friends posted online. I saw him grabbing a girl’s ass. I know it shouldn’t hurt but it did. Maybe I lowkey wished that we could be a thing. Maybe I thought that I wasn’t good enough for him, that’s why he never called me back. I know it should be a good thing that he isn’t interested in me, and I reduced the likelihood of getting fucked over by a fuckboy.

But if that’s the case, why does it still leave me longing for more? Thought Catalog Logo Mark

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