Ah, mythological creatures as boyfriends. We’ve seen in it movies, books, and on TV. What we may have thought was just a phase is clearly here to stay. So while we’re stuck in this odd segment of history, where vampires are hot and a dorito in a tie is president, we might as well fully lean into it and decide which supernatural creature we’d take with us into The Bachelorette fantasy suite.
Do I really even need to explain this? Strength – yes. Stamina – yes. Preternaturally beautiful and un-aging – yes. So strong, he would feel like he’s made out of solid rock. His whole body is an erection, all the time. The issue with blood is only a minor setback. I prefer a vampire to a nondescript, warm-blooded man who is afraid of menstrual cycles and cringes whenever he sees a box of tampons.
I’m going to be straight with you – this is not the first time I’ve thought about this. I think the appeal here is that I don’t actually have to acknowledge my partner? It would be as if my ghost boyfriend was coming to worship at my altar, offer me a sacrifice of back-to-back orgasms, and then dissipate into nothing. He won’t stop me in the middle of the act to push my hair out of my face and force me to make eye contact with him. Listen, buddy. We don’t have time for that. My ideal ghost lovers would be Oscar Wilde and Wilfred Owen. Given Wilde’s penchant for his own gender, he may not be into me, but that’s a shot worth taking.
If you are unfamiliar with the lore of an incubus, here it is – an incubus is an evil spirit that draws its life source from having sex with women. This is not unlike the entire roster of a football team or any dude named “Mike.” Fuck boy personality aside, I imagine an incubus to be at least one thousand years old, yet still retain the youthful pallor and jaw bone of a Hemsworth brother. So what you’re left with is a paradox – old yet un-aging, well-traveled and thrice educated, and should (I am assuming) be intricately versed in how to please a woman. The closest thing we have to this is Keanu Reeves, who stopped aging in 1996. I have a lot of questions for him.
I never really got into the whole werewolf thing. In Twilight, I didn’t pick a “Team Edward” or “Team Jacob” camp. I was more “Team Yeah Girl Take Home Two for The Price of One! Let’s BOGO That Shit!” Werewolves just don’t do it for me. I don’t buy into that “alpha male” mess. I am already hairy enough for the both of us. Although I agree, nothing you do counts on a full moon, at least one of us has to be responsible. Unless, each month, you lock yourself in a wine cellar during the course of your transformation, or you are Joe Manganiello or Jason Mamoa, I’m not interested, and I will drop your moody ass off at the vet. Next.
Let’s be clear here – wizards are essentially just people from the future. If you went back to Elizabethan England, and brought with you a hover board and played Pokémon Go while bebopping around Westminster Abbey, you would immediately be burned at the stake. I imagine that wizards are like, “Look at these idiots. They still DVR The Walking Dead. Don’t they know they can just pause time and summon a bottle of tequila before teleporting home?” I don’t think sex with a wizard would be anything out of the ordinary, unless he could also shape shift and take the form of John Stamos. Otherwise, what can you do? Light some candles with the flick of a wrist? You belong in a John Hughes movie. Pass.
The real-world equivalent is the man who lives at Coachella or Burning Man and never has bills. This would probably be terrible sex. Let’s start with the basics – where are his parts? Does the tail come off, or is that part of it? Afterwards, he would definitely want to talk to you about a shaman he met while he was surfing in Indonesia or discuss how “everything is vibes,” and truly, is that not one of Dante’s rings of hell? He’d also probably tell you to follow him on Instagram (@UnitedScalesOfMermanica) which would be an endless scroll of him doing yoga in Bali and painting a daisy on a woman’s areola. If you are drowning and a merman comes to save you, say, “sorry, I have a boyfriend,” and just let yourself die.