Have you ever wondered why when a man sleeps with lots of different girls he’s known as a “stud” or a “player”, but when a woman behaves in a similar way she’s saddled with “slag” or - even worse - “whore”? Of course you have. We all have. I’ve probably wasted enough oxygen for seventeen conifer trees just moaning about it. Rather annoyingly, however, there is a very simple reason why this double standard exists.
Basically, it’s just more acceptable for men to sleep around lots because they can, or rather they’re made to. Ladies, once past a certain age, have the ability to carry children. A wonderful and amazing gift that none of us would ever pass up, even if all the men on the planet promised we could be called “studs” too. Having a baby takes the best part of a year, realistically, and while carrying that child we can’t conceive another one. A man, on the other hand, could impregnate several women every day for nine months if he wanted to. OK, maybe he wouldn‘t get that lucky every single day, but he’d certainly have a better chance than us girls. The fact that men are made to breed, breed, breed has made it more acceptable for them to shag, shag, shag. We, as the carriers of children, must behave better.
While discussing this theory with a male friend of mine a few months ago, he pointed out that while this was true, it wasn’t always true that men are just after sex. “You lot get labelled as being obsessed with marriage and babies,” he grumbled, “But we get labelled as sex-obsessed arseholes who are only after one thing.” I do admit, I took a certain amount of comfort from his remarks.
On a recent date (with the aforementioned Mr Rhino Snorer) he said to me: “Aren’t you looking for Mr Right? You must want to get married and have babies. You are 31 after all.” After I’d nailed my hand to the bar to stop myself slapping him with it, I told him that no, as I’d only just met him, I was actually happy to just see what happened. Up until that moment I thought men like him only existed in my friends’ bad dates and in bad chick-lit. I was wrong, and it really concerned me.
Of course I’d like to get married and become a mum one day. Not on the third date, but one day. Surely I’d be a stranger breed of female if I didn’t? But yet if a man asks me that question on a date, for some reason I lose the power of truth-telling and ramble off into some utter bullshit about not being sure. Just for the record: I am sure. I would like those things. But it doesn’t mean I’m a bunny boiler or a desperate, clingy mad woman or that I have a scrapbook under my bed full of wedding dress pictures I’ve been adding to since the age of seven. Would men really prefer me to turn around and say, “Urgh! Marriage? Babies? Why would I want to grow a disgusting bald alien in my belly? I’d rather shave my tongue with a rusty razor than do THAT. Bleurrrrrrgh.” Something tells me that would be far scarier than a simple, “Yeah, one day.”
The thing is with lies, they tend to do that snowball thing. Tell them on the first date and you’ll be telling them until the day you say your goodbyes. And trust me, you will be saying goodbye. Anyway, going back to studs vs. sluts, I think we all just have to accept that it’s not going to change. But we do have to stop letting it get to us so much. If a man can’t handle your sexual past, then he‘s not the right guy for you, simple as that. And as for being free to sow our oats, let them get on with it. As much as I love Jessie J (that hair! That hair!), I don’t think I can Do It Like A Dude and, to be honest, I wouldn’t ever want to.
Wednesday, 30 March 2011
Monday, 28 March 2011
Day 7: I'm Not That Kind Of Girl
If there’s one thing about dating that continues to baffle me, it’s the perpetual: Should I or shouldn’t I? As in, have sex on the first date. Will he think I’m a slag if I do? Will I lose him if I don’t? What if I actually really want to? Should I pretend I don’t want to, in case he thinks I’m a slag? Isn’t he a total slag anyway, for wanting to? I could go on. And on. And on. And…oh, you get the point. I could probably go on for a lot longer than some of the men I did opt to sleep with on a first date, but let’s not go there. I already did, and it was a total waste of time, believe me.
First of all though, we have to get something straight. We’re talking today about first date sex. That means an actual date of some sort, pre-arranged, has to have taken place. We’re not talking: Girl walks into bar. Girl drinks bar dry. Girl smiles at boy. Boy smiles at girl. Boy and girl talk. Boy and girl kiss. Boy and girl go back to dwelling containing bed and shag. Boy and girl wake up, have awkward chat, never speak again. That’s a one-night stand, and that deserves a whole blog just to itself another day.
