I don’t want to have sex with you. Your erection, is not my responsibility.
This is dedicated to all the boys with only one thing on their mind: sex. I don’t want to have sex with you. And I don’t owe you an explanation.
Maybe I just want to be friends.
Maybe I want a relationship.
Maybe I want to build a relationship based on friendship and shared interests.
Maybe I went to a girl’s school, and boys and men are aliens to me.
Maybe I have no brothers, no father, no uncle, no male friends, at all. Maybe I only know the company of women.
Maybe I’m scared of you.
Maybe I want a real man.
Maybe I’m sick of raising men.
Maybe everyone finds me beautiful, except me.
Maybe I’m tired of being bothered by boring men trying to fuck me.
Maybe I’m just a friendly person.
Maybe I’m a Lesbian—or I’m seriously considering it… and not so you can watch.
Maybe I already know you don’t have what I want or need.
Maybe your clothes smell like stagnant washing. Maybe this already tells me all I need to know.
Maybe I was sexually abused as a child, and will never get over it. Or maybe I will. Maybe I haven’t decided, yet. Maybe I don’t know how.
Maybe I have body-issues.
Maybe I want to fall in love, get married and have babies.
Maybe I don’t want to get pregnant, don’t want to take the pill and hate condoms.
Maybe I need Sexual Healing.
Maybe I’ve only ever been raped and have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Maybe I didn’t know I had that.
Maybe no one has ever let me talk about it, and I’ll never speak about it again.
Maybe I was seduced by too many older men in my twenties and will never trust again.
Maybe my heart is bruised.
Maybe I’m just here for the music.
Maybe I feel pressured to be happy. And smile. And not cry.
Maybe I’m a virgin, and you’re not the one.
Maybe I still believe in love.
Maybe I want to make love.
Maybe I can’t have what I want, so there’s nothing that I want.
Maybe I have my period.
Maybe I’m not in the mood.
Maybe I’m in love with someone, right now. And it’s breaking my heart.
Maybe I’m tired of shit boyfriends.
Maybe I’m tired of attempted rape.
Maybe my Valentine’s Days were only spent with #1billionrising.
Maybe that’s the birthday of my last rapist.
Maybe you’d find all of this out if you cared to get to know me. No matter how long it takes.
I don’t want to have sex with you—no matter what I’m wearing.
Maybe I learned to get dressed from magazines and tv.
Maybe I didn’t buy my boobs, and don’t want to talk about them—even if they’re breathing. Even if they’re radiating.
Maybe I haven’t learned how much strangers like to talk about them, because I’m used to being surrounded by people who treat me like a whole person.
Maybe I’m naturally classy.
Maybe I have no idea how hot I am in the eye of the beholder. Maybe looks don’t matter to me.
Maybe I just had to wear something, because society doesn’t make clothes that fit me.
Maybe I will always be bursting out of my dress.
Maybe I’m Marilyn Monroe.
Maybe I have no idea about fashion, and don’t care to.
Maybe I do.
Maybe I wear red lipstick, to reflect my flaming tongue of truth that will never be silent.
Maybe my words are on fire.
Maybe I want you to #redmylips.
Maybe I like to dance—and dress—for the occasion.
Maybe my clothes reflect who I am.
Maybe they don’t.
Maybe I feel peer-pressured, or am just trying to fit in.
Maybe I don’t yet know that I’m in for a life of being sexualised…
~
Now that you know some of the possible reasons why I don’t want to have sex with you, you can hold all of that in your heart, and ask inquiring questions. Or you can throw in some deep statements, and walk away for a while.
Say interesting things like: “I’m not afraid of your darkness.” —and walk away. Or, “Maybe you could tell me about it, sometime.”
Because I only like deep people, and I’m always interested in new friends. I am a person, and your erection is your responsibility. If this is a revelation, here are a couple of suggestions:
Learn how to develop human connections through the art of conversation. Ask interesting questions. Have interests.
Learn how to channel sexual energy into other things, by using it as fuel for your life; connect it to your heart, circulate it through your whole body, connect it to your mind, fuel your art, creativity, and community projects. Utilise your vitality for serving others.
If it’s uncomfortably overwhelming, go and masturbate in the bathroom and come back out for at least 5 minutes more erection-free conversation. Conversation is the best intercourse.
Maybe your navigation is all off, and your erection leads you astray. Get aligned with your body, mind and spirit. Study up on the Universal Relevance of Tantra.
Go and find someone who shares your mutual desire for casual, meaningless sex.
If you learn people skills, maybe I’ll want to touch you. It’s not about having to convince me you’re worth it, or expelling your resume and great-guy qualifications like I were a job. Prove it.
Be interested:
“Do you like casual sex, or do you prefer relationships?”
“What do you like about casual sex?”
“What do you like about relationships?”
“Do you feel confident enough to share a strong foundation of Love with someone, and an open sex-life, or are you more monogamous?”
“Do you like books? What is one that really stands out? Did it teach you anything?”
“Do you watch movies?”
“What do you love? Kittens, Architecture, Rainbows, Archery, Holidays, Psychology, Movies, Astrology… Money? What would you do with money?”
“Do you write? You look like a writer. You look deep. Where can I read what you’ve written?”
“I really like deep conversations, but we’ll have to get to know each other better for that.”
You can talk about your sister, or your mother, or your dreams and aspirations. Offer interesting and relevant things about yourself. Talk about the last book that taught you something. There’s nothing more attractive than a man who loves to learn, who lives for the next revelation. Ask me about my heart. Find out what I love and value.
And if I don’t want to talk to you, don’t hang around. Go away.
You can try coming back one more time, later, to see if I missed you. And if you do it a few times, each time making sure it’s long enough that I’ve forgotten about you—maybe even thought you’d left—you might begin to grow on me… and maybe I’ll want to be friends.
And then you can learn why I really don’t want to have sex with you.
If I don’t want to be friends, don’t push it, and understand NO.
Maybe I never want to share again. Maybe it’s not you.
Maybe I just want to write.
