Photo by Jacek Dylag on Unsplash
I want to vent about the overabundance of back-lickers I've run into. In case you’re not familiar with the term, it’s okay. You shouldn’t be familiar with it because I made it up while on vacation in New Orleans.
A back-licker is a man who has no problem licking the back of a woman he’s just met in a bar. He thinks that by licking her back it’ll turn into a sure thing for the night.
But the back-licker isn’t just focused on the first woman whose back he licked. She also must have a friend. A sidekick. Because if he strikes out with the first woman the sidekick gives him something to move onto. Another back to lick.
What the back-lickers don’t realize is that their behavior is anything but sexy and seductive. It’s disgusting and desperate.
We women aren’t blind. We SEE him moving back and forth between the two of us, hoping one will give in. For him, it doesn’t matter which one does. To us, this is the lowest of low. Neither one of us feels desirable if you have no discernment.
Either hit on me or hit on my friend, not both. Raise your standards.
I’m sure I’m not the first woman to have an inebriated male walk up and lick her back while innocently sitting at a bar. But FOUR of them within ten days is a little extreme.
Okay, not all of them licked my back but the first one did. So from that night forward, all of them are now called back-lickers.
It all happened in New Orleans and I felt like my travel partner and I had red stamps on our foreheads that read, “If she says no, I’m open for business," with arrows pointing at each other.
The disgusting part about it was his lack of ability to make a choice between us and stick to it. We could have been blow-up dolls for all it mattered. As long as he had a place to stick something at the end of the night, it wouldn’t have mattered if we were breathing or not.
Needless to say, he struck out on both counts.
Then there was the traveling businessman. He actually seemed like a decent dude to chat with until he started inching his chair closer and closer to mine. And he began laughing way too hard at our jokes. We weren’t even that funny but when he laughed he would keel over until his head was basically in my lap.
At one point, when his friendliness turned into flirting I made it crystal clear that I don't hook up with traveling businessmen. He looked at me like I had three heads, as if to insinuate that I was crazy for thinking a hook up is what he wanted. But his actions spoke otherwise.
He nonchalantly shifted and got friendlier with my sidekick. And at the end of the night, he invited both of us to his room. Ugh.
Photo by Artur Matosyan on Unsplash
Then there were the two men who absolutely wanted a foursome. I don’t even need to expand on their story because they had no qualms about making it known that that’s what they were about. Neither one of them would have cared which peg went into which hole. How is that attractive?
The sad part is that both of them were super hotties. If they had only played their cards right, maybe one or both of them would have gotten lucky.
But no woman wants to feel like a random hole for a random peg.
And lastly, there was the bar bouncer. I’ll call him Bubba the back-licker. Think of any man who looks like a Bubba and that’s him.
Bubba was a jovial, big man. I thought he was funny and I had a conversation with him about how much I’ve enjoyed his city on vacation. Then I joked about never wanting to leave New Orleans, but being Canadian I’d have to marry someone in order to stay.
That was my first mistake. Of course, Bubba was on board. He was all in. Why, oh why couldn’t I just have a fun conversation without it turning into a hook-up or a marriage proposal?
I brushed Bubba off like he was the plague very early in the conversation, and he disappeared. Fast forward fifteen minutes when I started wondering where my sidekick was — she was only supposed to be going to the bathroom.
Bubba had her pinned to a wall off to the side, having the exact same conversation with her.
Guys! We women compare notes at the end of the night so we’re on to you! We know what you’re doing and it isn’t sexy!
The gender gap during the mating dance is the size of the Grand Canyon it seems. We want to feel wanted but you do everything opposite of making us feel wanted.
Incidences like these truly make me feel like men don’t care at all about who it is, as long as it’s warm and wet.
I’m not even saying I couldn’t be lured in by the occasional one-nighter. I might be old-ish but I’m not dead yet. However, if you can’t even make me feel like your actual target, then your aim is way off.
I’m not faceless, I have a name. But some of these dudes probably wouldn’t even recognize me if I went around the block, changed my dress, and then reappeared.
Please. For the love of dark rum and Coke….do better!
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