If you’ve opted for an actual real date with a guy, then you’ve probably already had a little kiss, or maybe some flirty text banter, or you’ve found them in your Facebook mutual friends and started chatting. However the date came about, you’re both starting the night liking one another to a certain extent. If the date goes well and the chat (and probably the booze) are flowing, there’s inevitably going to come a point where the question of sex rears its naughty, filthy face.
Over the past few days, I’ve been doing a spot of research into first-date sex. Endless surveys and studies have already been done. One American fella I read about is adamant that if we hold back sex for the first three dates then the man in question will develop into a better lover. Pah. If only that’s all it took. His argument is that men like a challenge. If we let them play around with us a bit, but keep our undies very firmly on, the sex - when it eventually happens - will be mind-blowing. That might be true, but it doesn’t mean the guy in question will stick around for any longer than he would’ve done if you’d gone the whole hog on the very first night. It also means we’re just massive PRICK TEASES too, doesn’t it?
As girls, we are prone to having a good old bitch about “that bastard who just shagged me then never called” but, if we’re honest (and it’s not always easy to be honest when it comes to sex, is it ladies?), we’ve all done the exact same thing. For example, I met a guy last year who was a friend of my sister. He made me laugh, he was cute, we had some seriously buzzing chemistry and ended up sharing more than jokes come the end of the evening. After date number three, however, it suddenly dawned on me that I didn’t actually like him enough to turn our fling into a relationship. He was very keen and, bless him, did everything he could to persuade me to give him a chance. He didn’t do anything wrong, but the spark, the very same spark that had given fuel to the fire in my pants when we first met, was totally gone. I think he was pretty miffed at the time, but I’d be willing to bet my dog’s back legs that he doesn’t have any regrets when it comes to the sex. Why should he? It was fun.
Isn’t it only fair, then, that guys who like us enough to have sex with us might not like us enough to want us as a girlfriend? I think it’s fair. It’s annoying, sure, especially when you happen to really like them. But maybe they don’t actually set out to bang us and bin us, just like I didn’t with sweet funny sister friend.
I asked a few of my male friends what they really thought of girls that give up the goods on a first date, and most of them actually admitted that us ladies should be free to do as we please, with whoever we like. One of my friends said he’d happily sleep with a girl on the first date, but would also assume she’d slept with every single man she met. This is where us girls have to stop and think: do WE really want a man who sleeps with every girl he meets on the first date? It never seems to cross my mind if I like someone. It’s only afterwards, when I’m staring forlornly at my stubbornly silent phone, waiting for a text that will never come, that I realise I’m actually probably better off out of it.
We can’t make these men like us, we can only continue to spend time meeting new ones and wait for that super-duper spark that fuels the Olympic flame of passion in both sets of pants. It happens. It’s happened to all of us. Two of the best relationships I’ve had over the past five years started with a lot of lovely sex on the very first date. I was just lucky that the boys in question thought it was equally as good as me. I don’t always get it right, though.
A guy I slept with recently had waited until date two and indulged in a few hours of phone play (like foreplay, but less fun). I even told him LOUDLY and C.L.E.A.R.L.Y that I didn’t want it to just be a sex thing because I genuinely liked him. He clearly liked me enough to do the sex part, but that’s where it ended. And that’s fine. He snored like a rhino with a sinus problem anyway.
I’m no expert when it comes to should I or shouldn’t I. If I was, I wouldn’t be waffling on about it on here. But one thing I would urge everyone to do is to be open about it. If you’re prepared to whip off your pants in front of this guy, then you should really be able to talk about sex with him. In my experience, knowing where you stand before you clamber under the duvet will only make the experience better. And if you don’t get the answer you’re after, you won’t wake up full of regret and self-loathing, as I have so many times.
First-night sex sometimes leads to marriage (it does, my friends are proof) and often leads to relationships (it does, I am proof). But sometimes it will leave you feeling like a cowpat. A really runny one. The whole point of my 12-months off any sex at all is to limit the cowpat-factor and, after just one week, I already feel a lot less like a big sloppy shit. Result! So…what to next? Please leave some suggestions below/on Facebook/say them in my face. If not, I’ll be forced to tell you the story of the guy in the donkey thong. Please don’t make me do that…
First of all though, we have to get something straight. We’re talking today about first date sex. That means an actual date of some sort, pre-arranged, has to have taken place. We’re not talking: Girl walks into bar. Girl drinks bar dry. Girl smiles at boy. Boy smiles at girl. Boy and girl talk. Boy and girl kiss. Boy and girl go back to dwelling containing bed and shag. Boy and girl wake up, have awkward chat, never speak again. That’s a one-night stand, and that deserves a whole blog just to itself another day.
