Music writer Sophie Saint Thomas of Shuffle and Splooge fame breaks down what it's like to not just bone down with musically inclined people, but take that extra step and date them. Do people even do that anymore? Seems gross.
You will never be his girlfriend (or her girlfriend, or his boyfriend). You must obsessively check their genitals for signs of herpes and always use a condom, even a god damn dental damn with these fools because they're sleeping with a minimum of six other people. You will be forced to socialize with many French people and drink a lot of Tito's Vodka. Any sex you have will be very drunk and bad at 5 in the morning because DJs do not sleep. They'll ditch you at Le Poisson Rouge for new blonde pussy. He'll have a little penis, or perhaps just a very soft one due to MDMA consumption. Cease this relationship before abnormal discharge sets in.
After taking him to prom, you'll de-virginize him in a tent in the woods and then he will never speak to you again. His older brothers and him form a somewhat successful country band, and despite their good looks all the older brothers are still virgins as they are strict Evangelicals. The youngest will forever remember you as the atheist whore who raped him.
For the first few weeks he'll leave you love notes at your apartment after you've left for work. He'll sleep until noon and then use your computer to watch Twin Peaks on Netflix. You'll realize he's technically unemployed and Google his last name to discover he has family money and feel simultaneously deceived yet relieved. You'll do yoga in your apartment to his music and fool yourself into finding it original. You won't care about how curved his penis is because he's so good with his fingers. You discover female ejaculation is not a myth. The love notes stop. You realize his love is intense yet fleeting and that he's struggling with a severe case of ADHD and rich white boy entitlement.
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You'll meet at Gibson Guitar studios where he was guest appearing on a friend's live album. He'll call you a sweetheart and give you his number. You'll give him a drunken peck on the lips. You fear he'll be utterly disappointed when he finds you on Twitter and discovers your filthy true nature.
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You'll hear him wailing into the microphone wearing a Gorilla Biscuits tank at a warehouse punk show in Gowanus. There's something about the way he jerks his lanky pale limbs that makes your undergarments moist. You begin to approach him at the bar, but after spotting his tattoo of an eagle breaking through a bottle of whiskey and noticing he's sipping a Coca-Cola, you realize you could never bring him home to your lush family so turn the other direction.
You'll meet him in a club in Miami and he'll try to buy you a drink, but you're so blacked out already that you'll just ask for a water. He'll introduce himself by saying "they call me Big Bart." You'll type his name in your phone as Big Fart. Although you live in different cities, you develop an intimate texting relationship. He woos you with his lyrical texts, you YouTube old Cam'ron videos to learn the meaning of "ma" as a term of endearment. You embarrass yourself when your roommate borrows your laptop and you've forgotten to clear "black man with penis as big as Grey Goose bottle" from your Google search tab. You'll find yourself watching Love and Hip Hop on VH1 and cursing video vixens.
You'll meet on OkCupid and go to Cienfuegos (RIP) on your first date. He'll want to come home with you and lick your ass hole, but not spend the night. This first date will be the last time he pays for your drinks. You'll get high in his LES apartment and draw on his Terry Richardson photography book with a sharpie. He will want to photograph you naked and you let him. Mid fuck he'll pull out and start playing with his 20 different synthesizers. He won't introduce you to any of his friends. You'll start to wonder if he has friends. You'll leave him for someone who is interested in more than how tight your pussy feels, but every now and then you'll reminisce about how hot and dirty the sex was.
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