There he is. He’s gorgeous — the epitome of “tall, dark, and handsome.” He hits on you and you fall for it. He makes you believe he’s a great guy, not to mention he’s the best sex you’ve ever had. You never get to the point of being more than friends with benefits but he still makes you feel special — like you’re the only girl he’s banging even though you know it’s not true. You see him go home with other girls, multiple girls, in fact, sometimes even your friends, but you tell yourself, “it’s okay, we’re just having fun,” even though deep down you want to bitch slap the girl and give him a swift kick in the balls.
This is my story on why you should NEVER fall for it. More importantly, why you should NEVER have sex with a guy that you know is taking home other girls. Granted, I’m a bit cynical at this point in my life, but this is a true story of why you should never fuck the fuckboy.
I’ve known this particular fuckboy since my freshman year, which is when we first consummated the relationship. I’m now a senior and have been sporadically hooking up with this guy for about a year. In between now and then, he’s had a girlfriend but we were always friendly and I always still wished something more could happen. Then, junior year, I got my chance.
What started out as a rebound from my latest heartbreak from a different fuckboy turned into a yearlong occasional hookup with the fuckboy at the center of this story. But he’s not the usual breed. He’s a nice guy. He plays the part of the fun-loving, no-strings-attached, so-nice-you-can’t-hate-him frat boy to a T. To make matters worse, everyone loves him. Literally everyone. On multiple occasions my friends have told me that he and I would be perfect together, showing just how much this particular fuckboy was approved of.
On the surface I kept telling myself I didn’t care and didn’t have feelings, but who am I kidding? When you’re banging someone with that much charm and charisma it’s impossible to not catch #thefeels. The worst part is there is a minuscule part of you that thinks maybe, just maybe, “I am the exception.” We’ve all seen those movies: two people start out as f*ck buddies and end up in this ground-shaking, life-changing, whirlwind romance but let’s be honest, this never happens. To say the least, I was NOT the exception.
Back to the story. After a normal day at my part-time job of changing dirty diapers and screaming at little children, I look at my phone and see a text from the fuckboy. Considering our interactions occur Thursday through Saturday at 2 a.m., and under the influence of excessive amounts of alcohol, I was extremely thrown off. A little hesitant, I open the text and, at first, I can’t believe what I’m reading.
Not only does said fuckboy admit to have been bumping uglies with his ex-girlfriend, but it turns out this girl has an STD. I immediately run into one of my roommates’ room and tell her the horrific news. Unsure as to where to go from this point, and after not receiving a reply, I ask what this girl’s dirty vag is infected with.
His one-word response: “chlam.”
The asshole couldn’t even fully type out the word “chlamydia,” leaving me to just assume this is what his ex has. Praising Jesus that this STD is treatable, I thank him for telling me, and that was it. No response, no “I’m sorry I fucked my ex a week before you and then gave you an STD.” No concern for my feelings whatsoever. But then again, what do you expect from a fuckboy?
The day of my appointment finally arrives. Thankfully, I have some bomb-ass best friends and one of them agrees to accompany me. By the good grace of God the university-hired gyno is super chill and achieves the impossible by actually making me feel at ease while a metal rod is shoved up my vag. It also didn’t hurt that I came up with an elaborate tale of my “boyfriend” cheating on me to get sympathy. As the doctor tells me it looks like I probably have the “chlam” I’m thinking, “why me?” But with the help of my sorority sisters AKA my best friends, who I sometimes think I really don’t deserve, I slowly but surely realized that it isn’t my fault whatsoever. As always, it’s the fuckboy’s.
While this story may seem negative, I, at least, had a treatable STD, he, at least, had the decency to tell me, and I was able to finally cut the dirtbag off for good this time.
I hope this will convince you to never fall for the fuckboy. You’re not the exception. Always use protection. And always remember: chlamydia is more dependable than the guy who gives it to you..