If you’ve opted for an actual real date with a guy, then you’ve probably already had a little kiss, or maybe some flirty text banter, or you’ve found them in your Facebook mutual friends and started chatting. However the date came about, you’re both starting the night liking one another to a certain extent. If the date goes well and the chat (and probably the booze) are flowing, there’s inevitably going to come a point where the question of sex rears its naughty, filthy face.
Over the past few days, I’ve been doing a spot of research into first-date sex. Endless surveys and studies have already been done. One American fella I read about is adamant that if we hold back sex for the first three dates then the man in question will develop into a better lover. Pah. If only that’s all it took. His argument is that men like a challenge. If we let them play around with us a bit, but keep our undies very firmly on, the sex - when it eventually happens - will be mind-blowing. That might be true, but it doesn’t mean the guy in question will stick around for any longer than he would’ve done if you’d gone the whole hog on the very first night. It also means we’re just massive PRICK TEASES too, doesn’t it?
As girls, we are prone to having a good old bitch about “that bastard who just shagged me then never called” but, if we’re honest (and it’s not always easy to be honest when it comes to sex, is it ladies?), we’ve all done the exact same thing. For example, I met a guy last year who was a friend of my sister. He made me laugh, he was cute, we had some seriously buzzing chemistry and ended up sharing more than jokes come the end of the evening. After date number three, however, it suddenly dawned on me that I didn’t actually like him enough to turn our fling into a relationship. He was very keen and, bless him, did everything he could to persuade me to give him a chance. He didn’t do anything wrong, but the spark, the very same spark that had given fuel to the fire in my pants when we first met, was totally gone. I think he was pretty miffed at the time, but I’d be willing to bet my dog’s back legs that he doesn’t have any regrets when it comes to the sex. Why should he? It was fun.
Isn’t it only fair, then, that guys who like us enough to have sex with us might not like us enough to want us as a girlfriend? I think it’s fair. It’s annoying, sure, especially when you happen to really like them. But maybe they don’t actually set out to bang us and bin us, just like I didn’t with sweet funny sister friend.
I asked a few of my male friends what they really thought of girls that give up the goods on a first date, and most of them actually admitted that us ladies should be free to do as we please, with whoever we like. One of my friends said he’d happily sleep with a girl on the first date, but would also assume she’d slept with every single man she met. This is where us girls have to stop and think: do WE really want a man who sleeps with every girl he meets on the first date? It never seems to cross my mind if I like someone. It’s only afterwards, when I’m staring forlornly at my stubbornly silent phone, waiting for a text that will never come, that I realise I’m actually probably better off out of it.
We can’t make these men like us, we can only continue to spend time meeting new ones and wait for that super-duper spark that fuels the Olympic flame of passion in both sets of pants. It happens. It’s happened to all of us. Two of the best relationships I’ve had over the past five years started with a lot of lovely sex on the very first date. I was just lucky that the boys in question thought it was equally as good as me. I don’t always get it right, though.
A guy I slept with recently had waited until date two and indulged in a few hours of phone play (like foreplay, but less fun). I even told him LOUDLY and C.L.E.A.R.L.Y that I didn’t want it to just be a sex thing because I genuinely liked him. He clearly liked me enough to do the sex part, but that’s where it ended. And that’s fine. He snored like a rhino with a sinus problem anyway.
I’m no expert when it comes to should I or shouldn’t I. If I was, I wouldn’t be waffling on about it on here. But one thing I would urge everyone to do is to be open about it. If you’re prepared to whip off your pants in front of this guy, then you should really be able to talk about sex with him. In my experience, knowing where you stand before you clamber under the duvet will only make the experience better. And if you don’t get the answer you’re after, you won’t wake up full of regret and self-loathing, as I have so many times.
