Don’t you just hate when guys inundate your phone with requests for late night sex after a night of heavy drinking? Me neither, because it literally never happens. As a little girl, my mom sat me down and told me about texts that I would be receiving when I grew up. Texts like “u out?” or “where u at?” Invitations to “postgame” or “smoke.” Thinly veiled excuses to get me back to their room. I would have to put in absolutely no effort, and I could even get my Uber paid for me. I listened intently as I imagined my life as a modern day princess. The only time I would have to lift my finger would be to drop a pin, and the rest of the work would be done for me. But I have never been more wrong.
Doing my best to keep my eyes on my phone, and the prize, I typed out the most coherent sentence that I possibly could. Playing it cool, while still suggesting that I’m totally down was an art that I had mastered over the years. I should not have had that last vodka sprite, but there was no turning back now. I sent a few texts in the Greek alphabet before realizing I accidentally switched keyboards, and scrambled to redeem myself. After a few missed connections, I angrily stomp home alone. This is not the night I had envisioned for myself. I was supposed to go out and enjoy my night without having to spend it hunting. I was the one who was supposed to be hunted. The nights that were described to me were nothing like the nights I experience. I fell asleep with the room spinning around me and dreams of what the night could have been spinning around in my head.
I’ve never been shy with guys. When I want something, I go after it. This may be an indication of the precedent I set for myself. That I am the one who has to text first. That I’m the one who makes the plans. But what am I supposed to do, sit around like a fucking chump? I could switch up the pace and be a little patient for once, but guys are dumb. Sometimes, you have to give them a little push in the right direction. But it seems like I am the only one doing the pushing (resisting the obvious sex joke). Just once, I would like the lights to go in the bar, and as soon as I look down at my phone to check what time it is, a text from my flavor of the week pops up. Waiting for people, especially guys, is not in my nature, but this is starting to get exhausting.
A booty call is a token of affection. It’s letting someone know that even in your altered state, you are still thinking of them. This sweet, thoughtful gift is one that I genuinely enjoy giving to others. Working towards a goal that you eventually achieve is a rewarding experience. If everything were easy, then it wouldn’t feel as worth it. But is it too much to ask to have someone wonder if I’m up?.
Nice Move192
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