I’m Fucking a Feminist

GMAC hit me up on a Friday night. He had a group of feminists who were experiencing some sort of self-imposed sexual starvation. Cold streaks lasting years instead of months. Apparently, the energy costs of keeping their vibrators constantly buzzing was sapping all of their emotional capital. They wanted men, and GMAC wanted pimp me out to them.

When he said that they were feminists, I was a little hesitant. I mean, they are feminists. A group of women that we constantly rag on. The cause of so much of the misunderstandings and frustrations that we men deal with on a constant basis. There are blogs devoted to daily fighting back the scourge that feminism has wrought. Hell, at one point I swore I’d run from a feminist if I came across one.

The problem was I couldn’t remember why. It had been so long since I had actually interacted with a known feminist, that I had completely forgotten why I had stayed away. So when GMAC told me about them, all I could think was sex, the pill, and abortions. Staircases and wire hangers. In other words, I wouldn’t have to worry about the next 18 years.

So I headed out with GMAC, and met the group of women. I had my choice of three single girls, and each were excited that I was there. I chose the tall thin one, and I knew that it was going to be easy. She kept smiling, kept talking, and we bought each other a round. She couldn’t believe that last part, about her buying me a drink. Like it was going against what women are supposed to do, or feminism, or something.

I ran absolutely no game. If anything, I just did what Roosh said tight game boils down to: good chat. Except that I didn’t use any of my routines or standard material. The conversation just flowed naturally from topic to topic. We chatted about the bands that were performing, her graduate studies in women, my job, and other general observations. She said that she wasn’t really a true-blood feminazi; she’s more of a fan of feminism. Or maybe post-feminism. Whatever that is. FemFan told me something about it, but I only remember parts of it. It’s a strategy I use so I can tease her about her beliefs later, by misstating something she said earlier. Works like a charm.

By the end of the night, we hadn’t had much physical contact. Her whole group of friends was right there with us, and I wasn’t about to start making out with her in front of them. As it turns out, she made the move herself. We stood in the middle, surrounded by her group, and she pulled me in for the sloppy makeout. Later, she told me that she didn’t care if that group of friends saw us. And she told the girls that she was going home with me. Stopping the cockblock before it could even begin.

There’s a couple of interesting things about FemFan. She’s about my height, and wears heels at least 3 inches, all of the time. She has a ton of them. I couldn’t believe my eyes when she saw all of the pairs. It’s very non-DC of her. And it makes sense because she’s from the midwest, and has only been here for a year.

The other interesting thing is she takes my seed like a solider. All of it. Not one complaint.

From what I know of her, I really don’t care if she’s a feminist or not. Because in the end, all I want is a good-looking girl that I can raw dog on my constant beck and call. And she’s ready and eager to be that girl.

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