What It’s Like To Fall For A Bad Boy

I always hated bad boys. Maybe because of the stories I heard, maybe because of the movies I’ve seen or even maybe because of my sister’s experience at the hands of a Bad boy.

I preferred the comforting reliability of Good Boys — the boring yet steadfast assurance of their love and loyalty, their dependable nature, and their ability to make me feel “safe”. I’ve always hated stepping outside of my comfort zone after all.

Though I often fantasized about falling for a bad boy who, riding in on a horse, would sweep me off my feet and whisk me into the sweet oblivion of the night. I dreamt about moulding him into the perfect man for me and like in fairy tales and we would live happily ever after. However, in reality, I was stuck with the reassuring smile of the good boys.

It was until I met a real-life “Bad Boy”.

If there was a visual representation or definition of what a Bad Boy was supposed to be, it was him! You didn’t need to get to know him better, he so reeked of “BAD” you could smell it from a mile away.

It was like he was walking around with a placard that read “Beware bad boy coming through” hanging from a noose on his neck and across his oh so broad chest.

I broke my “No Bad Boys Allowed” rule like it was white china.

His smile was infectious. I watched it spread over his perfectly sculpted face. His white teeth slowly creeped out underneath his bronze black lips as his smile broadened and it gave me the same tingly feeling I always got when my favourite chocolate was melting in my mouth.

His voice sounded like a giant drum, beating away, bouncing off walls, tugging at the strings of my ears, beating to the rhythm of my heart. It was an organised noise that reminded me of an orchestra.

His presence felt like the wind — inconsistent and intense, blowing my emotions all over the place. Whenever he was around, I held on to him like you would a short skirt if the wind was threatening to lift it up and expose your privates. And like the wind, he always left as unexpectedly as he came. And like the aftermath of a whirlwind, he left nothing but sand in my mouth, dust in my hair, dirt gathered around my feet, my life in ruins.

His attention was like an adventure. Fleeting, forcing me to live in the moment, dangerously tantalizing, making me feel like I was the only person in the world. And then like all adventures, it ends, leaving me with nothing but memories in its place. Like it was never there like it had never happened like I had never even existed in such a place at such a time.

His passion was like the sea, it had no beginning and no end. Like a raging sea, it rippled with the slightest tussle, fumed with the slightest wind, washing away everything in its path.

His touch was fire and his kisses felt like electric waves, rocking my body, coursing through my veins and sparking fires that brightened even the darkest of nights.

His confidence was arrogant. He stood tall like the only tree in a desert. He walked like he owned the world like he was king of the jungle, the Alpha male of the ‘male gender pack’.

His words were sharp, cutting through and through like a double-edged sword. He always said it like he thought it, unfiltered, undiluted, uncensored, not caring whom he hurt, not noticing the sting of his words, not minding where he was or who was around him.

I had fallen, albeit hopelessly too for the face of the “The Bad Boys” brand.

Much like losing my virginity, I felt like I couldn’t leave the one who broke my “Bad Boy” Cherry. It felt like HE WAS MY FIRST.