Used to be I’d lament the fact that it was hard to get a boyfriend in this big bad city. I’d chase men to try to snare them into becoming my monogamous beau. Then over the years, I had lowered my standards in hopes of having someone to date casually. Now, I find myself waiting, sometimes until the witching hour, for a text to appear for a mere booty call. It’s now easier to get a man to offer you cunnilingus than it is to get him to offer you his seat on the subway—simpler to get him to go down than it is to get him to get up. Clearly there is a devolution of male-to-female contact. In an era of instant gratification and take-out sex, have we lost the capability to have a long-lasting commitment? Worse, how can women function successfully in the dating world without understanding if they are about to be sucked into becoming The Booty Call?
Booty calls can be fun and I’m certainly not always opposed as long as one knows what one is getting into and has no aspirations for something more serious. It is at least important, however to notice the signs.
GIFTS:
Boyfriends: Jewelry
Dates: Flowers
Friends: Dinner
Booty Calls: Condoms and Sex Toys (if you’re lucky)
Case in point: Some dude I was dating who initially seemed like boyfriend material eventually made it clear he only wanted booty call status by saying that, for my birthday, he was planning on getting me a vibrator and anal beads. He was serious; so was I when I told him to scram.
HYGIENE:
Boyfriends: Cologne
Dates: Soap
Friends: Baby Wipes and Mouthwash
Booty Calls: Sweat
Case in Point: As I lowered my head to take him into my mouth, I glanced down past his shaft to his teint. A few tiny pieces of dried shit were encrusted on him in that soft place where balls and ass meet. Instead of being grossed out—I really should have been—I felt closer to him than ever. How intimate to see your fairly new lover this way! To get to see literal remnants of his day. The Nancy Drew in me, giddy for unearthing a clue to my mysterious man--to wonder when and where he shat. How tingly I got thinking about this authoritative, hulking man sitting in a near-public stall, grunting and bearing down. I wrapped my hand around the base to segregate the offending area and took his head into my mouth. Still sort of soft, I watched, eyes lowered, to see it turn from a grayish pink to a bright red, blood straining against skin. I slid my mouth down on the shaft, licking the sides, but never going into the danger area. He was none the wiser; my smile was that much more sly, all the time knowing if he was in it for the long haul he would have showered before inviting me over.
DÉCOR:
Boyfriends: Pristine apartment, candles going, fresh sheets on a made bed, sparkling tub, toilet seat down
Dates: Glade and some incense, freshly dusted surfaces
Friends: Cigarette smoke and clutter hidden in piles under the bed
Booty Calls: Urine congealed on the toilet seat
Case in point: I walked in and immediately needed to use his bathroom. I noticed a tampon wrapper in the wastebasket. He lives alone; it was not mine. Worse, there were pubes on the seat! I found myself screaming in my head, “I don’t care if your housekeeper only comes on Mondays, if I am paying for a cab to come to your place late night to give you free sex, I don’t want to see other girls’ hair on the pillows, got me?”
TRAVEL:
Boyfriend: Picks you up, drops you off at your door
Date: Puts you in a cab
Friend: Swipes you through the turnstile
Booty Call: Tells you to lock the door on your way out
Case in point: I was on a double date with my friend and her boyfriend. They brought along his friend, Kwame, for me to meet. The couple left after only a few drinks because my friend started feeling sick. I was left with Kwame and seeing that it was his birthday I kissed him on the strike of twelve. One more drink and I decided it was time for me to go. He leaned over and said brazenly and not nearly drunkenly enough, “Come home with me and let me eat your pussy.” Shocked, I declined, and warily asked him to walk me to the subway. His reply, “If you want to be Superwoman, find it yourself.”
TIME:
Boyfriend: Stays the night
Date: Comes up for coffee
Friend: Calls when you get home to make sure you are safe
Booty Calls: Has to be somewhere else in 30 minutes, so let’s make this quick.
Case in point: The HW, an Aquarian who refers to himself as the Happy Wanderer, whom I have been dating on and off for months, has never once stayed the night. He has never asked me to sleep at his place either. After the first month, I mentioned it to him, thinking it was odd, wondering jokingly if he had a late-night flatulence problem. He said I was being too pushy. After month two we became exclusive, and he said he’d ask me to stay over when I stopped asking for it. By month three I broke up with him because of it. By month four I missed him. By month five I have become complacent enough to accept that this is, sadly, only a booty call situation and have taken to texting him instead, “R U IN2 F-ING 2NITE?”
PRIMARY FORM OF CONTACT:
Technology continually changes the way we get laid. In an age where cybersex is passé, text sex is all the rage. If you see a girl, late night, texting furiously with a conspiratorial grin on her face, I’d bet you that she is trying to get some. If a man tries to set up a first date shunning a phone call or email in favor of a text, you know he is not after something substantial.
Boyfriends: Phone
Dates: Email
Friends: IM
Booty Calls: Text Messaging
Case in point: A friend of mine, Holly, met a clean-cut upper crusty prep at an event at an exclusive membership club. They partied till dawn and as the sun rose he kissed her and said he wanted to take her out. Visions of courses and French wine crossed her mind, and she started planning what she’d wear with him on their date. The next day he texted her asking if she wanted to meet up in his neighborhood that night and hang out and cuddle. She declined for several reasons, including the fact that he asked her to “hang out” with no notice, which suggests sweatpants and warm beer at his place, and that he expected her to come to him, and because he didn’t have the courtesy to actually call her. He continued to cluelessly text, last minute, even though over a month had passed and she had ignored him.
