Social media has changed dating and mating. I remember my divorce attorney – my first one – said that Facebook had doubled his business – and this was when Facebook was in its infancy. I haven’t looked, but I bet I could find my old lawyer on FB, like his page, like his firm, and see some candids of the newly divorced in front of the courthouse with big thumbs up. Social media has allowed people to reconnect with people from their past – the past is a funny thing, a dangerous thing – it’s nostalgic and perfect, time has erased the memory of her boiling your bunny. The past looks shiny in a moment of boredom, and folks have drank the Kool-Aid. Tell me you haven’t gotten a private message from an old flame. Liar. There are two kinds of guys sliding into my DM’s. Both are fuckboys, far past their shelf lives – fuckboy is a young man’s game. I’ve had a weird week concerning both, so let’s talk about it.
The first kind is a complete stranger. He’s been perusing Facebook like it was Tinder, high and dry and looking for a ball player. I received a message from a guy, not even coupled with a friend request, I didn’t know him, no mutual friends, just a hunter and gatherer. Of course he started with flattery, not a bad thing, but I’m real enough to know he sent “You’re beautiful” to at least a dozen women hoping for a bite. I write a blog, so fuck it, I”ll bite, albeit benignly. We had three days of “How are you?” Yawn. Boy had no game, maybe that’s why he’s cruising DM’s for a lady friend. The fourth day, he made his move. Not a good move, but pretty standard. I will say at least it wasn’t a dick pic. It was two pics, one in the gym and one with his shirt off, neither with a face. It’s pretty formulaic from there. The next question is always, without fail, “Are you curvy?” Wink, wink – send a body shot in return, which, of course, was his next request. This isn’t chatting a little to get to know someone and going for drinks if things click, this is a cattle call. It’s a showing of assets, being valued on tits and ass, brain not required, and if he likes what he sees, he will deem you worthy of his mighty penis. Fuck that. Don’t do me any favors, short stick.
This is what men don’t understand. It can be just physical, it may just be a fuck, but treating a woman like a brainless sperm receptacle will get you your left hand and some lotion. At least fake it ’til you make it. If you are trying to be an elder fuckboy, be better at it. If you can’t even pretend to be interested in the actual woman, well, get used to cruising Facebook, casting a wide net, and still just pleasuring yourself. Maybe I’m wrong, maybe this works on other women, but I don’t want it to. I want all of us to know our value. Feel our power. We are more than a life support system for a vagina. We are far more precious than the collective appeal of our booty and boobies. I am woman. Hear me roar, mother fucker.
The other kind of a DM slipper is someone you “kinda” know. A few months ago, I received a message from someone I went to high school with. We went to school together, but never spoke to one another, I think he dated someone I know a little. Still, no words. Fast forward thirty some years and I got a private message from him, “Love your profile picture, still as gorgeous as ever. Wish I had the courage to talk to you as kids. You were just so pretty, I couldn’t. I would have probably just froze. lol.” Sweet words, but I assure you, kind reader, I was not “the pretty girl” in high school, y’all saw my 80’s hair. I speak the truth. He told me he was moving back to Texas, and could we go out sometime, I said, “Sure, why not?” This started a month of random messages from him – “thinking of you” kind of things. He said he was looking forward to our first date. One day, out of the blue, I received a message, “Let’s meet up at South Padre for a weekend. Let’s change it up and have a real date. I’ll take care of the reservation.” Pardon? Wait. Excuse me? I was thinking of, like, lunch, like, maybe. This had all been through messages with a virtual stranger who I happened to walk the same halls in high school. We haven’t spoken on the phone, we haven’t shared information about our lives, like kids, jobs, not one personal detail. What I didn’t realize was this constituted a relationship, a fake Facebook messenger relationship. How can this be? Beats the fuck outta me. How do I know it was a real fake Facebook messenger relationship? Because we had a fake Facebook messenger breakup. See below.
There are some similarities with these two. Both lack any real warmth, any real sincerity. Both use flattery, but it’s superficial, it’s valuing the least interesting thing about a woman. It’s a penis in sheep’s clothing. It’s a hook up wrapped in flattering, flat words. Fuck man, you are too long in the tooth to be a fuckboy, and I’m too long in the tooth to fall for it. Call a spade a spade. Be real. There is someone out there who may be looking for the same – send nudes, like what you see, drop trou, and make friction, no backstory necessary. Maybe it’s me, probably it’s not. But don’t think they are smart enough to fool me with a bait and switch. Not my first rodeo. Past 40, one can’t be a fuckboy – fuck, dude, be a fucking man. Put in the work. If a man doesn’t inquire about one minute detail of my life, I want him to know, that I know, all the flattery aside, he sees a score, a hook up, a walking, talking vagina. And I, see him in the rearview. I’m out.
Go forth and conquer.