Can you still be yourself?
Why is a girl like you still single?
I hear this all the time.
Are you seeing anyone? Is there a man on the scene? You’re nearly thirty you know. The clock is ticking!
But why don’t they understand? Why don’t they see the beauty that lies in being alone? The lack of pressure, the sense of peace, and the ability to be entirely true to yourself.
Because can you still be yourself, whilst inviting another being into your life, into every aspect of your existence?
In particular, and arguably worse than the alternative, inviting a man into your life. Into your home, your sanctuary.
Can you still be entirely yourself?
Can you still be yourself, when you are trying to look fuckable at every waking moment? Ensuring that you wear make up when he is around, but not too much make up, just enough make up so that he does not know you’re wearing make up, but enough make up to hide the bags under your eyes, or the blemishes on your cheeks.
Ensuring that every day, when you dress yourself, you look good. Not just good, sexy. If you come home and want to wear something comfortable, it has to be sexy. Because you still need to look fuckable! That’s your purpose, right? Why else would he keep you around?
And can you still be yourself, when he makes a mess of what was once your own private spaces, with his dirty dishes, piled up laundry, the little bits of hair that litter the sink when he shaves. Persistently clearing up after him, but never complaining. Knowing that if you do show him how much you resent it, you will be christened a “nag” and a “psycho bitch”. Can you stay true to yourself, even whilst swallowing the disgust you feel at his wet towel piled at the foot of the bed, waiting for you to so diligently hang it up?
And even your own body, your sacred temple, even that is no longer your own. You make yourself ready and willing for sex whenever it is demanded of you – you become a blow-job machine, just waiting to be kicked into gear. But you can never come off too horny – you do not want to seem like a slut. You constantly toe the line between frigid and whore, wondering whether he will ever be happy, as he pushes you from one end of the scale to the other. But you must never expect too much from him – he works hard. Give him a break. He gives you head sometimes – isn’t that enough? You should be more grateful.
And even as you try to maintain the perfect balance between cute and sexy, your perfectly shaved pussy begins to bore him. You open yourself to anal sex, wincing through the pain, only feeling pleasure at the thought of how much he must appreciate you as a girlfriend. I mean, how many girls would do this, right? He must love me. He must love me so much.
But, alas, he still gets bored. Nothing you offer is of use to him anymore. Now you consider threesomes – surely that would make you the queen of his heart? But you must be the one to find the girl. You must be the one to initiate – otherwise he becomes the bad guy. So it’s on you, it’s all on your head, and as you begin to crack under the pressure, you watch the one you love get frustrated, and bored, because why cant you just do this one thing for him for once?
And through all this, can you still be yourself? Can you?