Finally, he actually called and, to her surprise, asked her well in advance for a Saturday night date. He picked her up at her door and was even bearing flowers. There may just be hope yet.
Booty calls can be fun and I’m certainly not always opposed as long as one knows what one is getting into and has no aspirations for something more serious. It is at least important, however to notice the signs.
GIFTS:
Boyfriends: Jewelry
Dates: Flowers
Friends: Dinner
Booty Calls: Condoms and Sex Toys (if you’re lucky)
Case in point: Some dude I was dating who initially seemed like boyfriend material eventually made it clear he only wanted booty call status by saying that, for my birthday, he was planning on getting me a vibrator and anal beads. He was serious; so was I when I told him to scram.
HYGIENE:
Boyfriends: Cologne
Dates: Soap
Friends: Baby Wipes and Mouthwash
Booty Calls: Sweat
Case in Point: As I lowered my head to take him into my mouth, I glanced down past his shaft to his teint. A few tiny pieces of dried shit were encrusted on him in that soft place where balls and ass meet. Instead of being grossed out—I really should have been—I felt closer to him than ever. How intimate to see your fairly new lover this way! To get to see literal remnants of his day. The Nancy Drew in me, giddy for unearthing a clue to my mysterious man--to wonder when and where he shat. How tingly I got thinking about this authoritative, hulking man sitting in a near-public stall, grunting and bearing down. I wrapped my hand around the base to segregate the offending area and took his head into my mouth. Still sort of soft, I watched, eyes lowered, to see it turn from a grayish pink to a bright red, blood straining against skin. I slid my mouth down on the shaft, licking the sides, but never going into the danger area. He was none the wiser; my smile was that much more sly, all the time knowing if he was in it for the long haul he would have showered before inviting me over.
DÉCOR:
Boyfriends: Pristine apartment, candles going, fresh sheets on a made bed, sparkling tub, toilet seat down
Dates: Glade and some incense, freshly dusted surfaces
Friends: Cigarette smoke and clutter hidden in piles under the bed
Booty Calls: Urine congealed on the toilet seat
Case in point: I walked in and immediately needed to use his bathroom. I noticed a tampon wrapper in the wastebasket. He lives alone; it was not mine. Worse, there were pubes on the seat! I found myself screaming in my head, “I don’t care if your housekeeper only comes on Mondays, if I am paying for a cab to come to your place late night to give you free sex, I don’t want to see other girls’ hair on the pillows, got me?”
TRAVEL:
Boyfriend: Picks you up, drops you off at your door
Date: Puts you in a cab
Friend: Swipes you through the turnstile
Booty Call: Tells you to lock the door on your way out
Case in point: I was on a double date with my friend and her boyfriend. They brought along his friend, Kwame, for me to meet. The couple left after only a few drinks because my friend started feeling sick. I was left with Kwame and seeing that it was his birthday I kissed him on the strike of twelve. One more drink and I decided it was time for me to go. He leaned over and said brazenly and not nearly drunkenly enough, “Come home with me and let me eat your pussy.” Shocked, I declined, and warily asked him to walk me to the subway. His reply, “If you want to be Superwoman, find it yourself.”
TIME:
Boyfriend: Stays the night
Date: Comes up for coffee
Friend: Calls when you get home to make sure you are safe
Booty Calls: Has to be somewhere else in 30 minutes, so let’s make this quick.
Case in point: The HW, an Aquarian who refers to himself as the Happy Wanderer, whom I have been dating on and off for months, has never once stayed the night. He has never asked me to sleep at his place either. After the first month, I mentioned it to him, thinking it was odd, wondering jokingly if he had a late-night flatulence problem. He said I was being too pushy. After month two we became exclusive, and he said he’d ask me to stay over when I stopped asking for it. By month three I broke up with him because of it. By month four I missed him. By month five I have become complacent enough to accept that this is, sadly, only a booty call situation and have taken to texting him instead, “R U IN2 F-ING 2NITE?”
PRIMARY FORM OF CONTACT:
Technology continually changes the way we get laid. In an age where cybersex is passé, text sex is all the rage. If you see a girl, late night, texting furiously with a conspiratorial grin on her face, I’d bet you that she is trying to get some. If a man tries to set up a first date shunning a phone call or email in favor of a text, you know he is not after something substantial.
Boyfriends: Phone
Dates: Email
Friends: IM
Booty Calls: Text Messaging
Case in point: A friend of mine, Holly, met a clean-cut upper crusty prep at an event at an exclusive membership club. They partied till dawn and as the sun rose he kissed her and said he wanted to take her out. Visions of courses and French wine crossed her mind, and she started planning what she’d wear with him on their date. The next day he texted her asking if she wanted to meet up in his neighborhood that night and hang out and cuddle. She declined for several reasons, including the fact that he asked her to “hang out” with no notice, which suggests sweatpants and warm beer at his place, and that he expected her to come to him, and because he didn’t have the courtesy to actually call her. He continued to cluelessly text, last minute, even though over a month had passed and she had ignored him.
Finally, he actually called and, to her surprise, asked her well in advance for a Saturday night date. He picked her up at her door and was even bearing flowers. There may just be hope yet.
