Ghosts Of Fuckboys Past
Posted on January 21, 2018
Turns out, no matter how far you go, a true fuckboy will always know where to find you. You can go from living in the same city as him, to moving across the world, to moving to the remotest place across the world, and he’ll still hit you up with his good hair and his smooth talk. I can’t say I’m mad about it, really – I’m talking really good hair, and you know, I’m also bored shitless. I only got nine days left at the farm, and even though I’m actually starting to think I might miss this place – for real – I’m very ready to go back to the city. I haven’t seen a real boy in over eleven weeks, and lord knows momma needs a fix of man candy (too much? Maybe a tad dramatic, but try and say it in a really sassy voice and you’ll catch my drift). Thankfully, there’s always Ghosts Of Fuckboys Past to get me through those cold, lonely nights – but not literally, it’s like 27 degrees at night.
Two years ago – I know, time flies when you’re chronically single – my friend set me up with a friend of hers. Unfortunately, due to a very busy schedule, we had to plan our date about six weeks in advance – I’m talking exams, and everyone knows even a cute boy isn’t worth washing your hair or putting on a bra during the most stressful time of the year. We both had plans to go on holiday straight after, so by the time we were both available, we were a few weeks down the track. Anyway, we kept talking on and off until two days before the actual date. Literally just touched down in Belgium, I turn my phone back on to see he sent me a message while I was up in the air. He had to cancel our date because he had met another girl on a night out – which I should give him credit for because that’s pretty decent of him – were it not for rest of the message. He literally called her ‘some chick’ and said he didn’t want to date multiple girls “not because he normally wouldn’t, but been there, done that.” It lasted about a week with him and his chick before the 2am text came, asking if I was out and wanted to meet up. You’ve got to hand it to him, he really thought I’d be jumping up and down for the chance to date him now that his chick wasn’t in the picture anymore. You snooze, you lose, boy.
Anyway, fast forward two years, and all of a sudden, he’s back. Talking about how we always had a great connection, how it’s a shame that we never got to go on that date, how I should get in touch when I’m back so we can finally get those drinks. I was honestly so shocked that I did the only thing a respectable young lady could do in a similar situation: we started sexting. What can I say, I’m a sucker for a good sext (this is not an invitation by the way, nor a challenge, but by all means, if you think you got some writing skills, try me – don’t send me dick pics though, they’ll be sent to your mother). I might meet up with him when I get back to Belgium, we’ll see. It’s still a long time, and there’s plenty of ‘some chick’s out there. In the meantime, I’m just going to roll with it – for at least nine more days, that is.