What I never got to say

Dear fella
You might not realise this, but you were my first. Yep, it's true. Officially, it was the guy before you that I rolled around on Shelly beach with but to be absolutely honest he was hung like a pinkie finger and I'm still not convinced it actually made it... you know, inside. Which means UNofficially, you were my first. Shocked? Oh really, do use your brain (the brain on the top of your neck, not the one that's saggy, pink, often has the faint odour 3 day old indian food and sits inside the jocks your mum picked out) and put two and two together; when we did it, it hurt like hell, was awkward as all get out and there was fucking blood everywhere. Oh, you don't remember the blood and pain? No, I don't suppose you would considering your brain was a touch foggy after having an orgasm - mine, however, was NOT foggy and did in fact see the blood and yes, registered the pain. Come to think of it fella, you must have noticed something was not quite right because you did take the time to wipe your hands all over my sheets and leave my bed looking like a fucking slaughterhouse at Thanksgiving. But I digress... Yes, you were my (un) official first and while this may or may not have made a blip on your fella-radar, I would like to set you straight on a couple of small points.
1. Even though you were my first, it didn't matter much to me. No, honestly, when I think about you now, I struggle to remember your name (although my friend Holly recalls it quickly, with very little prompting, just proving the point that women friends are the greatest asset another woman can have in the never ending war against male idiocy and fuckwitedness). I don't really recall where I met you - of course, the litres of alcohol purchased from 7-eleven and skulled on the street corner have something to do with that - and I don't really care. I don't think I ever really cared because I was having the time of my life and you may or may not have fitted into the great time I was having. Either way, you were never going to have a monu-fucking-mental impact on my life. In summary of this point = GET OVER YOURSELF, YOU EGOTISTICAL TWAT.
2. I fear you got the wrong end of the stick. The times we spoke on the phone after we did "the deed" I wasn't flicking idling through bridal mags and doodling the names of our children. I genuinely meant it when I said I understood that you were leaving the country. I genuinely meant it when I said I'd had fun with you and would like to have *wink wink, nudge nudge* fun with you again. I genuinely meant it when I said "yes, I am free Friday night" and when you replied "great, I'll call you and we'll go out around 7pm", I genuinely thought we'd come to a genuine agreement to go out Friday night. So when you genuinely didn't call and genuinely forgot to answer you phone and genuinely left me sitting in my bedroom for three hours, I was genuinely upset. HOWEVER, I was only upset because lying to a woman and making a woman wait like an idiot makes me realise that I slept with a genuine coward who thinks women can't handle honesty... best to keep the poor weak flowers in the dark, clinging to the scrap of hope that your previously genuine body has been run over by a genuinely enormous bus whilst en route to pick me up for our genuine date. In summary of point 2: WOMEN ARE NOT EMOTIONAL RETARDS, SO DON'T ASSUME WE CAN'T HANDLE IT. BE. FUCKING. HONEST.
3. Lastly, I'd like to offer my thanks. Thanks for fucking off without a word because now I know that some men do that. Thanks for helping me to realise that being alone is better than being with douchebag who talks rather than does and couldn't find a clitorus with an iphone app called i-clit and a large red arrow pointing the way. In summary - YOU WERE A SCREAMING DISAPPOINTMENT BUT YOU TAUGHT ME A LOT ABOUT MYSELF, SO THANKS.

Oh, and fella, just so we're absolutely, crystal-couldn't-be-this-clear clear, I say this now not because I still care about you but because I think it's about time you heard it. I think you're ready. You're grown now - hey, you probably even buy your own jocks. And not just you, but all men should hear it because unfortunately it applies to more than one of you fucking tree sloths. And, no, I'm not some man-hating femo nazi - I'm a woman. It's what we all think and what I never got to say to you before you left.

Sincerely not yours
Danielle