The Age of Un-Innocence

I wish I could take credit for that, but I’m sure it was Carrie Bradshaw. Or, Candace Bushnell if we’re getting super technical.

But just think about that for a second, your innocence, that is. And I don’t mean being a child on the playground playing with your friends and thinking that ‘hell’ and ‘fudge’ were bad words (I really thought those were bad when I was like 8). I’m talking about senior year when the guy I liked who would soon be my boyfriend later on, gave me a compliment that said my ass looked nice whenever I got up from my desk in first period. Back when nudes weren’t exchanged between future prospects, just phone numbers. Sex was something meaningful. Now it’s something that we do when we want to get off and a hand//vibrator won’t suffice.

But of course, when pursuing someone that we think we might potentially like or be interested in, it doesn’t work the same as it used to, does it? You know, you meet somewhere organically or through mutual friends. You have great conversation and find each other attractive. The guy asks for your phone number and you happily comply. He texts you (because hello I’m not going all the way back to the 1960’s) and you get super excited and semi freak out. You guys have good, genuine conversation; the basic shit. He tells you his favorite band or sports team, and you tell him a little white lie that you absolutely love those things. He wants to take you out on a date. Wherever you go for that date, he takes you home after, and gives you a ‘goodnight kiss’. And it’s just a kiss: no goodnight blowjob or goodnight fuck. There is no him going into your house, because you guys are 17 and your parents are still awake. You either love it or you hate it, and that often determines if you want to see him again. And if so, the rest is history and you guys end up happily in love, you know, until he breaks your heart or vice versa because love is fucking dead (totes kidding).

Fast forward a few years: you meet a guy off tinder, or maybe even at a bar when you were drunk that one time for your best friend’s birthday. You guys exchange numbers and snap chat usernames. He’ll either text you within 15 hours, or he’ll never text you at all. In both cases, however, you’ll probably get a picture of his dick and the caption will be: thinking about you. You either think you can work with it or you can’t. To the guy that texts you, you guys decide to meet up for a drink, because we’re adults now and we don’t go ice skating on a first date. If you enjoy each others company, maybe you’ll go back to his house. The night doesn’t end with a ‘goodnight kiss’, though. It’ll either end with you guys making out and being a total tease, or maybe it’ll end with him cumming on your face; who knows?

We are in the age of un-innocence. We are impatient: we try before we buy . . . anything. Think a guy is cute and you think you might kinda like him? Fuck him first so you know he’s not terrible in bed and don’t waste a few months of your life waiting for it to be special just so it could lead up to a huge disappointment and a possible fake orgasm just so he can stop and it can be over. No one wants to fucking go through that. We ain’t got time. Everything is backwards as fuck. Instead of sharing each others favorite thing to do, we share nudes just so we know what we’re working with. Is his dick pretty? One tit pic means yes, no tit pic means no. Instead of sharing coffee, we share shots of whiskey, vodka, or tequila. Instead of seeing how someone is in person, we see how they are on social media, first, and stalk them. We don’t like to wait for much, and we also have no shame. No one stands in front of a girl’s bedroom window holding a boombox anymore. If they did, we’d probably think they were being a crazy stalker. Isn’t that sad? If a guy calls us on the phone, our initial reaction is: Did he mean to call me? Did he butt dial me? Why is he calling? That’s so weird.
This has become an era in which we are so skilled at the game, that we don’t even need to go to first, second, or third base. We just run all the way home. Even if that means fucking him, and then literally running home because it was that awful.

I will admit, not all romance is dead. There are good guys out there, just like there are good girls. We’ve all just adapted to this lifestyle, if you will, because it’s easier; it’s less pressure and you’re more in control. Just think about all of this, though. It’s fascinating how much has changed.

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