“Just like the rest of us, I am bored and horny. But you still won’t find me telling a perfect stranger that I want to ‘treat them like a porn star'”


We have all heard the saying that chivalry is dead. But have you ever stopped to wonder when it died? Was it when we exchanged our knights in shining armour for soldiers with trench-foot and a Vitamin C deficiency? Or was it even more recently than that?

It seems to me that we need to consider the possibility that it was never there to begin with. Because one thing is for sure: at this point, it is irrevocably extinct. 

Once in a while, I will drink one glass of wine too many, and have deep philosophical ponderings. During this lockdown, once-in-a-while has been promoted to at least sometimes, and possibly even often. 

And the chivalry thing has bugged me.

The educated and intellectual half of me knows that this is a good thing. That it was an archaic trope anyway, because what woman needs a man to open a door for her, or kiss her hand instead of shaking it? The concept is inherently sexist, that women should be treated a certain way for the sole reason that they are female and therefore incapable of protecting themselves from the dangers of doorways and bone-crushing handshakes, and that men are the saviours, the brave souls who will stand up for us in the face of animosity. 

But then I spent a few days back on the old dating apps, and after extensive research I now have a theory. 

I would like to hypothesise that the chivalric code was introduced because the medieval princesses were sick of the men brazenly waving their dicks about, or whatever the dick-pic equivalent would be. 

I know what you will think, perhaps I have just picked the wrong men. Because, for sure, the women I’ve spoken to have been a delight. Intellectual conversations, a genuine interest in me as a person and, when I have toed the line of horny devil, have rightly rejected my advances. 

Perhaps it is getting worse in the lockdown; perhaps boredom and a lack of social interaction has led to some* of these boys – because they can’t be considered men – interacting with as much class as a dog who has just rolled in something. I know that my own decorum has certainly been affected: in the past 24 hours I have openly said that I want to lick JLO’s thighs. 

Just like the rest of us, I am bored and horny. But you still won’t find me telling a perfect stranger that I want to treat them like a porn-star, or to “come and suck my dick as a dessert”. Both real messages I’ve received, both within the last few days. 

I think my frustration with this is that it takes the power away from me. As soon as someone demands to know whether I am a “good girl” or a “freak”, it feels like I don’t really own my sexuality anymore, or my right to choose when I exert it. Because if I answer then I am betraying myself but if I refuse, somehow, I end up looking like the idiot. 

So, while the lockdown continues, I think for my own sanity’s sake, Tinder and Hinge will be switched back to just women. It is better to be safe than sorry you saw another dick pic you didn’t ask for. 

For the record, I would like to take a moment to appreciate the one man I am properly seeing at the moment – we will call him Frenchie. Because his manners are always impeccable, and I can guarantee you that he has never once bent down to kiss my hand or suggested that I am incapable of taking care of myself. But he will, very occasionally, maybe even 50% of the time, open the door for me. 

Thank god chivalry is dead. It really is a relief. But as a public service announcement to all my fellow bisexual, pansexual, flexisexual – hell, just sexual – beings, be careful out there right now.

Don’t slip into conversations that make you uncomfortable just for the sake of having conversations. Don’t widen your age range, or distance on Tinder. Remember the standards you set for yourself; and for God’s sake, don’t even think about messaging your ex. 

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