By way of an introduction:
I have started to sleep around. I sleep with men I am not dating. I sleep with men and refuse to date them, actually. I come to their houses, fuck them, say thank you for a nice time, and don't let the door hit me on the ass on the way out.
You might think this is a pretty good deal, but it is not.
Because I fuck and tell.
Because I'm pissed.
Because when you set the bar so low it scrapes the ground (basic human decency + an orgasm will do, thank you very much), and men still manage to squeeze under it rather than just stumble over it, a woman must wonder what sort of parallel universe of dating jackassery she's entered.
I am in my late 30s. I'm well-educated, employed, and independent. I have a pretty good body and a pretty great life.
I am no longer willing to accept behavior in men I date that I would not accept from anyone else, for any other reason. None of you have magical dicks. None of you. And even if you did have a dick that was magical, I would not tolerate what passes for normal behavior from you. I don't care if it vibrates me into multiple orgasms. I don't care if it makes my calves cramp, or the little hairs on the back of my neck stand at rapt attention. I don't care if it cooks dinner and does the fucking dishes. It's just not worth it.
This is my manifesta.
I have taken down my profile, I am buying a vibrator, and I'm going to start spilling secrets.
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