ISSUE #1

FARM BOY SEXY OR FARM BOY SCARY?

So I'll start by introducing myself in an extremely vague and off-putting way. I won't tell you my name as it isn't relevant, but think of me as the girl who a higher power tends to use for comic relief, or so I believe. I'm 18 years old and currently enrolled in my first year of university. For any of you who have not yet started university, this will be a handbook on how to survive boys who "don't want commitment" and realising that you shouldn't have bought those plants to decorate your room, as you can't even look after yourself, let alone things that need actual care and attention. 

For my first blog post, I decided that I would be raw and vulnerable - a decision which has previously cost me countless hours of crying while listening to Lana Del Rey - and share the story of the one-week romance which convinced me it would be a good idea to start a blog as of 1:36 am on Sunday, the 17th of November. 

Friday — Night 1 

Last Friday, after weeks of non-stop disappointment from men,  I decided to let loose and have a girls' night out, as you do, unsuspectingly. And that it was: my two girlfriends and I decided to go to the club, indulge ourselves in overpriced drinks and the same repetitive music we've heard every single week since starting university (girls, get used to recession pop!) and generally enjoy a night away from all the drama and hysterics of ramped up hormonal teenagers, the boys and girls alike.  All of a sudden, one of my friends had been seized! In the arms of an unknown stranger, she gyrated her hips seductively while the other survivor of my group and I watched in horror. "Oh well", we said and shrugged it off, "We don't need men!", and we naively danced in a performatively-feminist manner until the need for skin rendered us just as defenceless. 

We sheepishly navigated the dance floor, looking for potential bachelors, until a tall, blonde, attractive boy caught my eye. You know how the story goes from here (sorry, Feminism). "What's your name?" I said, after ten whole minutes of us dancing together - god forbid a man make the first move. For the sake of his privacy, although he does NOT deserve it, I will call him Farm boy. So we exchanged niceties as the club swelled with desperation as 3:00 am approached. The original traitor of our musketeer-ish ensemble is nowhere to be seen, and my fellow compadre is messaging the boy she went home with the night before, while this obnoxiously tall boy dangles his limbs all over me as I press up against him. A recipe for disaster. 

We ended up leaving the club together, after his friend bought me a few drinks at the bar (yes, his friend, I should've known Farm boy was poor), and he asked me how far my place is from the club compared to his. Now, let me preface by saying one thing: I DO NOT usually settle for a club-get and don't get me wrong, I am an avid supporter of all the trials and tribulations of the club-get, but I tell myself that every man I allow to bed me must be a suitor of great importance. Nonetheless, I end up in my bed with a man I've known for a matter of mere hours, and we get down to business. 

Now remember those few cheeky drinks at the bar? Well, though I like to think I have a respectable amount of expertise in the "giving-head" department, I may or may not have accidentally pushed my luck (or my throat, really) and spewed... on it. Yes, I accidentally threw up on this poor, unsuspecting man's penis, but he was really kind about it. He laughed, made his way over to the bathroom, gave it a good rinse and was back in action in no time. But hey, I won't give him too much credit; any testosterone-ridden 18-year-old boy is not being put off sex by a little bit of pink VK splatter. The rest of the night went swimmingly, and he left early the next morning.  I didn't see him on Saturday, but come Sunday night, he messaged me.

“What are you up to tonight?"

"Oh, not much, just staying in."

"Yeah, me too. I'm so bored, though."

And with that message, I knew what I was meant to say. "Ugh, sameee god, please come free me from the shackles of my boredom with your slightly-above-average dick!" Part of me thought, No, I will not give in to this. I know what he wants, what all boys want, and I'm just too good for that. However, I also thought, Hey, I already wasted a body on this boy, I might as well get a little bang for my buck (literally). So I played my part, like the awful, awful feminist I am. 

"Well, we could do something together, if you fancy?”

And so we agreed that he would come over to 'watch a movie'. Following this agreement to 'watch a movie', I jumped into the shower, cracked open my expensive, nice-smelling exfoliant, and proceeded to shave my entire body. How else does one prepare for a movie? 

