An open letter to boys in Factory

Dear boys,

It is a truth universally acknowledged that the sole reason girls go to Factory is for boys to rub themselves against us as we dance. Forget the fact that it’s been a long week and we’re more in the mood for a bit of Beyonce than whatever’s on at Antwerp Mansion tonight. The real reason we’re here is for you.

It’s why we wear tight clothes. You know that black bodysuit with the low cut front and lace up detail that makes our tits look great? It’s got nothing to do with the hundred or so selfies we took for Instagram before we left the house. What about those high waisted jeans that give us the arse of a Kardashian? Absolutely no relation to the fact they’re super stretchy and let us twerk, slut-drop and shimmy to our heart’s desire.

And to be honest, the only reason we twerk in general is to impress you. We don’t actually enjoy it. It’s just there’s so many beautiful girls here we’re competing against and you look so great in your Polo Ralph Lauren t-shirt with your 99p vodka mixer, we’re desperate to be the girl that catches your eye.

And you’re all such gentlemen. We just love the way you start grinding against us so unexpectedly. I mean, who doesn’t love a good surprise? Ooh and the way you grab our arses without our consent turns us on like nothing else. You truly know how to make a get a girl in the mood.

We especially love it when we’ve said no but you keep going regardless. You may not remember our names but you’ve definitely gotten to know us well enough that you recognise we’re simply teasing you. You know we’re just playing hard to get and saw past our defence mechanisms to give us what we really want.

But above all, our absolute favourite thing is when you get your friends to tell us how mean we are when we turn you down. It makes us feel truly empowered and getting them to do your dirty work only makes you seem like even more of a man. I don’t know about you but I feel power couple status coming on.

And that’s it really. We just really appreciate everything you do for us and wanted to let you know.

Yours thankfully,

Girls of Manchester

P.S. Just kidding. Touch me again and you’ll wish you’d never been born.