First-night sex sometimes leads to marriage (it does, my friends are proof) and often leads to relationships (it does, I am proof). But sometimes it will leave you feeling like a cowpat. A really runny one. The whole point of my 12-months off any sex at all is to limit the cowpat-factor and, after just one week, I already feel a lot less like a big sloppy shit. Result! So…what to next? Please leave some suggestions below/on Facebook/say them in my face. If not, I’ll be forced to tell you the story of the guy in the donkey thong. Please don’t make me do that…
Tuesday, 22 March 2011
Day 2: Too Much Too Young?
Do you remember those Troll doll things that were hugely popular in the early ’90s? When Valentine’s Day came around they would bring out a whole special range dressed up in mini-boxers with the words: “Sexy Lover” and other awful inappropriate crap printed on the side. They had garish hair that stuck up and little squashed faces. Have you got one in mind? Right, now remove the hair and replace it with a blond, curtain-style human barnet. You got it? Now you know more or less exactly what my first love looked like.
To spare his embarrassment (and mine), we’ll call him Mr T. T for Troll. Despite resembling a creature that wouldn’t look out of place on the Yellow Brick Road, Mr T was an incredibly cool first boyfriend. Not only was he 18 - five years older than naïve little me - but he also (get this!) had his very own motorbike. I know! He used to pick me up after school sometimes, which I’m sure the teachers really loved. (In fact, they really didn’t. They told me). Mr T got a certain amount of stick from his mates when he started seeing me, but to his credit he persevered. Well, he did when he wasn’t dumping me for a) a girl who looked like a frog and b) a girl who was often mistaken for a boy.
I don’t regret choosing Mr T as my first, far from it. I just wish I’d met him four or five years later. While I felt “ready” and wasn’t scared and even started taking the Pill in preparation, 13 probably was too young. If sex was just a simple, physical act, then 13 wouldn’t have been that big of a deal, but it’s all the emotional toil that goes with sex. My feelings for Mr T definitely weren’t the more adult feelings of mutual love, trust and respect that I felt in my later relationships, they were a kind of brain-melting infatuation. I can clearly remember the hours I spent sobbing over him, listening to Dreams by Gabrielle over and over again (which was an effort in those days, as you had to rewind the cassette each time). Our on/off relationship lasted just over three years, until I finally felt as if I’d outgrown him. Ironic really, considering the age difference.
What I was left with was a very warped idea about sex, and about relationships. Sex was something you just did with the boys you liked. Looking back now, I can’t claim I was ever duped or talked into it. I didn’t do it to hold onto boyfriends or to be part of the ‘cool’ crowd at school, I just saw it as the norm.
Over the past five years, as another three of my relationships have disintegrated into disaster, I’ve started to wonder if this early experience with Mr T has had more affect than I care to admit. It’s true that I’ve come away from sexual encounters feeling like something you’d see hanging in a butcher’s window. It’s also true that in the past few weeks I was told by one guy I liked that I was “too forward” because I wasn’t afraid to talk about sex. Talk about it, for God’s sake, not offer it up on the corner of my road.
But for now, let’s just agree that this is an issue I need to explore in more detail at a later date over the next 12 months. In the meantime, I think it’s about time we addressed the dreaded “first-night sex” subject. Does it really put guys off? Is it an early nail in a relationship coffin? Who does it? Why do we lie about it (because we all have)? And does first-night sex ever lead to marriage and babies? I can’t wait to find out.
To spare his embarrassment (and mine), we’ll call him Mr T. T for Troll. Despite resembling a creature that wouldn’t look out of place on the Yellow Brick Road, Mr T was an incredibly cool first boyfriend. Not only was he 18 - five years older than naïve little me - but he also (get this!) had his very own motorbike. I know! He used to pick me up after school sometimes, which I’m sure the teachers really loved. (In fact, they really didn’t. They told me). Mr T got a certain amount of stick from his mates when he started seeing me, but to his credit he persevered. Well, he did when he wasn’t dumping me for a) a girl who looked like a frog and b) a girl who was often mistaken for a boy.
I don’t regret choosing Mr T as my first, far from it. I just wish I’d met him four or five years later. While I felt “ready” and wasn’t scared and even started taking the Pill in preparation, 13 probably was too young. If sex was just a simple, physical act, then 13 wouldn’t have been that big of a deal, but it’s all the emotional toil that goes with sex. My feelings for Mr T definitely weren’t the more adult feelings of mutual love, trust and respect that I felt in my later relationships, they were a kind of brain-melting infatuation. I can clearly remember the hours I spent sobbing over him, listening to Dreams by Gabrielle over and over again (which was an effort in those days, as you had to rewind the cassette each time). Our on/off relationship lasted just over three years, until I finally felt as if I’d outgrown him. Ironic really, considering the age difference.