Sunday — Night 2

He came over, got into my bed and immediately took me into his arms *swoon and sigh*, yuck. I ridiculed him for his forwardness and attempted to sway the conversation towards actually watching a film, how naive! We kissed, had sex and then succumbed to the natural routine of actually getting to know each other. He told me that he was from the Scottish Highlands, more specifically, a farm in the Scottish Highlands, and he had a sexy Scottish accent to back it up. He also told me that he likes to hunt... immediately, I was repulsed. "Hunt what, exactly?" I asked. "Pigeons and deer. Mostly deer." He said. I was horrified and made this very aware to him, accusing him of being a cold-blooded killer and a raging sadist. He did rationalise it by saying that the deer he hunts are a specifically invasive breed that feeds on barley. "Would you live without bread, cereal and beer?" I suppose he had me there, no, I could not live without my main three food groups. 

Anyway, after a prolonged conversation about his family, our interests, our degrees and our music tastes, we started talking about what we actually wanted from our situation. "No commitment and no relationship." He says. OH! OKAY! COOL! So if you don't want commitment, why have you been inside me for two nights out of the past three? But because I'm super nonchalant, I said, "Same, god, I could not imagine being in a relationship right now." I felt the lovergirl in me die a little bit. However, the night continued, and we had sex again, and shared a cigarette out of the window after we were done, while Dire Straits played in the background. What more could you want from a sneaky link than sex, cigarettes and good music? It was euphoric, and I felt like I could spend an eternity in his arms. His beautiful blue eyes, his more-than-impressive stamina, I was a girl hooked. We spent the night talking, exchanging flirtatious jokes as I lay docile in his arms and essentially role-playing a relationship. Heaven on earth. The next morning, we woke up, had a shower together, and he walked me to my lecture.

I remember naively giggling to my friends as they would say, "Oh my god! Lover girl here actually has a sneaky link!". They were extremely proud that this conquest of mine didn't resemble the others, meaning he wasn't a twinky white boy with gay allegations and a maximum height of 5'9. I also realised that when I wasn't trying to prove to him that hunting is disgusting and inhumane, I found it extremely sexy. Yes, I know that this makes me both an enemy to feminists and environmentalists, but oh well. I imagined him cruising through the forests, looking for his next prey, like a primitive, sexy hunter with an insatiable bloodlust. It was almost reminiscent of the nights we'd spend together when I'd lie there overwhelmed with pleasure as he had his way with me. Anyway, everything about him intrigued me, which I really hadn't expected from a club-get. I spent the rest of that day and the next daydreaming as we messaged back and forth. Unfortunately, I had developed quite a substantial crush on Farm Boy. 

Tuesday — Night 3

We saw each other again on Tuesday night, marking the third of the three beautiful nights we shared. After sex this time, I groaned and rolled over, after realising just how deeply I liked him. "What is it?" he asked. "No, I can't say". "Why not?" he insisted further. "Because we said that this wasn't going to become anything". I had done it. I had implied the one thing that every Boy who has a crippling resentment for commitment fears. I squeezed my eyes shut as we lay in the darkness, waiting for his distress to be communicated. "I like you too," he said. "What?" I asked. Now, surely if he had explicitly stated two days ago that he didn't want a relationship or any sort of commitment, he shouldn't like me, or at least shouldn't be telling me that he likes me, and I mean like-likes me, in the way grown-ups do. "I wouldn't have seen you three times if I didn't like you." 

Now, I will unpack this statement. A piece of information which I've been holding out on you is that he is, in fact, a slut. With a snap score of over 1.1 million, Farm Boy sports a whopping body count of 16! And see, if it were a woman, no judgment, but men shouldn't be allowed outside, let alone claim 16 innocent girls as their victims. So yes, I felt special, man-whore Farm Boy liked me. We both agreed that this didn't need to lead to commitment and that we could just mutually like each other with no strings attached, which I enjoyed the concept of, apart from the no strings attached bit. We both stated that we would also be jealous if the other were to enjoy the company of another, but we said that we would tell each other and just be honest. Perfect, a low-commitment, going-nowhere situationship with all the emotional exhaustion of a real relationship. What more could a girl dream of?

