This article first appeared on SHE'SAID' and has been republished with permission.
Casual partner, friend-with-benefits (FWB), on-call lover…you know, the guy you just meet up with, bang, and then part ways? I’ve had a couple of them, and I’m always happy with the initial arrangement.
Until they want more — the perks of the girlfriend experience without any of the actual effort or commitment. Definitely not what I had on my agenda when I penciled in hitting it and quitting it that night.
It’s like men assume it’s an add-on bonus they can receive at whim, simply by default of sex with me. Whining to me about their work issues and difficult childhoods until 3a.m., sharing post-coital showers with me — expectantly handing over the body wash in readiness to be soaped up, and nuzzling their heads into my neck as they drift off to Dreamland for some after-sex snuggling.
This isn’t highschool; I’m not hosting a sleepover.
Here’s the thing about staying the night and being privy to all the bells and whistles that come with it: I feel it should be reserved for only an elite few: perhaps my parents when I haven’t seen them in a while, my best friends, post-alcohol-binge…and finally, my boyfriend. Not my FWB.
Why am I giving you the girlfriend experience that you mightn’t deserve to have? You have to earn that.
Why should I stay over and provide cuddles all night long if you aren’t going to put a label on us, or, hell, even take me to dinner and foot the bill?! If it looks like couple stuff, and it smells like couple stuff, chances are, we have become a couple, and as such, I’m going to expect a higher level of investment from you than a 2a.m. ‘What’s up?’ text.
I guess this explains my confused face when men tell me we’re just screwing, then ask if they can stay the night…
Besides the obvious, there are numerous other reasons I like my lovers to head home shortly after we shag.
I recharge by having my own space. Space where I don’t have to talk or perform for someone else. Where I can just be quiet with a book and a cat on my lap. I couldn’t imagine a 12-hour stint aaccommodating a guy I barely know at my house.
There’s also my post-sex routine, that I wouldn’t dare share.
You know, standing in the shower for 20 minutes doing absolutely nothing. Washing my bits, my pits, and brushing my teeth while staring absentmindedly down at my pubes. There’s also changing out of my fancy by oh-so-uncomfortable lingerie into my hideous-but-deliciously-comfortable beige granny panties. And the inevitable easting of junk food out of my lap in bed watching YouTube on my phone. Oh, and usually I’ll want to fill my girls in on what’s gone down. I can’t exactly text them if there’s a big hunk of man laying next to me expecting me to perform my spooning duties (little spoon always, just FYI).
I feel leaving avoids that awkward conversation of “Are we dating? What is this?”.
Despite popular opinion, women are more than capable of hitting it and quitting it. There are times where I’m just using a guy for his delightful peen, and often the best sex is with people I can’t stand outside of the sack. So why would I want them to hang around to say something to remind me why I hate them in the first place? No thanks.
There’s also the part of me that’s a little nervous about someone seeing the real me.
The Peta who has a little snore, is a blanket hog, and is often inexplicably up until the wee hours of the night, wired and agitated. The Peta who can’t stand any noise at night, needs a particular pillow to sleep on, and will randomly awaken at 3a.m. to check Instagram. The woman who doesn’t wake up as cute as most of her friends see her looking in public; with eyes rubbed red raw from sleeplessness and a fringe that has There’s Something About Mary vibes going on. The sneezy, snotty girl who’ll leave you genuinely wondering whether she’s switched places with me during the night.
For now, sleepovers are only reserved for the special members of my life, the ones who can handle every good and bad aspect of me, without judgement.
So if you’re just passing through my life, for sex or otherwise, I’m sorry, but please don’t assume the girlfriend experience and roll over to cuddle me as you drift off to sleep post-bang. You’ll have to go home and spoon your pillow instead.
More from SHE'SAID':