Or: What’s a polite way to say, “Fuck off, and stop texting me, you date-raping scum?”
There are plenty of sweet, unassuming international students you’d be proud to take home to your mother. This isn’t about them.
This is about the 40-year-old “boiz” who know just enough English to get you in bed. They seem as literate and red-blooded American as the next guy when you talk with them online, and then when you get to their place, they immediately start stripping you down and repeating “you like, yes?” like a broken record. And what beats all is the sex is bad.
I’m not a bigot. In some ways I’m not even that picky. I’ve messed around with boys and girls, dated guys more about 15 years older than me and as young as the law allows, and slept with Indians, Chinese, Latinos, Blacks, Whites, Turks, and Ukrainians. A boy with the right accent can drive me wild. For a while I even had a “flavor of the week” program and choose conquests who were a type I hadn’t tasted yet.
But if the longest conversation you are linguistically capable of having with me is listing your sexual fetishes and ordering me around, while ignoring my requests, then guess what – it’s not gonna work.
Recently I got a bit desperate. I trolled all the usual haunts – Craigslist, Manhunt, Adam4Adam – and settled for a response from a guy I usually ignore. (At least, I’m deducing that it’s the same person based on his stats and the fact he seems to post twice daily.) Mistake.
When I got to his place, things went fine for a while. I reiterated that I wasn’t interested in having anal sex then (in addition to telling him in advance), and we got off in other ways. It was nowhere near the best sex I’ve had, but not the worst. I was going to leave, but he convinced me to stay.
Throughout the night we cuddled, and occasionally when we both woke, we’d kiss or touch. Eventually we started getting friskier again… and then things went south.
He started working his way up to fucking me. I didn’t object at first, but when he finally asked (a bit late!) if I was okay, I said I didn’t think I could handle it. He slowed, and changed tactics. But he didn’t stop. It was painful, but not unbearable – so I didn’t protest. And although eventually I got off again, and we cuddled a few more hours until morning, the fun was over. I knew I had no interest in seeing him ever again.
Yet, he’s texted me a couple times since our meeting and doesn’t seem to grasp the message that I don’t want him to fuck me, I want him to just fuck off.