Stefanie LaRue: I'd Fuck a Dying Cancer Girl

So I was reading this article on MSNBC about a woman with metastatic breast cancer who found it difficult to find men to date. She would go to bars, meet a guy, start a conversation, and the male's interest would inexplicably end when she informed them that she can't work, she can't have kids, she has a disfigured right breast, and she's going to die soon. At which point that voice in my head which tells me what I think blurted out: "What the fuck is wrong with these guys? This woman is perfect!"

Think about it. She does not have an STD, she has cancer. She can't get pregnant, so there's no potential offspring to consider. She's depressed and her expectations are low, which means she'll appreciate you all the more. And she's come to accept the inevitable end to her life. So the relationship, really, would be movies, clinging-to-life sex, and discussions of the meaninglessnes of being.

As I said, perfect.

That's not to say that I desire detachment or fear commitment. Rather, the situation is quite the opposite; I cling to commitment like Styrofoam packing peanuts to a cat. I crave attachment in my relationships, which is why they always end as a result of the other person ending them.

But a relationship with a dying girl? It's perfect! You can genuinely care for her, appreciate her, and manifest enjoyable situations with her and not worry about her changing her mind or deciding she wants something else; she's going to fucking die. She doesn't have "the rest of her life" to think about. She has like a year or two. And as long as the relationship is loving, enjoyable, and mutually beneficial it's safe to say that it could exist within an ideal state of bliss for two years.

Plus, there's the clinging-to-life cancer-girl sex. And I have to imagine that dying girls who are literally clinging to life have to manifest that in their sexual performance. Sure, this particular woman has a disfigured right breast. But the left is fine, and that's one more breast than I have access to currently. And her vagina functions, which is what it's all about anyway.

My point is not that dying chicks are hot. I think the actual point is that dying chicks are not not hot; death does not take anything away from the situation. If a woman is cute and funny it really does not matter if she has terminal cancer. All terminal cancer means is that there is a general expectation for her to die soon. But we're all going to die. You could meet a 21 year old cute, funny girl and she could be hit by a bus. At least with the cancer chick you're expecting it.

We're all going to die. I don't see any point, therefore, in belittling or dismissing an individual simply because their death is more immanent, in an odd way of thinking about reality, than the death of someone else. Appreciate a person for who they are and what they can offer. Don't sequester them away as untenable simply because of the few things they can't offer. That's just fucking stupid.