FUCKBOYSBy Blythe Baird Fuckboy wants you to come over to “Netflix & Chill” even though you know Fuckboy’s personal agenda involves neither netflix nor chill. Fuckboy wants to communicate with you exclusively via Tinder or Snapchat Chat. Fuckboy wants to play truth or dare. Fuckboy wants you to pick dare. Fuckboy wants to play 20 questions. Fuckboy is furious when he does not receive a reply. Fuckboy believes his loneliness is your responsibility. Fuckboy sends a stream of unsolicited dick pics. You tell Fuckboy you’re doing homework so Fuckboy says “Haha, then what ;)” winky face. Fuckboy knows the winky face is crucial. Fuckboy won’t waste a single opportunity to request nudes. You could tell Fuckboy your hamster died and he’d be all, “aw babe send me a naked pic of u pouting!” Fuckboy makes you sit in polite silence and watch him play video games. Fuckboy calls you everything but your name. Fuckboy doesn’t give a fuck about the best part of your day. Fuckboy hates how you look in that dress. Fuckboy doesn’t get the point of high waisted shorts. Fuckboy wants you to stop wearing lipstick. Fuckboy says you look like a pale clown. You stop wearing lipstick. You tell yourself you didn’t even like lipstick anyway. Fuckboy makes you feel smaller every day. Fuckboy wants you to have another shot. Fuckboy thinks you’re so pretty when you’re fucked up. Fuckboy mistakes your alcohol poisoning for a perfect opportunity. Fuckboy pretends not to notice the way your head swings up and down like a limp bird with a broken neck. The word no is not in Fuckboy’s vocabulary. Fuckboy is most in love with you when you are drunk or silent or both. Fuckboy leaves handprint-shaped bruises to bloom like flowers up your thighs. Fuckboy blocks the door. Fuckboy yanks your arm like a leash when you question him in front of his friend. Fuckboy makes you apologize to the back of his hand. Fuckboy pushes you against the wall as if pinning the wings of a dead moth to cork. Fuckboy watches you press your voice like a crushed tulip between the pages of his temper. Fuckboy is finally pleased with you. Fuckboy seems to have a lot in common with a predator. but Fuckboy doesn’t call himself a predator. Fuckboy doesn’t call himself a rapist. He thinks those are strong words. He likes to think of himself as ambitious. And suddenly it’s clear that the fuckboy is no longer just a fuckboy, but the reason you didn’t get home safe, the reason you spent more time in the title IX office last year than you did in class. Fuckboy found so much empowerment in rape culture that it became an identity. It became a socially acceptable aesthetic. So they get to be fuckboys instead of predators. Just like the way they get to call it a mistake instead of call it rape. It’s easier to name him fuckboy than it is to recognize yourself as a victim or a survivor. Sometimes, he’s not just a fuckboy. He’s abusive. “Why are you so afraid of everything?” Fuckboy whines like a tea kettle. & I think of what a privilege it is; to be inconvenienced instead of afraid.
FUCKBOYS, by Blythe Baird (2016)
