The Diary Of A Boyfriend Fluffer: The One Before “The One”


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The Diary Of A Husband Fluffer: The One Before The One

Fluffer n. the girl who gets a male porn star *ahem* ready to perform, off-camera; the male porn star is never to enter the fluffer

Boyfriend Fluffer n. the girl who gets a male ready for a relationship; the male is never to enter…a relationship with the boyfriend fluffer

    See also: “the one before the one.”

Dear Diary,

Fuck everything. Seriously. I’m literally going to KMS, because it happened again. AGAIN. Every.Damn.Time. It’s fucking Justin. JUSTIN. The commitment-fearing, soul-crushing, poon warrior Justin.

When this happened with Chris, it sucked. When this happened with Mike, I assumed it was an unfortunate, coincidence, after which it was totally appropriate to put a 7-11 Big Gulp straw into my wine bottle. Now, though, when a guy who literally goes by the nickname “Bone,” — which, retrospectively, should have been the first thing that indicated to me that he was bad news, but I suppose I run toward red flags like a bull — is in a relationship with the girl he started seeing IMMEDIATELY AFTER ME (or more realistically, alongside me), the only logical explanation is that I was cursed by that homeless man who gave me the evil eye and did that freaky hand gesture when I didn’t give him money four years ago.

Not three weeks after I ended things with him too. How do I know? Well, I was obviously doing my post-faux-breakup stalking, and saw some girl post a winky face on his wall, causing me to stalk her and all of her relatives on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Vine, where I found out that she’s in ADPi, looked better as a brunette, and is, in fact, in a relationship with the asshole formerly known as my hookup. They’re not in a tolerable relationship, either. It’s the kind of relationship where the girlfriend thinks it’s okay to caption kissing selfies “boyfriend <3.” Jesus Christ. I would have texted everyone I knew if he’d even held my hand in public. I can’t believe he’s putting up with this. And, I mean, I know I only know her from the 108 minutes I spent with her online persona, but this girl truly seems like a crazy bitch. I just want to continue to stalk her foursquare so I can stage a run-in. It’s not that I’m even particularly jealous. I mean, we had fun when we went out together, and the man certainly knew his way around a vagina, but he also has the dumbest haircut I’ve ever seen in my life. I’m not saying he’s exactly the son of Satan, I’m just saying the son of Satan would probably like to keep Bone around. He’s an asshole, to put it gently. Not someone I’d ever want to date, not someone anyone would ever want to date, which is why I’m so surprised this happened again. I just want to find this “Emily” character, and tell her “You’re fucking welcome!” I gave her a gift. A hidden treasure. The elusive and coveted pre-fluffed boyfriend.

I mean, isn’t that how it always goes? There aren’t any guys, just floating around out there, hoping to be wifed up. They are all categorically terrified of their lives ending by way of “his and her” hand towels. Enter girls like me (no pun intended), with our cavalier attitudes. Our no-pressure relationship stance. We show these guys that having a girlfriend can still be fun. Of course, they’re still too fearful in the developing stages of our not-relationships, so they mindfuck the situation beyond repair, and once they realize that this is what they want, their little relationship lightbulb flips on, and they go out into the world, no longer the idiots they were when I found them, but men who, by most standards, would be considered “boyfriend material.” And what could be worse? You know that all of your exes, real or perceived, are going to move on, but you never want “the one” or even “a one” to be the girl right after you, but somehow, it always is.

Maybe this is my role. To make the world a more datable place, one asshole at a time. In which case, I say, you’re welcome, women of Earth, I’m happy to be of service to you. When I die alone, at least you can say “Better her than me.”

<3 Boyfriend Fluffer


Veronica (@VeronicaRuckh) is the Director of Total Sorority Move for Grandex, Inc. After having spent her undergraduate years drinking $4 double LITs on a patio and drunk texting away potential suitors, she managed to graduate with an impressive GPA and an unimpressive engagement ring -- so unimpressive, in fact, some might say it's not there at all. Hot Piece has since been fulfilling her duties as "America's big," a title she gave to herself with the help of her giant ego. She has recently switched from vodka to wine on weekdays. Email her at

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  1. -4

    Though I’ve never met you.. I feel like you wrote this about my life. My girlfriend’s have called me Good Luck Chuck (like the movie) for idk how long. Every. Fucking. Time. UGH. And now all of my super ass hole ex flings are MARRIED. But me? Oh no. Why would someone wanna marry the sweet blonde former yoga instructor with a real job & can cook? Oh nooo.. Not when you can have a ditzy brunette that wouldn’t know eye liner from lipstick. Or their ex they always knew was the one. That’s my favorite. #not.

    ^ ThisBless your heartReply • 3 years ago