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Wednesday, October 19, 2005


I have come to the conclusion that I am not girlfriend material.

I don’t say this with any ease or comfort.

It just seems to be the reality I am faced with and perhaps the sooner I accept it, the better it will be for me – emotionally – in the long run.

I live my life as a single woman quite happily most days; I’ve always thought that having a partner is an addition to my life, rather than it defining me. I have embraced life as a series of experiences to be enjoyed and treasured, whether or not that involves a long-term relationship, or a series of casual encounters. I have no regrets.

Back when my friends were obsessing about the latest fashions and make-up styles and moping over some bloke, I was instead worrying about getting my foot in the door of the film industry, anxious about what anal sex would feel like and busy trying to improve my blow-job technique.

But now, when I look at them – partnered up, babies, career – they seem to have it all; whilst I feel happy and successful in my own life, the seemingly perpetual loneliness of being on my own sometimes gets to me.

So I find myself asking why it is that I am still alone. Sure, I’ve been through the mindset that many of the men I’ve met must be:

  • Bastards
  • Clueless fuckwits
  • Clearly not worthy of me

But at some point, one has to look at oneself and figure out what it is that is preventing something long-term from developing. Or, in other words, what is it about me that puts men off wanting to be in a relationship with me?

When it comes to men, it appears I am good for

  • Helping a guy get over his last girlfriend
  • No-strings casual sex
  • Fulfilling a guy’s sexual fantasy before he finally settles down with someone else

Or in other words, it’s all very well fucking someone like me, but I am not the sort of woman men want to take home to meet their mother: I’ve only met one of my partner’s mothers - my first ever boyfriend. Not one man since then has wanted to involve me deeply enough into his life to meet his family.

Most of the time, I just accept this reality, and deal with it, thinking, ‘I’ll meet someone some day, who would be proud to take me home with him’.

And then there are days where I feel tired of being alone, where the repressed soul searching that I regularly do, finally comes to the surface and I find myself asking, ‘why it is that so few men want to get close to me?’

I believe I am quite insightful and aware of my failings as a person: I’ve worked through my issues with knowing that only a few men might find me attractive; that my insecurity about my physical appearance can be altered with a positive mental outlook and keeping fit; that I can work on my bossiness, issues with control and emotional neediness; that I am not as interesting or funny as I think I am; that I am very judgemental and opinionated; and that I have a high sex drive and many men will find this intimidating.

I have attempted to face all these things and accept they might make me less attractive to a partner; I am still working on them, and hope to be a better person as a result.

At the end of the day, I’m just like any other girl: I too want someone to cuddle at night and who’ll watch me fall asleep; someone who will know the real me, beyond my outgoing, flirtatious self; someone who wants to make love with me.

But men just seem to be swayed by my confident exterior; my happy, friendly appearance. Not one has realised that it is just a façade to help me deal with life. Not one has tried to get beyond it and find out another side to me. Not one has been interested in knowing and dealing with the softer, sadder, insecure me.

I can’t blame them; I present myself in a certain way – what you see is what you get – and I am that person I appear to be. But I am also so much more and it is this other – more vulnerable – side that I have such difficulty expressing openly.

Faced with a sexually confident woman who finds it hard to show her insecurities, and who conversely has a huge amount of emotional neediness, its no surprise that men don’t invite me to Sunday lunch with the family. Far easier to hitch up with the dull-in-bed, and too embarrassed by sex to masturbate in front of, but easy-going pretty girl from accounts: she’ll sweet-talk your mum in no time.

I know that part of the problem is that I have a total inability to relate to a man I am attracted to, without there being sexual tension of some sort. Whilst I may wish to just talk with him and get to know him some more, my mind ends up wandering and I find myself thinking about what his cock would feel like in my mouth. This usually leads to his cock being in my mouth. And even if I manage to control and not act on my desires, being so verbally open about sex hardly sets the scene for a potential relationship:

‘Oh look’ he thinks, ‘here’s a girl that likes sex and talks about it in an upfront manner; she must want a shag.’

And yes, a lot of the time, I do. Sometimes though I want more than that and it seems just by being me and talking openly, I shoot myself in the foot. But I can’t help it; I love sex, I think about sex all the time; talking about it just feels natural to me.

I am slowly beginning to understand that it is this – my preoccupation with sex – that is hindering me moving beyond the casual interactions that I have with men – even the ones whom I see as potential boyfriend material: if they think that all I want is sex, how can I ever expect them to understand that I might want more?

So my conclusion – that I am not girlfriend material – is not an exaggeration: to the majority of men I get involved with (and wish for something to develop), I do not represent the type of woman they want to settle down with. Not in reality anyway.

Of course I still hope that one day I will meet a man who adores my upfrontness and openness, is enthused by my frankness and sexuality, and who is eager to find out what sort of woman I am beyond the sexual flirtation.

But given past experience and my realistic cynicism, I know that the likelihood of this is very slim. I am left with the realisation, that to meet a man who wants to find out who the real me is, I am going to have to drastically change my method of communication.

Perhaps then, it is time that I stop presenting myself as a sex fiend and instead, try to become a more average girl next door.

Albeit one that wants to be thrown on the dining table and fucked hard from behind.

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