How To Be a Woman
Act fascinated by every word he says. Make lots of eye contact, try to open up your eyes more to make them wide and doe-like. Men like deer. Deer don’t talk. Deer just take care of babies.
The only reason you should talk is to ask him questions about himself or something he said. Pretend to be captivated by him. Even if his English is broken and he’s trying to pass off common knowledge as philosophy.
Laugh at his jokes. All of them.
Reach for the bill, pay the bill, tell him that the steak dinner and red wine are a small price for his extensive wisdom. Tell him it’s an honor simply to be in his presence.
Invite him back to yours. Pretend like it’s not awkward when he picks you up and carries you to the bedroom as you are both the same height, and him carrying you does not make you feel either dainty or feminine. Disguise the discomfort as light, joyful laughter because you are having such a delightful time.
Make lots of doe-like eye contact as you take each other's clothes off. Pretend to be fascinated by his cock. Pretend like it’s the best cock you’ve ever seen and that being in its presence is an honor. Make lots of interested noises, a variation on the interested noises you made during dinner.
When he asks if you like it when he inserts two fingers inside of you and swipes around as though collecting a lab sample, insist that nothing has ever rocked your world more.
When you ask him if he has a condom, and he responds yes, he does, and continues to proceed without a condom, do not take offense. He probably thought you were inspired by his earlier philosophical monologue and were simply posing a rhetorical question. It’s actually your fault for not being clearer. You should ask again if he can go get the condom and put it on his penis. There, that’s good. Communication.
When he passes out on top of you exactly five minutes and three thrusts later, wonder if his dead weight means that he just came, or if the red wine got to him, or if he was so repulsed by the scars on your chest that he needed a reprieve.
When he eventually gets up to use the bathroom and take the condom off, you decide that he must have come. A hunch you will later confirm by rummaging through the bathroom trash after he’s left.
You noted checking the condom after him leaving. That’s right. He will insist that while he doesn’t want to, he must leave because his roommate has messaged him and wants to go for an early run together in the morning. You don’t mention that his smoking might have more of an impact on his longevity than a jog.
You wonder if he’s leaving on your behalf so you try to communicate and tell him that you understand if he wants to leave, but that you like having him there. He says that while he’d like to stay, he can’t. And why don’t you go to La Bomba de Tiempo together sometime, wouldn't that be fun.
You take the elevator down with him to let him out of your building. He kisses you and says again that you really should go to La Bomba de Tiempo together soon. In fact, yes, you should go for sure.
You return to your room and feel like a worthless piece of shit. For being someone not worth spending the night. For being someone who was so easy to leave. For being someone who didn’t even merit a good excuse.
He does not text you to make plans for La Bomba de Tiempo. He does not text you that week at all.
You consol yourself with the explanation he once gave you that he doesn’t like texting due to the dopamine addiction. Even though every time you came back from the restroom during dinner he was on his phone, texting. You’d asked him about how he’s always posting Instagram stories, and he said that was different. You didn’t mention the smoking. Because that’s probably different as well.
Be empathetic to his silence, as you’d hate to expose him to all that excess dopamine.
Eventually, give in and text him first.
Tell him that you miss him.
He tells you that he misses you too and that you really should hang out that week.
The week will pass, and he will not text.
Dopamine, you think. It’s the dopamine.
Invite him out on a bike ride. He will ask what time, and when you tell him that you’re open, when is best for him, he will not reply.
When he does respond it will be the next day. A text to tell you that last night was crazy, and he ended up at this party, and he didn’t get home til the morning, and how was your bike ride?
You tell him that you did not go because the weather was bad. It is only a partial lie, the weather was bad, but you did not go because you were waiting for him.
He does not text back.
Do not blame yourself too much, after all, you’re only a woman, and it’s probably just the dopamine.
Not Enough Middle Fingers is a twice monthly newsletter that comes out on Fridays. Unless the author is in emotional turmoil, in which case Saturday is a very nice day to receive a newsletter indeed.