If I told him I want to be passed around like that, he’d be doubtful, to say the least. He’d be convinced it was me just wanting to be objectified, and we’d have to have a long conversation about motivations and desires and history and “feelings.”
And because I’m not about to sit through all that, he’ll never hear the truth, which is not that I want to be passed around like some worthless object. It’s the opposite—I want to be shared like some infectiously good book, lent out like a favored tool, borrowed like someone’s trusty, rusty truck when it’s moving day and you need it because everybody knows it’ll be able to get the job done. I want to be recommended, and praised, and talked about in the same overly-excited tones used to describe a new favorite TV show.
I want him to pass me around, sure—but like something he’s proud of.
(Source: , via dekebreuer)