Am I A Femcel?
Nah, I’m Just Done With Men
Every once in a while, I meet a man I feel genuinely attracted to. It’s always so exciting, at first. That first blush of sexual energy. The moment I realize I’m picking out my earrings hoping he’ll think I’m pretty. The moment I realize I’m picking out my lip gloss hoping he’ll think I give good…er. You know, all those little irreplaceable moments.
I start to tell myself, maybe. Maybe this one won’t be like all the others. Maybe he won’t hurt me in some way it will take me months to recover from. He might just genuinely like me. You never know.
He’s probably very charming at first. Washes his face and under his arms, maybe even washes the dishes, if he’s really trying to be classy. This guy, he knows what he’s doing.
We flirt. We chat. I stare into his eyes and I catch him staring into mine right back.
Then the other shoe drops.
He has a girlfriend. Or, he’s poly, by which I mean, he has several girlfriends, and he’d like to know if I’d like to be #5 in the queue? He only calls me when he’s horny. He only texts me when his wife gets annoying.
It’s not his fault. It’s his childhood trauma, or his grandmother’s cousin’s niece is sick and it’s really bumming him out. He’s addicted to porn, or pot, or his ex-girlfriend…