What I was left with was a very warped idea about sex, and about relationships. Sex was something you just did with the boys you liked. Looking back now, I can’t claim I was ever duped or talked into it. I didn’t do it to hold onto boyfriends or to be part of the ‘cool’ crowd at school, I just saw it as the norm.
Over the past five years, as another three of my relationships have disintegrated into disaster, I’ve started to wonder if this early experience with Mr T has had more affect than I care to admit. It’s true that I’ve come away from sexual encounters feeling like something you’d see hanging in a butcher’s window. It’s also true that in the past few weeks I was told by one guy I liked that I was “too forward” because I wasn’t afraid to talk about sex. Talk about it, for God’s sake, not offer it up on the corner of my road.
But for now, let’s just agree that this is an issue I need to explore in more detail at a later date over the next 12 months. In the meantime, I think it’s about time we addressed the dreaded “first-night sex” subject. Does it really put guys off? Is it an early nail in a relationship coffin? Who does it? Why do we lie about it (because we all have)? And does first-night sex ever lead to marriage and babies? I can’t wait to find out.
Monday, 21 March 2011
Day 1: Realisation
If you’ve just read the below post and assumed this is nothing but a knee-jerk reaction to a, um, jerk, then I wouldn’t blame you. But it’s really not. Please don’t think I’m a man-hater. If anything I’m the opposite, which is the reason I keep ending up in these brain-battering predicaments. I love men. They smell nice (most of the time), they have nice big arms, they’re quite often funny, clever, cute, sexy and lots of fun to be around. I have lots of male friends who really are friends. As in, boys I can hang around with happily without sex getting in the way. I’m not giving up dating because I’m a bitter old Bridget Jones spinster, I’m giving up dating because it’s making me sad. Those of you who know me will know that being sad doesn’t suit me. I’d rather be proactive than wallow in misery, hence this new plan.
So, as well as blogging about all the temptation I encounter over the next 12 months and telling you a little bit about some of the men who’ve helped me reach this decision, I will also be doing some research. Does online dating work? What do men really think about girls who put-out on the first date? Does love = sex or does sex = love? Why didn’t he call? What do we really want from a relationship? How has my sexual past affected my present relationships? And so on. Please add any suggestions you may have in the comments below and I’ll do my best to address them. Nothing like a good old debate about sex, right?
I think the best place to start is always the beginning, and for that we have to go back to where it all began…
So, as well as blogging about all the temptation I encounter over the next 12 months and telling you a little bit about some of the men who’ve helped me reach this decision, I will also be doing some research. Does online dating work? What do men really think about girls who put-out on the first date? Does love = sex or does sex = love? Why didn’t he call? What do we really want from a relationship? How has my sexual past affected my present relationships? And so on. Please add any suggestions you may have in the comments below and I’ll do my best to address them. Nothing like a good old debate about sex, right?
I think the best place to start is always the beginning, and for that we have to go back to where it all began…
Off The Market
When I told my best friend that I was planning to give up dating for a year and go on a ‘sex-battical‘, she raised an eyebrow, laughed, and said she’d happily bet her own mum that I couldn’t do it. That should give you an idea of how much men play a part in my life. Well, I say men, what I mean of course is all the drama surrounding them. All the ridiculous phone-watching, Facebook-checking, Twitter-updating lunacy that takes over your life when you meet a guy you like. I have been single for over two years now and, after almost two years of the aforementioned lunacy, along with some very real heartbreak and more than my fair share of doormat moments, I’ve decided enough is enough. From today until 21st March 2012, I am off the market. Not dating, not flirting, not interested. To pass the time (and, admittedly, to stop myself falling off the celibate wagon) I’ve decided to blog about my progress. Along the way, I’ll also be tackling some of the reasons why I came to this decision in the first place, and sharing some of the dating highs and lows I’ve experienced over the past 24 months. Some of them are laughable, I guarantee. I promise to be unflinchingly honest (sorry Mum) but also to keep things as amusing as possible. Let’s see if we can’t unravel the mysteries of dating, shall we?!
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