miami oh walk of shaem

The Art of the Booty Call

The Don’ts

Don’t complain about coming over at 2 in the morning. These things aren’t planned out with time to spare. An urge is an urge—i.e. you will take it or leave it. There is a 5 minute time frame for responding to my text. An immediate confirmation lets me know you’re on the same page. If you ponder it for a good 20 minutes, the offer will most likely be given to someone else. You have one chance, so I suggest you jump on it. I am giving you the opportunity to hit the pinata and grab the candy while it’s still up for grabs.

Don’t call me ‘baby.’ You are only allowed to use pet-names when our clothes are off and in a moment of extreme sweat and fiery emotions. But the instant the knickers are pulled up, the sensitivity is switched OFF and reality ON.

Never assume you can just come over unshowered in sweats and a baggy tee. We aren’t a couple, and we are the furthest from comfortable with each other. Take the time to be self-conscious about yourself and dress in something that made me want you in the first place. In return, you can expect the same. I’ll probably be dressed like a total slore and smell like Kim Kardashian upon your arrival.

You will not, under any circumstances, ask me about my life, my friends, or my feelings. You are entitled to the following: one hour, my body, whatever food you can find in my apartment, and bathroom usage. Anything deeper than those four things is off limits.

My place, my playlist. You are not to provide input to what music we’re going to bang to. My taste is the only option—Common, John Legend, Drake. Deal with it. Don’t bother making a playlist with ‘what you think’ I’ll like this time around. I hated it last time, and I’ll hate it this time. Nobody listens to Blackstreet anymore.

Do not request to be my Facebook friend. The instant we are intertwined in each other’s social lives—even an internet-based one—my mind will begin to F with itself and wonder why you’re talking to other hoes apart from me. Once the deed is done and you just so happen to be my FB friend, guaranteed I’m going to lurk your pictures and stalk your wall posts to subconsciously keep you in check. In other words, ‘friends’ is a no-no in all walks of social life.

There is no cuddling and no sleeping over. Ever.

The Dos

Do bring something to drink. This invitation is BYOB. You and I both know that sex under the influence of something strong will make for a better evening. I guess what I’m also trying to say is that I’d rather not share my alcohol with you. My poison is not your poison—my tastes are not your tastes. Anything goes—just make sure that your mouth doesn’t smell like Captain Mo’ once you start making out with me.

Do me. And don’t be shy. There’s a reason I called you over here, so don’t feel like you have to be timid or respectful when it comes to taking my clothes off. The only time I would be concerned about doing it in a bed of rose petals is if I was with someone I considered my boyfriend. But since we’re not even friends I’d much rather you focus on the task at hand.

Do kiss me goodbye. It’s the nice version of saying “thank you” without making me feel like a total slut. Adding something like “talk to you later” or “see you soon” is appropriately vague, implying that we will do this again, but without the expectation of a call the next day that something like “call me tomorrow?” or “text me when you get home” would imply.

Do initiate the booty call next time around. Booty calls are like book clubs–we take turns hosting. I understand that these are strict rules, but it’s a cycle, meaning that you’re going to have the opportunity to be dictator next weekend.

Always enjoy yourself. The instant I sense you getting bored, it’s on to the next one.

Ladies: remember. He doesn’t strap, he doesn’t tap. This is college. It’s a cesspool of flesh-eating diseases.  


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