Fucking with a Fuck Boy

I came upon a piece of performance poetry on a friends IG story today, the title “Depression and Dick Appointments” got me interested. I watched and listened to this woman perform her verse, to the sound of what sounds like a New York audience cheering her on. Oh wait a minute, I know this story, it all sounds oh too familiar. The need to satisfy one’s own sexual desire combined with the self loathing that comes with fucking with a fuck boy. I wouldn’t say I’m depressed, but I would say that I can get depressed… does that make sense? Is that depression in itself? With so much discussion these days on mental health perhaps it has made me more aware of my own ups and downs and how to recognise depressive moods and how to acknowledge and either let them pass or find ways to snap out of the downward mood. One thing to snap me out of a bad or depressive mood is definitely some good sex. If it gets to 3 – 4 months without any action I would say I do start to think about who I can call… I don’t want some random one night stand, some tinder hook up or to prowl the night clubs looking for an easy lay. No, I want someone who knows me, knows my body, knows how to satisfy that need. This is where the fuck boy comes in. I know him too, I know his body, his fine booty and muscular chest. I know he will answer my call. I know he will find his way to my place… ‘you up?’. I know he will not love me and perhaps this is why I can let myself go with the flow. He cannot disappoint me as I have no expectation of him to love me. I can let go of the stress of that day, week, few months. I can be free for that night and most often next day, we will make love, fuck, converse, laugh, eat and repeat. Fanbloddytastic!

It’s not a healthy situation as at the end of the day, I do want to be loved and to give love. I have so much love to give and I have to be careful with these fuckboys as I have in the past loved them. To myself of course. Never admitting to them or to friends who know about said fuckers. But ‘this isn’t love making’ the poet admits, ‘it is the wildest way I know how how to forget the emptiness inside me’. Wow… this nails it.

So why is this resonating with me so much right now? Well, it’s been near 3 months on lockdown or more I don’t know! Conversations with Mr Right Now are still going on, but there is nothing deep and meaningful. He’s not trying to get to know me, he’s not asking any pertinent questions, nothing beyond the surface, nothing about who he is, life or love. We talk about this and that, our Coronaville expeditions to find groceries, netflix dramas and play online scrabble. Our chats have dwindled to once a week or so, but he does talk about getting it on with me, how much he wants to see my ass again and play scrabble face to face – naked. Is he a fuckboy in the making? Or is it just the circumstances we are in which has made it hard for us to actually get to know one another?

My optimistic side says ‘well you never know – he could be Mr Right…’

My pessimistic side is saying ‘Girl you know he’s fuck boy’

My horny, depressed mind is saying ‘when can I see you?’

As the lockdown restrictions are loosening, I will be able to see him. But should I, is the question?

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