He wanted to take a bath. A scepticism I already hold with people I’m actively dating and therefore aware of their overall cleanliness and living space, but def a no go for a first hang. No fuuucking way. I didn’t say this to him obviously, as it sounded snobbish and let’s be honest, downright cunty. Instead, I declined like a civilized human being by making up an excuse, obviously. It was something along the lines of, “I have plans after” or some equally believable bullshit.

After a rather lengthy period of inactivity and squatting on some familiar dicks, I got bored. I like variety. Variety in sex, in interactions, in interests and fetishes and largely, in dicks. Not to sound like the ultimate slut, but just like dudes say all pussy feels different, so does all peen. I liked my regulars, don’t get me wrong but people get comfortable and shit gets less sexy or god forbid, fucked up. You begin holding them to a higher standard of being than they c

It was the summer of ‘06 and shit was liiit. Okay, I’m lying, shit sucked. At least in my 13 year old head, but looking back those were definitely “the good old day” or whatever. I was post-pubescent and horny as fuck but like most 13 year old girls in Southern California, I was question my sexuality heavily. I knew I liked boys, with their cool hair and band tees but girls confused me. I idolized them, constantly seeking reassurance that I was cool or cute. A self consciousn

It had been a few days but nothing had changed. My friend and I were still fighting. Fake bae and I were still good. Actually, not good, better than ever! We we going out more and diving deeper into each other than we had to start. Or so I thought. I was feeling confident, in myself, in us. So I didn’t really question the outcome of having “the conversation”. You know, the relationship one with feels and shit. Like, “OMG, we’ve been hanging a lot and I just like, really vibe

There were a lot of signs. Red flags that I shouldn’t move forward. Shouldn’t pursue the attractive, talented, muse of a man who was showing interest in me. The signs were there, sent as a attachment on every text and email. For god's sake, he sent me fucking “Lossin’ Control” by Russ, ballad of the guilty man, the “ex-cheater”. “The signs were there”, a saying I now repeat to myself when I look back, wondering how I got sucked in the sink hole of shit that is the mess he cre

He had the type of name that screamed, “I was in a fraternity!” Unsurprisingly to everyone, he really was. For the purpose of anonymity, we’ll call him Sebastian. I stumbled across Sebastian’s profile on Tinder almost immediately after deciding to rejoin. I didn’t normally dig white guys but something about the sandwich shoved in his mouth on his profile pic really spoke to me. His profile read, “Live. Laugh. Love. Harvest Organs.” It made me wet just reading it. I wouldn’t s

I thought I was going to feel better, but I didn’t. Better, having a different definition than relieved. The weight of the decision was now gone, but the impact of it still resonated. It didn’t matter that he ghosted me for days after, or at least, I didn’t think it did. Because when he finally reached out, my initial interest to respond had nearly dissipated. Images of his texts and actions popping into my head like infectious flash backs that I couldn’t stop. It was all bul

Who’d have guessed my life would become a SZA, Cardi B, or any other heart broken bitches album. I guess that’s how it happens with fuckboy love though. After complimenting his hat at a show, I decided to DM him. I liked guys who hung out alone at events. It showed less thirst than the other men who meandering around searching for pussy to fall in. He replied right away with the proposition of drinks and of course, I agreed. After securing the date, he followed up with a mess

Now, we may not have had a title, I’ll give him that. But, the 6 months of talking, planning to move in together and solidifying exclusivity was close enough for me. I didn’t start this trend of disrespect and bullshit in our “relationship”, but I could sure as hell end it. When he pulled up, I threw the charm (or whatever it’s called) at him. I knew I should have kept it, just to be extra petty, but throwing stuff always adds a nice, dramatic touch. He looked dumbfounded a

It had been about a week since the “move in” talk and we had yet to readdressed it. This, in itself, was not a big deal. Seeing as it was just a conversation, not a concrete step. What was resonating as an issue was his attitude. It’s not like he had done a total 180, or anything that obvious. It was more of an underlying distance that hadn’t previously existed between us. Looking back, I realize I should have recognized this as a red flag. But what did I know about relations