Hey! Welcome back to the second post in my blog series, “The four men you date in your 40’s.” Today we’re going to discuss the infamous ‘FuckBoy.’ Wait! I thought this series was about the men you date in your 40’s. You are correct. Well, then why are we discussing fuckboys? Oh, my love, there are 40 (and 50) year-old fuckboys out here roaming these dating streets. Get the fuck out of here! I know, I know. I told you there was nothing easy about dating in your 40’s. Now hush and let me continue!
According to Dictionary.com, a fuckboy is a guy who has no respect for a woman or her time. He’s self-absorbed and unwilling to commit. In a nutshell, a fuckboy wants all the benefits of a relationship, without reciprocating, and none of the responsibilities. If you need further clarification head on over to Betches.com and read 15 Signs You’re Dating a FuckBoy.
There isn’t much of a difference between a 40-year-old fuckboy and a 20-year-old fuckboy besides age. Sadly, many 40-year-old fuckboys rock the same uniform as the 20 year-olds do – a fitted cap, t-shirt, jeans and Timberlands looking like an old ass Jay-Z or Drake. Wait. Rewind. Saying “old ass Jay-Z” is redundant. Moving right along! The 40-year-old fuckboy is attractive, charming and knows just what to say to get you to, against your better judgment, give him your number. When he texts you later, and he will, he makes it clear up front that he’s not looking to get into anything serious now. “Oh, well that makes sense” you reply. “We need time to get to know each other.” Queue up Loose Ends’ ‘Hangin’ On A String’ because my love this has now become your theme song!
A couple of weeks go by and you and Mr. FuckBoy seem to be vibing well. He’s very communicative but primarily via text. Each time you mention going out he suggests coming over so you all can “talk” without the noise and distractions of a public place. You stand your ground and he seems understanding. He begrudgingly takes you to see a movie and to have drinks at a dive bar afterward. Two days later he texts you to say he had a really good time and he’s missing you, he wants to see you again but he doesn’t want to wait. You cave and he comes over to watch movies and spend time with you (Can you say, ‘Firestick and dick?). Before you know it your panties are hanging from the ceiling fan, your legs are at 10 & 2 and you’re finding Magnum condom wrappers stuck between the couch cushions at the end of the night.
Fast forward six months and you are in full-blown sprung mode. This man has turned you on and turned you out! You’re cooking for him when he comes over (with a load of dirty clothes for you to wash), massaging his shoulders after a long day at work, rubbing his temples when he has a headache – you’re doing everything but hopping on one foot barking like a dog saying, “Whatever you like…” Then it hits you, you haven’t been out on a date since the night you went to the movies. Feeling uneasy, you mention it the next time you see him and he plies you with a litany of excuses, “Oh baby I’ve been so busy at work and I’m tired when I get off.” Or, “I was gonna surprise you and take you out when I was over here the other night but you were looking like a snack…” The next thing you know your toes are in his mouth and the conversation is a distant memory.
One year in it’s starting to dawn on you that you see this man once or twice a week at most, rarely on the weekends and he has only taken you out a literal handful of times, coincidentally after you complained about him never taking you anywhere. During his next visit, you say those four dreaded words, “So, what are we?” He responds with one of the most verbalized fuckboy mantras, “I don’t like labels. We just doing us.” Game, set, match. You have now entered The FuckBoy Zone!
Eighteen months in you’ve had enough. You text (his preferred mode of communication) and tell him you’re done. You can’t do this anymore. It’s clear that he isn’t relationship minded, you want more than he’s willing to give so you’re ending it. He protests weakly. Tells you he loves you and asks to see you later and talk about it. You agree (idiot), he comes over so you can discuss your future. Somehow that conversation never happens. As soon as he crosses the threshold his tongue is down your throat and his hands are on your ass. Three months later you find your self-respect and end it once and for all. He argues with you, demands to know if there’s anyone else. You assure him there isn’t. You tell him you want a committed relationship, no you deserve a committed relationship after almost two years. He contritely replies, “You’re right. I understand. Well, can I at least see you until you find someone?” You stare at him finally seeing him in his true fuckboy form, understanding fully who and what he is. You usher him from your home devastated that you wasted so much time on someone who never had any intention of being with you. To add insult to injury, you awaken each morning for the next three days to a “Good morning baby, I miss you” text message containing photos and video clips from your last bedroom romp. You delete the attachments and block his number vowing never to fall victim again.
The series continues tomorrow when I’ll be discussing Mr. Inconsistent. Make sure you hit that ‘follow’ button so you’ll be notified when the next post comes out and feel free to share.
Other posts in this series: