I've always wanted to be Carrie Bradshaw. Before you tell me how pathetic that is, I know. It's not a valiant quest or a life goal to be proud of. But TV has been my religion for a long time now, and I wanted to write about the shit she writes about, even if that makes me a loser. What Sex and the City didn't prepare me for, though, was the copious amount of creepers that come out of the woodwork when you start writing about your sex life on the regular. In principle, I'm most definitely DTF, but not with just anyone. And if you've got a live-in girlfriend or wife, you probably shouldn't be messaging me.
A big reason I want to write about sex is because I have a chronic illness. When I got diagnosed with it, I couldn't find any advice online for most of the problems it caused me: problems like losing my orgasms, or overwhelming pins and needles down my legs. Embarrassment or no, I wanted to put an honest account out there, so that other people would know that they weren't alone, and that with a little (A LOT) of wanking, sometimes it was possible to train your body to enjoy sex again.
It was totally my choice to call myself "the wank master" and I take full responsibility for sending that out into the world. It was advice for other people with multiple sclerosis, or other autoimmune diseases, who'd had their sex lives destroyed as a result of their disability. It was an example of taking back control of your body when a disease had crowned itself king. What "the wank master" didn't mean was that I was DTF with anyone immediately.
But, apparently, when you make your sex life public — no matter the rationale behind doing so — you're up for anything. Even if you have a partner, it won't take much to bring you round. Not everyone immediately propositioned me for sex when I shared my sex stories online, but it seemed to tempt a couple of creepers out of the shadows (creepers who had previously kept things platonic).
Where I used to live, there was a saying: "Shy bairns get nowt." Translation: if you don't ask, you don't get. Which brings me to Facebook chat.
Facebook chat is pretty harmless. It's also a great place to say things you wouldn't to a person's face. A couple of people from my past decided it was a chance to be wildly inappropriate (but just joking, so hey, it's fine!). In response to my latest sex piece, one person messaged me me: "I was right about you mind... lol. I always thought you'd be fucking boss like." I chose to take this as a strange compliment, that my forthrightness was winning.
Unfortunately, things got a lot creepier.
Unprompted, he went on to say, "Apart from the fact I found you very attractive, I just knew you were fucking ace... I was thinking the other day about people I wish I'd known better... in a good way, not just a sex way." While I'm sure this was intended to be a compliment, from a person I'd worked with ten years ago, by bringing sex into the equation, the compliment lost all authenticity. Why did it take the revelation that I'm a sex writer for you to profess these thoughts?
I keep conversations clipped when they look like they're heading in a dodgy direction. I'm seeing someone and have no desire to have questionable conversations online with other men, not to mention that, according to the American Academy of Matrimonial Lawyers, as many as twenty percent of divorces involve Facebook.
While the messages I received in response to my sex articles may have been totally innocent, who knows what a person's agenda is? Luckily, one creeper was upfront about his attentions: "I think you're hot (I have no agenda btw, I just like to think I'm honest). I find what you say attractive in an honest way. It appeals to the Scorpio in me."
What is this, Chatroulette?
Talking about sex can be great. Having had a strange relationship with my own sex life for years, it's been liberating to talk openly and honestly about fucking. I get that, and I'm happy to be involved in conversations about other people's sex lives. But I call bullshit on anyone who starts being too friendly, bringing up sex regularly for no reason, and disparages their partner in the process. I'm not going to join in your bitching about your wife's alleged low libido. Maybe your online creeping is a turn off?
Another friend, after a couple of drinks, was moaning about his life. Making conversation, I asked how he could improve his situation: a new job, exercising more, writing? He replied, "More sex would be nice, said every man ever." Ever the feminist, I shot back that every person ever would say this, as I'm sick of constant insinuations that it's only women don't want sex. He said "if only everyone felt the same," then typed a winky face emoji.
I know this was not a come on. But when it's one o'clock in the morning and you're moaning to me about the lack of sex you're getting, you should probably stop and reevaluate your life. Your wife wouldn't like what you're saying, and I don't either.
I'm DTF. I love sex. It's a fact as well as a facet of my writing life. But, importantly, it doesn't mean I'll fuck you, like, right now, after some sleazy Facebook message you really shouldn't have sent. Thanks but no thanks.