No.

People often ask me why I am the way I am.
Why I'm the one guy who doesn't ogle girls,
doesn't join the other guys in catcalling,
why I don't go get drunk and laid at parties.
Why I don't enjoy the same things they do.
Sometimes, I lie and say I'm scared,
but I'd rather say Jaded, in truth.
I've never been... tempted, before.
No girl has ever turned my head like that.
I don't see girls like that, don't lust after them,
keep my eyes on their eyes,
see them for who rather than what they are.
I have nothing but the utmost disgust for those people,
the womanizers, the bedletters, the layarounds.
People who pretend that love is second to their own desire.
I hate them because... I used to date one.
A girl who didn't know the meaning of rejection,
a girl who couldn't understand how I felt.
Who couldn't commandeer my body whenever she wanted.
But oh did she try, so many times,
She would try so hard to catch me with my pants down,
literally and figuratively. Wait for my worst days,
wait for my depression to loosen up my anger,
drag me off to some secluded corner,
and grope me until she got bored...
I didn't ever say a word. I withstood the impulse,
to smack her, to grab those probing hands,
and break them... I don't hurt girls.
I was raised that way, but, every time,
I would be so tempted to snap her in two.
I came to hate her, and all she stood for,
every look, every proprietary slide of the hand,
every time her gaze drifted down.
I hated her so much... Yet I couldn't let go.
She trained me, caught me with sweet words,
and then used me as her personal lackey,
her trophy boy for so long...
She never managed to go the full way,
I never let her. even when she lured me to the woods
tried to drag me into the leaves with her,
I told her I didn't want to. She never listened.
I didn't hurt girls, but I didn't hurt her that day.
I was sorely tempted to tell her why.
Why I wouldn't go for her, wouldn't slip.
I didn't love her. I could never love her,
and I...
I view even hugging as an intimate thing,
a sign of absolute trust between two people.
The thought of... the other things...
I was not going to lose myself to her.
To the girl who disregarded me,
who broke me, who violated me,
I would never be her... her toy,
her plaything to discard when she pleased...
When her hands drifted down, I caught them.
I twisted her until She could see my eyes,
see every ounce of loathing and anger.
And she looked excited, eager.
She thought I had fallen for it,
she thought she had won over my self-control.
She didn't think it was possible,
didn't even consider the possibility that I hated her... probing.
I looked her in the eyes that night and told her upfront.
One word, something I wanted to say for so long.
I snarled, a wolf's smile in my eyes.
No. I would not lay with her of all people.
I told her I didn't sleep with people who used me,
that I wouldn't be her plaything. She didn't bat an eye.
She smiled and said she'd have to try harder.
I told her to go warm someone else's bed, to use nicer language here.
Needless to say, she still caught me the next day,
and the next after that,
and the next.
I have never hated someone so thoroughly.
Except for her.