I know it’s a trend nowadays but I find it very annoying that men bitch and complain (which is really chauvinistic and immature) about needing to avoid the “friend zone.” I hate the concept and think men should shut the fuck up, but I do reluctantly agree that in essence, it exists. There are men that I know very well, who I’m sure would love to sleep with me, and who I find very attractive, that I do not want to have sex with. I probably will never want to have sex with them. I’ll concede that a way of conveying that, a way of saying that there are attractive men out there who I don’t want to sleep with (because sorry my entire existence doesn’t depend on sex and getting the sex) could be called a friend zone as in, I am your friend and want to continue to be. Like a no parking zone, except not cars but men and not parking but sex!
I too tend to get stuck in a bad zone with the opposite sex that usually results in months of over analyzing text messages, waiting by the phone and trying to act not hurt when I’m really fucking demolished inside. I would like to call this the “fuck zone”
Have you ever met a dude who at first is super fucking into you, like – he wants to take you out on a date. Maybe he even asks you out on a date. But then, after you’ve established a mutual attraction for one another, a conflict arises, things need to be rescheduled and in his eyes his attempt to court you failed?
Have you ever felt like you’ve been put in into this invisible category of women where all of a man’s communication with you after the failed date or after the accidental one night stand or after he, you know, he kinda drops off for a bit and then hits you up again, revolves around sex? It’s as though some men give you one chance to accept their offer to be a rad guy who wants to maybe girlfriend you and, if it doesn’t work out, the respect he had for you expires and he starts sending dick pics? No? Because it seriously happens to meall the time.
Sexting, instant sex messaging, sex chats, sexy emails, sexy talking, sexy picture requests. At first it’s new and exciting. You say to yourself, “This guy must really like me because all he wants to talk about are the sexy things he wants to do to my vagina.” Then it turns to, “Oh my god I actually described the way I give a blow job to this guy,” to, “Oh my god I actually took a picture of my boob and sent it to him and now he’s asking for pictures of my cooch.”
For a while you get those butterfly tingly feelings in your heart and vagina because the guy may throw in the occasional, “God ur cute” “baby” “sweetie” “lol ur adorable” between messages laced with requests for you to, “Go ahead and pull your pants down in the bathroom of your office and take a picture of that pretty little wet pussy for me, baby.” Whoa whoa… what?
Sometimes you get so excited by the prospect of someone desiring you that you forget to distinguish thatthis is terrible behaviorand you begin to rationalize and normalize the dirty correspondence in your mind. You may even get this guy to go out on what you think is a date but soon you realize he’s so hyped up on the sex talk that the date actually ends up turning into sex. Only sex. Which then turns into a g-chat every week or two which somehow morphs into booty-call-hour text messaging and you end up only seeing this man at night!
I’ve been pulleddeepinto the fuck zone so many times. There are guys out there who know a hell of a lot about me, who’ve seen every part of my body, whom I’ve never seen in the day time! I don’t know what kind of car they drive, I’ve never seen the inside of their apartment, but they know my first name, last name, email, blog, Twitter, Instagram, home address, Jesus Christ! I wonder how fuck buddies and booty calls existed pre smart phones?
I really don’t think I’m alone in this. I would be surprised if the majority of women I know have not been coerced into sending naked pictures of themselves or at the very least risque pictures of themselves while engaging in overtly sexual correspondence with no real foundation or relationship base for it.
I look back and cringe at all bullshit I’ve written to guys who I thought really liked me, and at all those times I thought I was being really hip, cool, forward thinking, progressive, really owning my sexuality by saying “oh baby yea I want you to tie me up and hit me really hard from behind…” Great job little girl you’ve made it to the fuck zone! Now you get to haveallllof the meaningless sex you want with none of the romance! What a win for feminism!
What are some nice ways of saying, “I think you’re really cute and I actually will sleep with you but can you understand it takes a little more for me to be somebody’s little slut”? How do I ask a guy if 10 other women are also describing how they’d give him a blow job? Or ask how many chicks are sending him pictures of their cleavage or of what it looks like when they pull up their dress? How many girls actually oblige these guys on the “send me a pictures of that wet pussy” request? If a guy just wants me to be his little whore, he’s going to have to fucking pay me, preferably in wine and delicious appetizers.
I get into these situations and wonder, do these guys and I even know how to communicate with one another? It sounds so fucking fake when they ask me how my day was when I know all they really want to ask is what kind of panties I’m wearing. I know guys who have pictures of their penis ready in their phone, you know, just in case. There’s nothing fun, gradual, or flirty about sexting with a guy who has a penis pic inventory! These guys can make me go from feeling liked to feeling naughty in a good way to feeling like a run of the mill phone sex operator in 12 text message exchanges or less! In my head I scream “Hey buddy all these pictures and all this sex talk is cool but, um, how about your favorite book?” Why am I afraid to be a boner kill? What am I even getting out of this?
I’m calling out for help to the beauty mags, the RookieMags, the Esquires, the Hello Giggles: with all the advice out there for men on how to avoid being put in the friend zone, can I please read some literature on how to stay out of the fucking fuck zone without a guy thinking I’m an absolute prude? The sex zone hurts way worse than a friend zone because at the end of the day, you aren’t left with a friend. You’re left with self-esteem issues.
Related: Click here if you want to see NPR’s position on “offensive language.”
I’ve felt it coming like a tidal wave or a hurricane or a bad flu. I’ve read the comments, heard the talk, ignored my friends who warned me. But today, this morning, right at this very moment, I must come to terms with it. Pussy is dead. Not its definition but the word itself.
Though it’s always been one of my favorite words, though I’ve used it, use and, and love it, I must at this time come to terms with the fact that rich old disgusting crude white men have taken this beautiful word and have made it their own.
Pussy will always have a loving place in my heart. It will always roll off the tongue with ease, incite thoughts of foreplay, and cause me to be reminiscent of better times.
Rob Ford has has put the last nail in this coffin and it is now time to mourn, because I would never, ever, EVER want to mimic the behavior or be associated with anything this ostentatious, pig-headed, repulsive beast of man has done while in one of his now infamous “drunken stupors”.