A Blonde’s Eye View

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Ralph Fiennes leans towards his swaddled, dying lover and breathes, “I promise I’ll come back for you. I promise I’ll never leave you.” Imagine if he had said, “I might come back for you… if that hot piece of ass in Cairo isn’t up for a bit of action.” Surely, The English Patient would have lost a lot of its appeal. Nevertheless, the ‘fuck buddy’ arrangement has become the stereotypical relationship of our time. Clumsily veiled booty calls pop up on friends’ phones at 2am, and that guy strolling ino your lecture ten minutes late has that certain swagger of the cat that got the cream. It is all very Continental at heart – sexually liberated and blasé- you know, if you ignore the sporadic pangs of anxiety and depression.

Like a clichéd prop in a spy film, these ‘relationships’ are designed to self destruct. Less glamorously, they could be compared to that vegetable at the back of your cupboard which quickly went bad and has since turned in to a pulsating mess. Incidentally, this is what your genitals may look like without regular visits to the GUM Clinic during your sojourn in to ‘no strings attached’ romance.

From the outset, a time limit is subconsciously put on the union. Logically, the sexual frenzy of the beginning of a relationship can only last so long. As time goes on, you get to know the person more intimately in a variety of other capacities, as well as as a sexual being. To limit it just to the sex from the beginning denies it the chance of ever becoming something more, even if you consider that it may eventually lead somewhere. Think about the niggling guilt or jealousy you will always harbour over other people you/they slept with. On top of that, one/both of you is/are not even that keen on the other partner to actually exclusively see them.

Many ‘buddies’ argue that it is purely about the sexual gratification, but perhaps investing in a vibrator or a particularly well lubricated sock would save a lot of trouble. To admit you want the physical side is to admit you want some sort of intimacy. Is that not what fuck buddies set out to avoid? Quickly! Bash those icky feelings back into your tightly packed emotional baggage where they belong! I can only presume people do this to avoid being thrown out of Ryanair’s Mile High Club, the pinnacle of sexual sophistication.

Besides, in almost every case of this that I have had to bear witness to, one person always wants more than the other. As a woman, I hate to pander to gender stereotypes, but it usually is the girl. There seems to be the widespread belief that our vaginas cast some sort of magical spell over men, or that they have the same powers of persuasion as Jim Jones, of ‘drink the Kool Aid’ fame. Sorry, girls, but he (neither the guy you are seeing nor Jim Jones. He is dead.) is not going to decide that he wants to be your boyfriend. The eternal phrase, ‘why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free’- please enter stage right. Likewise, gentlemen; do not use your penis as a divining rod when choosing a mate. If the girl has developed a prominent nervous twitch when she says she is ‘absolutely fine’ with the situation, she probably isn’t. No matter how hot/easy she is, cease and desist- unless you are prepared to keep her away from the stove and lock up any bunnies you may own.

I have either just beaten feminism to a bloody pulp or resurrected it from the forgotten grave I often suspect it occupies in our cathedral grounds. However, I would like you to see this piece as a smaller instance of violence than a vicious beating- think of it is as a gentle slap wakening you up.

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