I am applying for the role of FuqboiBoyToy. I am pleased to inform you my irrepressible DaddyIssues magnetize me to men like you, who perceive me as fuckable, expendable, and/or easily charmed. I am confident my 20+ years “as” a straight man arm me with the shame needed to succeed in this role. In turn, my gay desires—repressed all those years—have made me so horny that I often can’t think straight. (Pun intended, hahaha!) 

My background makes me optimally restless and reckless. When a nice man arrives in my life, I will pay him no mind. The first man who ever fucked me was a fuqboi. I, his cloying BoyToy. That night, he threw my legs behind my head and ate my ass. His flickering eyes and oyster mouth scared me, but I didn’t let anything scare me. When his dancer legs pythoned my legs I thought with sudden clarity This is how women get raped. But I never said that aloud. Instead, I rode his cock, cartoonishly large. I apologized when I got poop on his sheets. I took a shower. I let him fuck me again. I chased this fuqboi for months. What makes me a prime candidate for the FuqboiBoyToy role is not only my penchant for self-blame but also my faith in others’ redemption. 

As your FuqboiBoyToy, I promise to be slut for your story. Unreturned texts titillate me, as do secrets. If you slit a cow’s throat on Snapchat, I will reply simply: Wow. If your roommate unexpectedly comes home, I will wait in your bedroom and not make a peep. I am adept at contorting myself to meet the demands of an extramarital affair, especially if you are straight. I will buy the beers you like, drive an hour to your office, temper my nerves/anger when you ghost me, heed your eventual text (Office manager won’t leave, drive somewhere else), wait in a sad gas station, endure the radio news: wildfires rage, Israel bombs, floods flood. My eagerness to tune out the world’s demise means I will seamlessly untether myself from sorrow whenever you summon me back. 

You will make a mess only I can clean. You won’t remember my name— 

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