The First Time I… Literally Received a “Netflix and Chill” Text

In 2015, finding a female in her early 20-somethings who is a virgin (no pun intended) to the “Netflix & Chill” phenomenon, is almost as much as a rarity as finding the Virgin Mary herself. However, the concept when actually put into practice still resonates some shock value in its bluntness, especially when there is no real attempt made to disguise its intentions.

Approaching 11:30 pm, prime “Netfilx & Chill” hour, an unexpected text appears on my phone. The contact, who’s name has been rightfully changed to “Fuckboy #2” (#1 was already taken) in my phone, wants to know, out of innocent curiosity, I’m sure:


I respond plainly, in no way interested in why he is asking, just using the question as a sort of cushion to break the fall of this prematurely failed booty-call attempt. He responds, much to my naive surprise:


My jaw drops. Wait, did he really just say that? Did he actually just use that term in it’s entirely cliched context with no attempts to even mask what he is really trying to say? I mean, he actually capitalized both words, as if it were the headline to that ill-advised warning that UCF sent to it’s students as a sort of sex-ed precautionary.  Everyone knows that “Nextflix & Chill” translates directly to “Netflix & Have Sex” and apparently this guy thinks I have romanticized this idea to mean something entirely different.


Okay, so it’s not like I had never “Netflix & Chill”-ed with the dude before, but under entirely different circumstances. We had been seeing each other for no longer than a hot minute at the very beginning of the year, a good eight months prior to said text. He had taken me out on a few nice dinners, some refreshingly original dates and even picked me up from the airport before I ever participated in a “Netflix & Chill” session. And we even had a few of these before we ever “smashed” so I see where a misdirected fuckboy would be confused, and put off by my swift shut down of the thirst. All I wanted to do was break it down for him so he could know where he went wrong, and possibly aid in the success of future similar endeavors, with different girls, consequently.

First of all, this is not the Jersey Shore house, so the term “smash” is never acceptable when referring to sex. Don’t get defensive, do I think you’re trying to “smash”? Absolutely. Am I mad about it? Absolutely not. Why else would you be asking me to hangout after 11 pm when we don’t even talk during regular daylight hours? Boys confuse your non-desire to do something as a sort of act of feminism or something. Just because I don’t want to have sex with you while Netflix plays in the background doesn’t mean I’m trying to call you out or make you look stupid. I’m just letting you know, as much of a blow to your prideful ego as it may be, I honestly don’t want to do that.

On a side note, the few times we had hooked up, he’s not exactly the type who thinks about what I want in bed. His version of sex is slamming me into a headboard until he finishes and then asking me, “Was that good for you?” So “smashing” is actually an extremely accurate descriptor for his rhythm in bed and I’m still not seeing where I am going to benefit from this Netflix & Smash session.


As much as I wanted to give Fuckboy #2 all of these helpful tips, I knew he’s a) truly not worth my attempts and b) probably just not “there” yet and will most likely misinterpret what I’m trying to say. Anyone who uses “word” as a final response awkwardly shows their failure to understand where the conversation went ary and how to respond to a female who genuinely has no interest in hanging out with you, no matter how chivalrous your intentions. I simply let him know I was onto bigger and better things, and next time, asking to “Hulu & Chill” might prove more successful.

What caught me the most off guard was the fact that this is actually how the male thought process works in the early twenty-first century. This is how men “court” us now. During my solo “Hulu & Chill” sessions, I’ve been guiltily binge watching new episodes of The Real World. One of the girls has been “dating” a guy for two years who has never asked her to be his official girlfriend, let alone ever taken her on a real date. She says, as a couple, they have “maybe been in a movie theater three times” which means a majority of their romance has blossomed through one too many “Netflix & Chill” sessions. Men apparently think just because we did it once, why wouldn’t we do it again? Just because I Netflix and Chill-ed with you while we were seeing each other doesn’t mean you can shoot me a lazy text half-a-year later, and I’ll be itching to jump in your bed. Just because Moses parted the Red Sea once doesn’t mean he can stick his staff in it anytime he wants and the ocean will go spread eagle again.

Let’s be real, if I want to “Netflix & Chill” I can very easily do that by myself. I don’t have to debate with anyone on what to watch, I don’t have to put pants on in attempts to not look easy, and I don’t have to worry about the circumstances of my own Red Sea. And hell, if you want to watch that sad Lindsey Lohan porno, that’s what vibrators are for. You’ll be surprised how liberated you feel when you tell Fuckboy #2 that you’re simply just not interested.

There’s a first time for everything, and I don’t just mean your “first time.” Of course, there’s vital, “right of passage” first times that everyone must encounter at some point, for example, moving to a new place, getting your heart broken, and making your first humiliating, drunk decision. Yet first times are imperative to the better (or often, identical) mistakes we’ll make later, and teach us the lessons that we’ll continue to not learn from. Every week, we’re going to be telling real first time stories from real girls, and that includes everything from celebrity house parties to Instagram marriage proposals. 

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