Warning: naughty language ahead. 

Dear Fuckboy,

I’m sorry we’re in this together—excelling at physical intimacy and sucking at emotional intimacy—but I’m still glad we have each other.

I’m sorry if you feel misunderstood like me, that you’re a complex creature with high standards, a love for your wild freedom and probably some anxious attachment style thrown in for realistic measure.

I’m sorry my texting style may not work for you. Or yours may not work for me. But remember that texting is tied to desire.

I’m sorry I don’t know how to pour my emotions in a really balanced expression; it seems I’m always too little or too much. And sometimes I’m just indifferent because I’m not boy crazy, just horny.

I’m sorry if I made you feel like all you are is a dick appointment. Sometimes that is all you are. And sometimes, that is not all you are to me. Sometimes you are two or three dick appointments. Kidding! Sometimes I do care what you think and it scares me.

I’m sorry if I have this internal freak-out every time you say “we” or “we’re.” I’d never tell you or let it show, but I totally do. It’s the first baby step that moves us from fuckery to a connected thing and it just really both excites me and freaks me out too. I’m still unsure if I want more with you.

I’m sorry our lives, jobs, homes, and situations put epic time gaps and distance challenges between our ability to fuck as much as we are dying to. And sexting is such a small substitute.

I’m sorry that you have to feel so challenged by my slow pace that it repels your all-too-common rapid aggressive pace. Even though you’re a fuckboy, you still have testosterone Daddy-O. I just can’t stand moving fast. I know this is what ultimately breaks us up because we vibe differently. I also know if I meet a fuckboy who vibes on my vibration, a little slower, that I’m in for a world of whole new possibilities I haven’t considered. Even a new definition of myself.

I’m also sorry that you feel the need to block me. I reserve blocking for extreme situations of danger and made a vow to myself that has nothing to do with you—that I won’t block people I date, for a couple of reasons:

1. It feels needlessly harsh and like an act of aggression.

2. Believe it or not, I’m actually trying to grow and that means staying neutral and open to communication and working things out. I do have exes I am friendly with. We’re cool.

3. We should work on respecting each other’s ebb and flow; silence counts as saying something and can be big enough without bringing tech into it.

4. I truly don’t want to be the “give up girl.” I know intimacy and love take grit. I also know that some of you fuckboys do wiggle your way deep into my bones whether I like it or not—and oh your body…I love your body with all my heart. I get totally infatuated…with your adorable face, and your personality drives me mad. Your passion, your sex, your essence, it gnaws away at me when you think I’ve totally written you off. I still think and ponder seeing you. But you have me blocked. I’m an Xennial, the mixtape generation, so if we aren’t sharing music—we’re unofficially blocked on my end. But actual blocking does feel too aggressive if it just didn’t work out.

I’m sorry you’re super confused about how you feel about me. The way I exceed your expectations in some ways and the way I don’t in other ways. It’s really challenging you on what’s most important and what you want: Your ego? You heart? Your dick? Your dreams? Your masculinity? I’m sorry you’re fighting this internal battle with yourself and you actually think the best way to fight it is to push me away. Trust me, it’s not.

I’m sorry that women are leaving dating apps by the droves because the expectation of respectful and stimulating conversation isn’t being met by you. They’re fed up and roaming hardware stores and hitting on UPS drivers that can muster more than a “sub baby”? Psss, trying is sexy; girls like attention, women like affection, effort, and vigilance.

I’m sorry I’m not the girl who will go back to you. I saw red flags. I’m not accepting your offer to see each other again because I’m looking down the road and helping us both avoid a huge, ugly, and painful mess. Please respect that.

I’m also sorry for your inability to see through the patriarchal, bullshit status quo that you have to reject me unless I put you first—before myself. I’m sorry you’re actually choosing male dominance over real, sweet connection or possibly even love. I’m pretty sure love is an ever-changing, sexy tug-of-war that repeatedly tests our self-love and our relationship and the love we have for our partner and family. And I’m sorry that dating me is waking you up and you feel confronted. A lot.

I’m sorry for silly, weird shit and I like that we can laugh it off! Like, if we don’t connect for days or weeks and then I’m calling for you in my sleep, so siri telephones you but I don’t respond and you’re worried and confused. I am too. I mean, why am I dreaming about you? Are you penetrating my psyche too?

I’m sorry dating has become so tricky and unfulfilling; we still need love regardless of the amount of intimacy we get. But I’m not sorry that you taught me that sex is part of how men feel loved. I think it’s true for women too. And you taught me how many different kinds of love there are. See while I’m supposed to be leading this tragically slutty existence filled with hot girl shit, I find it to be quite magical, cosmic connecting that stimulates my pussy, my heart, my brain, and my soul. I still get butterflies in my 40s.

Lastly, I’m sorry for how uncomfortable it is when I point out things in intimacy to you that you aren’t recognizing in yourself. I’m pretty sure you hate me for this. But I’m still going to say them because regardless of much I like you, I want you to figure who you are on your journey, whether or not it’s going to involve me. The privilege of being non-committed is we can be more honest in the moment, without worrying too hard about the future.

I’m sorry fuckboy, but I think your spirit animal is a fuckgirl. Rawwwrrr!

~