Wednesday-Saturday — The Final Countdown

He called me on both Wednesday and Thursday night after he had been out drinking with friends to tell me that he missed me and that he wished he could be with me. Legitimate *Swoon and sigh*. We said we would see each other on Sunday night, purely out of convenience for him and his schedule, yes, I know how it sounds. Come Friday night, I went to the pub with my friend, who had previously been addressed as 'the friend who had been seized', got drunk off pints and messaged him, as you do, asking how his night had been going. And ironically, despite his desperate pleas to me for the past two nights, there was no message back. 'Strange', I thought. I then proceeded to go home and sit in my makeup for two hours in case he decided to message me and come see me. But there I was, at 4 in the morning, with my false lashes on, realising that he wasn't going to come. 

I woke up to an extremely cold message from him saying, "Sorry, I don't think I'll be able to see you on Sunday", to which I responded with a pathetic "Okay". So I spent the rest of the day in a state of confusion, wondering what had changed and even more excited to get drunk and see him tonight. Do not ask how I live my life in such a constant delusion; it is not something I could even attempt to explain. So that night, I got drunk and sent him a snap. Yes, I know Snapchat is juvenile and makes my age extremely prominent, but I only use Snapchat to communicate with the man-whores of the world, as it is their modus operandi. He left me on opened. I then spent the rest of my night sitting in my university accommodation's kitchen, making chicken fillets in the oven while hysterically sobbing to Jeff Buckley's "Grace", of course, with my makeup still on, just in case. If there is a healthier way to cope with life's problems, please feel free to share, as this is the best I have come up with thus far. 

Sunday — Armageddon 

I sent him a message at 7:50 pm saying, "Hey, just wanted to make sure that we're okay." I fell asleep in an attempt to skip the anxiousness that comes with waiting for a response like this and woke up to this exact message:

"Hey, sorry, I think we should stop seeing each other. I've found a girl I really like and want to try to have something with. Sorry to waste your time. You're a lovely person and I hope you enjoy your first year of uni:)" 

Now, for starters, get the fuck out of here with that smiley face. Also, when could he possibly have had time to meet a girl, let alone one that he wants to start something with? How does one encounter a man-whore who swears off commitment, then lovebombs you for 5 days, all the while holding on to the 'no commitment clause', to finally find a girl he wants to commit to, who isn't you? I was in absolute hysterics. He went on to tell me that he had met her a few months ago and there was a 'spark' (fuck off, Chris Martin-wannabe), but she goes to a different university, which is a whole 2 hours away by train and that she came to our city on Friday night. They met, and within the span of a night, he decided he wanted to try long-distance. 

Hopefully, you're thinking what I'm thinking; no commitment to long distance is NOT the conventional pipeline and was definitely NOT what I was expecting. He told me that he didn't think he'd want commitment either, but to quote, "there's just something different about her". Okay, why don't you just kill me right now and spare me the humiliation? I then told him I was confused as he said he liked me, in the way grown-ups do, to which he responded, "I did, but we both talked about it, and it wasn't going to go anywhere, whereas with this girl there's a future and we share very similar interests". Okay, so she's also a cruel, barbaric murderer, and that is what makes her 'wifey-material'? Nonetheless, Farm Boy successfully caught this prey and slaughtered me, this time without any aftercare. 

And that is the story of Farm Boy - a cautionary tale that teaches you to run for the hills (not the Scottish Highlands) whenever a boy tells you that he is not looking for any sort of commitment because they only really mean it until they find the girl they want to commit to. But of course, you won't follow my advice; otherwise, you wouldn't be here. I make bad choices, and so do you, and to that I say:

Welcome to the Bad Choices Club.