“It Doesn’t Mean Anything”
The fuckboy anthem
I feel like I’ve been very candid about the general hopelessness I feel regarding dating in Las Vegas since we started this journey. And while I haven’t “given up hope”, that isn’t to say that I, in fact, “hope” at all. When it comes to finding a partner, I just don’t give a fuck. I’m not up for the emotional stress, commitment of time, or general energy it takes to meet people, get to know them, or feign any kind of real interest. Anytime I feel like I could devote some precious hours to a dating life, I then think that time would be better spent working on my business, making money, and hanging out with Cutie. That’s really the trifecta of my life now, and I am wildly unapologetic about it. However, sometimes one just falls through the cracks when I least expect it.
So I met a guy accidentally. You could call it organically, but it really was more like a slow burn. I picked a little bar close to my new apartment and have been hanging out there quite a lot. It serves as an opportunity to both get out of my 900 sq ft space and helps me feel like I accomplished being social without having to actually engage with others. It’s great. In that time, I’ve met another patron and become kind of chatty. We established very early that we have nothing in common and would never have sex. With that out of the way, I’m free to be my most honest self around him without worry of scaring anyone away. Fucking fabulous. But this is really where things get tricky.
The problem here is I feel like my attractiveness is more a grower than a show-er, if you’re familiar with that term, meaning that when you first meet me, it’s really nothing special. I don’t have men fawning all over me because of my looks. Don’t worry about me, I’m not complaining. It’s almost like being invisible and that’s not so bad. I can go a lot of places without worry of attention or harassment. I can walk around the city looking like a fucking bum, no bra, dirty hair, and no one is the wiser. It’s quite empowering actually. However, I start to grow on ya. Men let me get close to them. I become a buddy. They think I’m a great time. Lots of laughs. Just an all around good time gal. It’s a quintessential role reversal of a guy who’s “just a friend”. I really get in there, and then at some point, after a few times drinking, talking, whatever, BOOM, I’m fuckable. I’ve used my sparkling personality and unconventional female wiles to get behind enemy lines and infiltrate. The difference with me is it’s not intentional. It’s not my fault these guys date attractive women who have no personality. Then they’re forced to bang a vodka soda drinking starfish for the rest of their lives. But while plenty of women are willing to look past that shit and settle for a fat guy with a pension, a man never will. He, instead, will continue chasing starfish for the rest of his life because, at the end of the day, looks really are all that matters.
So I’m hanging out at my new spot, bullshitting with my new pal, being my normally charming self. Everyone’s getting a little loosey goosey. Something’s funny so I lean over mid laugh and put my hand on a leg, something I do a lot actually. Why? Because there’s no fear. I can be as flirty or touchy or whatever as I please without worrying about rejection, or even worse, whatever the opposite of rejection is because we’ve all already agreed there isn’t any attraction. In real life, if I like you, I avoid eye contact. I don’t smile. I don’t even engage, but I can do all the things when there’s no pressure. Why? Because I don’t have any skin in the game. It’s all a joke, nothing is real, and it’s all fun and games. And that’s how I like it.
Never one to be the last person at the party, I find myself hanging out way too long. The crowd dies and it’s really just us left over. We’re both winding down, paying tabs, getting ready to make an exit when he tells me we’re leaving at the same time. I said yes. He says we’re walking out together. I again say yes even though it was obviously rhetorical. He informs me he’s going to kiss me outside. I laugh wildly because I’m waiting for the punchline, but it never comes. He’s going to bridge the gap and kiss me without any more reasoning than that. Why? Because he wants to. It’s that simple. He just feels like it, but it doesn’t mean anything. I think he’s joking, but I begin to clam up and act weird. I become awkward. I’m stressed. Even knowing it’s happening, I still am on the cusp of a panic attack.
We get to the car and he turns to me and asks if I’m ready, which honestly might have been the best first kiss approach I’ve come across. To the point, no grey area. I close my eyes and all of a sudden there’s a huge tongue in my mouth. He literally jumped in at an 8, but I was only prepared for a 3. Before I could even get ahold of what was happening, it was over. No closure of the mouth end kiss action. He was just gone. I yell, out of instinct, “You’re disgusting. I hate you. Bye.” Why? Because I’m damaged and even when I like something, I’d rather die than admit it. He’s not disgusting, he’s actually kind of cute. I don’t hate him, in fact, I think I could *maybe like him sometimes. But did I enjoy it? I didn’t not enjoy it. It was awkward, confusing, and really not telling in any kind of way, at least for me. It was like the weather was kind of frigid and he wasn’t sure if the water was warm enough. He saw steam but didn’t know, so he dipped his toe in to check the temperature. If it was warm, he would have left it there. Ipso facto, he doesn’t want to stick anything else in me.
And here we go again…
Everything was great. I was living a perfectly dickfree life when some dude decides he wants to see if maybe he wants to fuck me. But my problem here is this halfass attempt with the whole pretense that it doesn’t matter. Because it does matter. It always matters. We’re talking about the entire male/female dynamic. A man’s only intention is deciding whether or not he might want something, but women spend all their time instead wondering if that man might want them. It’s fucking genetic. Do I actually like him? I have no idea. Do I actually want to fuck him? Who really knows? But what I do know is that here I am, back on my bullshit of feeling insecure and unsure with no real answers. Spinning in the wind about what he was doing, why he did it, and why the reaction wasn’t better. Blah blah blah. And just the act of informing someone that you want to bridge a gap into light intimacy and negating it by saying it doesn’t mean anything is already invalidating their feelings before the fact. I can’t decide how I feel about it because I don’t know how he feels about it, and that ladies, is fucking bullshit.
It’s been a few days. There’s been no acknowledgement, no reasoning, no inquiry. It’s back to business as usual. Like it never happened, and I realize how many times in my life it didn’t mean anything. Fuck, I had a boyfriend for years with a key to my house, and it didn’t mean anything. I was in a very intense fling with a guy I loved deeply, and it didn’t mean anything. Where are we going here? Simply put, look at these kind of statements and realize they are simply unfinished sentences. It doesn’t matter…TO ME. It doesn’t matter…because your feelings don’t matter. It doesn’t matter…because I don’t care how my actions affect you.
It doesn’t matter = you don’t matter.
Stay safe ladies.