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Being a woman is tough. Let's just start there. Now, no, I'm not one of those woman who think men are evil or lesser than women. All I'm saying is that women really have it rough out there, especially sexually. (This will probably be the best sentence I have ever written due to the fact that I have not had sex yet, but bare with me here.)
First, we have high school boys who are not just learning about their own body, but also girls bodies at the same time. I don't know about you, but I have to learn things one thing at a time. These boys never stood a chance. Then there's college. The place where the work is hard and the boys are even harder. (Actually, that is the best sentence I will have ever written.) Then supposedly we have older men, who know what to do, but that is still up for debate because women are complaining about their sex lives constantly. So to add to the bitching and complaining of dissatisfaction from a man, I thought I'd share the story of The Crier with all of you... enjoy.
It's 2017 and I'm back in town from college for Thanksgiving Break. Thanksgiving is the time where we all say thanks for the things we have in life. It's the time where I give thanks for my dogs, eat food, get asked about boys and go into a deep food coma. The holidays are the worst time for single people, which is why I did what I did next. I responded to Logan, the hometown fuckboy I made out with in high school. It was decent then, so I thought "how could it hurt?"
I shower, shave, put on my most seductive, yet classy, set of lingerie and go hang out with people before the big game. It's finally time and I arrive to him outside giving me a hug and a kiss. It was a nice start. We walk in and go straight to his bedroom and there I saw it—sooo much camouflage. This here was my warning and I didn't take it. Anyways, here I am standing and bam, it starts. I don't know about you guys, but at times I like to ease into things, but no, apparently that only happens in the movies. We start getting hot and heavy and clothes come off. I undo his belt, which is a huge deal for me. (I have a fear of the sound belts make and no, I don't know why.) I get down to business. I'm getting good signs and I think I'm doing pretty good for myself and him. Wrong. I look up and this supposed man, is crying. Yes, men should be able to express their emotions, but not this one. Not at that moment. I was in shock. He told me stop and he laid me beside him. I waited exactly two minutes in complete silence to ask if I should leave and then another two before he got a snapchat from someone and actually opened it while I'm laying there with my clothes off, did I finally grab my shit and ran.
After this event, I did what any rational woman does; calls their friend. I couldn't breathe I was laughing so hard. Did this really just happen? That was the only thing I could think of—that, and the fact that I really had to pee. I head over to my grandmas, not realizing my hair is a complete mess, I have multiple hickeys, and, to top it off, cum on my pants (that actually stained my favorite pair of jeans). This will forever be my most ashamed moment. Nobody said anything when I arrived, and this both worries me and gives me peace that I did not have to explain what I had been doing to my eighty-five year old grandmother.
After this, I did not hear from him for the longest time, and when I did, all I received was a simple apology, followed by "...but you should've just jumped back on top," as if this was my fault. Ha. Ha. Ha. The best part is that I get this text on a weekly basis still to this day. As my friend said, "Maybe you shouldn't have cried and came on my jeans, you bitch."
I love, but also have such a distaste for men when they do such stupid shit. But this also low-key makes me mad at myself because I let this guy see me naked. What the HELL was I thinking?
Moral of the story, ladies, be careful who you let see you naked. If you see camo, run. If it's really shitty, laugh it off. Men, read a book or just don't cry. Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.