Listen, I’m going to come off as arrogant, conceited and self-absorbed. Just bear with me and keep reading until the end okay? I promise there’s some meaningful moral buried deep in here somewhere.
I’m well aware I’m an attractive woman. I’ve been told, a lot, my whole life. I get chatted up most weeks, albeit on a train or tube or walking to the shops. I literally turn heads, and I don’t really know why. I mean, I know I’m fit but there are hordes of stunning girls around. Maybe guys just stare at anything in a skirt. Who knows. When I’m on online dating my inbox is crammed and I get told I’m stunning or beautiful or incredible, a lot. I can’t walk anywhere without being beeped at. This is just life.
I’m also well aware that my figure is what guys coin as ‘sexy’ and I am lucky to have decent tits, a tiny flat stomach and a super round bum. I’m lucky to be at a decent height. I’m lucky to be in proportion and that clothes look good on me. So does lingerie.
But, I’m also aware that I am intelligent, and that I have built myself an awesome company that people love to read. People want to follow what I do, see my photos, read my stories and watch my videos. It’s always overwhelming when I see my stats but it’s amazing. I am lucky with this too. My company just happens to be based around fashion, beauty, sex, love and dating. I just so happen to be a Sexpert. I just so happen to have won awards for my writing and website. I just so happen to live in a world of fashion shows, press events and free dildos. I am lucky in this aspect too.
I’m confident – some would say too confident, and I can talk to anyone at any time, sober or tipsy. I can network a room filled with old people or teenagers or celebrities and I will make people feel at ease, laugh and open up. It’s a natural gift I guess, I wouldn’t know I’ve never been any other way.
My dad actually taught me in my teens to be able to manipulate men when he said “Go take the rubbish out to those guys (rubbish men, obvs lol) they’d reject it if I did it but if you go they’ll take it”. It was rubbish meant for a long ass trip to the tip, so I skipped over and politely asked them to take it away for me. They couldn’t oblige more.
It usually takes men around 30-60 minutes in my company to become into ‘me’. I guess it takes them around 20 seconds prior to that to realise they want to ‘bang it’. But yeah, an hour tops and they want to see me again. Not every single one….but 90%. Even the ones I walk out on a first date still text and ask to see me again for a second chance. The phrase ‘you could have any man you want’ for sure applies to me.
You would say, categorically, that I am blessed.
I would say, absolutely, this is all a curse. Let me explain.
Who, in their right mind, wants to be seen first as a sex object, and then a person after? Yes, all these men are putty in my hands. But not because they want to love me eternally, they want to love me for 24 hours *ahem*. I am the girl they go to for sexts or late night image requests or try blag a plus one to my events or call up to see if they can drive down at midnight. I am not the girl they want to treat like a Princess (they say they do, but it’s not genuine), I am not the girl they want to spoil or love or cuddle on a Sunday morning before breakfast.
Who, in their right mind, wants to be a Sexpert and Sex Blogger seen for just one thing? Every man I’ve met in the past five years has delved right into me and tried to dive straight into my bed. They ask me questions about my job, what I do, how many sex toys I have, how often I test rabbits, what bondage I’m into etc etc. OR, they play the long ball game. They try treat me like an utter princess, showering me with compliments and long term plans until they whip my knickers off. By that point I oblige happily thinking I have a keeper. Then, once the bed is unmade, they go ghost. Everything they previously said was just a game to make me think there’s something there, so I open up.
Who, in their right mind, wants men to pour all over their curves, grabbing them in public or shouting out comments? They see me as a sex object of the highest calibre and will run over their grandparents if I promised to open my legs.
Is this how Marilyn Monroe felt?
What’s more, let’s get down to the main issue I have; men believe I am a certain type of girl. I’m a good-time fun-time girl with bags of confidence and no cares or worries for future plans. I will give them the time of their lives and then gracefully move on leaving them with no drama, headache or any ‘needy girl’ ball ache conversations that they’ve become accustomed to with previous girls. This just isn’t fucking true.
Yes, I am all of the above I have initially discussed. But I’m also something completely different. I am an eternal hopeless romantic. I am soft as shit. When guys say such lovely things, I choose to believe them. I give each new guy the benefit of the doubt. When they text and call me all day, I respond. When they call me baby I smile and when they make bad jokes I giggle. If they touch me I get butterflies and if we’re heading to the bedroom I am riddled with nerves. I just don’t show them any of this. When I’m into a guy, I do not multiple date. I do not want to fuck anyone else or hook up with new people drunk at clubs. Heck, I don’t even whatsapp anyone else. I’m a one-man girl. When I let guys into my home it’s because I see it going somewhere. And I’ll do what I can to make him happy with no give from his part, until I’m so fucking exhausted and tired that I have to leave just to salvage my own energy.
But guys don’t think about this. They see the confident sexy Sexpert who they know will be the best shag they’ve had. They see a challenge to conquer. They don’t think about the girl who sits at home in tears because they’ve realised she’s just as emotional as the rest and they originally thought: ‘you’d be okay with just sex?’ Why, why would you exempt me from normal emotions? By the time they think ‘shit she’s actually a nice girl, I best bail before it goes any further’ it’s already too far for me. I am already emotionally attached. Therefore, I am already set up to get hurt all over again. I realise, only after, that whilst I was running around town with them in my head and making my weekly plans to include time with them…they sure as hell weren’t doing the same. I think that they drive to mine at 4am because they desperately want to see me. Not true, they just desperately want something else.
And on top of this, I get guys using me to come to swanky events or get written about or papped for Google images, or, I get men so aggressive about their privacy that they won’t come to anything with me in case an image ends up online and they have to explain to their other girls why they were out. I’m in a no win situation. And the bigger S&LC gets, and the more attractive I become (so glad straighteners were invented) the worse this all becomes. I dress for myself, not for men. But they think otherwise. They also think if you look sexy and flash a smile then you’re gagging for it. It eludes them to think that some girls can’t help but look sexy and actually want a decent loving relationship, not just a decent fuck. That never crosses their minds either.
So, every time I meet a guy, he becomes slightly obsessed / mesmerized with me at the beginning due to everything else I have mentioned, and I learn to match it. I think we’re like, super tight and awesome, and he soon realises this isn’t some ‘couple of months fun time bang’ thing. He then backs away and I’m left like….well what the fuck was that even for? They all want my best, but leg it at my worst. They all want the fun and the sex and the toys and the events and the status but they don’t want the girl who’s a bit sad because she’s due on and wants a cuddle. They seem to shit themselves when they realise that I’m as human as every other female. Then they disappear. And so, it begins again with the next ‘cool’ guy I start dating who tells me I am stunning and calls me baby and offers me the world. Sigh.
You think I’m blessed? No way. It’s a curse. And it isn’t getting any easier, it’s only getting worse.
Oh…and if you’re wondering about the connection to the title and Monroe analogy, listen below. It will all make sense: