You know the old saying, “fucking for revenge is like getting laid.” Wait, I don’t get it. That doesn’t make any sense. Actually, I guess it makes about as much sense as the logic behind the revenge fuck, which is a uniquely chick concoction. It is a profoundly ridiculous idea that needs to assume it’s position at the top of the lexicon of lame love logic, above such notions as “I can change him” and the rhythm method.
Last night, while having a mellow evening with some of my brilliant and beautiful friends, the subject of the revenge fuck came up. My smart and sexy friend J, with her blonde hair and pouty lips, laughed as she retold the tale of a revenge fuck when she was 16 or so. The hot and handsome S and I listened intently to the familiar tale. She had been scorned by a guy, who she ran into a short while after said scorning, and offered him the best fuck of his life (as judged by teens,) as revenge. The idea being that he would realize that he lost the most amazing woman in the universe and suffer mightily as she disappeared from his life.
We laughed. Seriously, all that guy realized was that he was getting laid.
I looked to the ground, searched the inner recesses of my brain for the last time I fell victim to such ridiculous logic. 1,2,3, yup, 3 nights ago. Awesome. Now, to be fair, she was 16. There’s no way there were any excellent skills involved, I’m 41, and I have mad skills. So the whole thing you’re thinking, about a 41 year-old acting like a 16 year-old? Totally not applicable here. At all.
I look into S’s impossibly comforting eyes and say, “but it works when you’re in your 40’s, right?” One of his eyes curls down in the corner and he does the slow head shake of shame. “Nope.”
“So, when I hooked up with the ex to remind him that he lost the best blow-jobs of his life, I totally didn’t win that one, did I?”
“So, as I’m pulling out all the stops, thinking, ‘this’ll show him how amazing I am and what he’s missing,’ he’s thinking….”
“I’m getting a blow job.”
Look, we’ve all done it.
The chick is thinking that she is honestly going to deliver the best sex imaginable and he’ll realize that he has given up heavenly treasure and then shower her in love, affection, remorse and happily ever after – or the comforting knowledge that he’s dying inside, slowly, as a parade of sub-par women fail to satisfy the itch that only she can scratch.
She’s thinking, “I’m getting him.”
He’s thinking, “I’m getting laid.” That’s it.
And a few nights later, when he’s getting laid again, he’s not doing a blow-by-blow comparison of this laying as compared to any other laying, ever. All he’s thinking then, as someone else is pulling out all the stops is, “I’m getting laid.” That’s it.
When it comes to men analyzing sex in their lives, it can be boiled down to the blatantly binary “I want to be getting laid,” and “I am getting laid.” That’s about it. So where does the revenge fuck fit into that analysis? The revenge fuck is, simply, a fuck. It is getting laid. There is no punishment in getting laid.
“Ya, I totally didn’t win that one, did I?” I repeat.
“Nope. He got laid.”
But the revenge fuck is a revered tradition in the Crazy Chick Olympics. There must be some winning strategies, right?
Maybe fuck the best friend? Or fuck his new girlfriend? Come up with some way for him to witness you pulling out all the stops, on his best friend AND his new girlfriend?
I could only think of one example of a good fucking that may have retroactive revenge functions. I had a boyfriend who loved The Fifth Element more than any other movie, and his longing for LeeLoo was, well, it was the same as every geek-boy’s longing for LeeLoo. So I made an awesome LeeLoo costume and let him slip his multi-pass in multiple places and when it was over he said something like, “that was incredible, I will never forget that, and The Fifth Element will never be the same for me again.”
He turned out to be a real ass, pretty much Zorg himself, when you get right down to it. But dude, I OWN THAT MOVIE NOW. He can never watch it again without remembering that. HA! SUCKA!
Damn, I so sound like a 16 year-old, don’t I. And to be fair, that whole night was given to him as a seriously sweet girlfriend gift, so I rocked it for all the right reasons. I did it because I loved him, and wanted him to be happy, and I wanted to do it for him.
Which, really, is the only reason to have sex. There’s no “revenge sex.” There’s no “I can change him sex.” There’s no, “If I do this one thing then he’ll value me and give me what I want sex.” There’s just sex. And the only reason to do it is because it feels good to you, in whatever way, and you want to. Anything else is a game, and games have no place in relationships, whether they’re casual or serious.
“On the upside,” I look at S and J, “I had mind-blowing sex too.” I did. And I wanted it, because I wanted it. And him. But truthfully, not in a vengeful way. Or even an “I want this to last way.” It was just sex, with a palpable aftertaste of nostalgia.
“And you will again.”
Yup. But really, with someone new. Or at least someone who doesn’t need to be reminded that I’m amazing. Someone who knows it, all the time, and deserves to be given all the love and surprising sexiness that I have to offer, because he appreciates it. And returns it.
Loving well is the best revenge.