Do U Mind If I’m A Slut?
I am thinking about becoming a slut. Everyone thinks I am anyway, so it seems a shame not to live up to the illusion.
That’s the way it goes when you’re single. You have the option to play the field, so everyone presumes that you are.
For years my mother has referred to my house as a brothel because I’ve had so many boyfriends. Dad, a.k.a. my local barman, is also vigilant on the topic of my ‘love life’ – no doubt he imagines some illicit rendez-vous with god knows who and banging sex into the bargain.
While I accept that this presumption says more about him that it does about me, I feel bad letting him down. I admit nothing; give a coy smile instead which gets me out of the embarrassment of having to admit that I have nothing to admit.
Add to that the fact that I live in a holiday town. Such places attract a feast of summer bodies and sunshine lust. It’s considered almost sacrilegious not to take advantage.
Of course I’ve indulged but it’s safe to say that the sluttiest times of my life have usually taken place in a relationship.
Isn’t that one of the life’s little ironies. Generally the word slut is attached to single people when it’s people in relationships who have way more sex or at least have the potential too.
Isn’t the word ‘slut’ only used by quack people who are jealous of the frisky bastards and bastardettes lucky enough to be getting it on a regular basis? Mean sentiments usually inspire mean words.
Slut. Such a powerful word; has a regal ring to it, don’t you think?
Since last month’s ‘slutwalks’ in North America, the word has taken on new meaning. When a Canadian cop let slip that women would be safer on the streets if they didn’t dress like ‘sluts,’ feminists grabbed their placards and strutted out in their lacy underwear reclaiming their right to be a dirty filthy slut whenever the mood struck.
Of course that’s assuming that there is anything dirty or filthy about being a slut. I have friends who are proud of their sluttiness – mind you, they tend to be my male friends.
Women, en masse, are still pretty wary of this word. But in this day and age of open relationships, mass divorce and serial monogamy, is the concept even relevant anymore?
What is a slut exactly?
Someone who has sex with someone different every night? Someone who unashamedly sleeps with lots of different people? Someone who has no interest in love and just likes to fuck? All of those things?
Fact is if you ask someone ‘what is a slut?’ they tend to respond with vague answers. ‘Oh her, she’s a whore,’ they say pointing slyly at the one woman in town who does indeed work as a prostitute.
I know lots of guys with little black books full of fuck-buddies. These guys are straight, so they are phoning women. These are adult men and women who get together purely to enjoy an evening of sex. Are they all sluts?
While I know there are lots of gals out there who are happy to keep a relationship on a purely shag basis, they generally choose guys they are not totally into; that way they never get emotionally involved. As soon as they meet someone they like, they dump mister fuck-buddy … until he is needed again and assuming he’s available.
I can applaud people who have this arrangement but it would never work for me. The whole thing sounds too cold and primal for my liking … and I’m not convinced that feelings don’t get hurt or confused along the way.
Random weekend flings sound like a much better option to me. Although on that front, I could be said to be failing too (depending on your definition of slut).
In the last few weeks, I’ve bumped into two flirt buddies. One I know years; the other I partied with some months back. One I know in the flesh; the other has revealed nothing … well, almost nothing.
He did show me his dick at the end of the night but I was drunk by then and past the point of caring so besides the quick cock flash, nothing happened. In fact I knocked them both back. To some, that makes me a dick-tease. Wait. Is that worse than a slut?
Last week I was reading extracts from Dr. Pamela Stephenson-Connolly’s new book about sex. It’s full of first person ‘sex life’ stories from teenagers right through to people in their 80s.
They are funny, sad, endearing and revealing. The stories from the OAPs are the most telling. According to them sex drive does not necessarily diminish with age. Rather it’s a circumstantial thing insofar as if your circumstances permit you to have sex, you’re damn well going to do.
The really sad stories were the ones who said they wish they’d had more sex when they had the chance i.e. when they were younger.
Imagine being a frail 79-year-old lady weak at the knees and wet in the crotch because you’ve got the hots for the neighbour’s son. But you can’t have him so instead you hobble off down to the hospice. Once there, the sight of colonoscopy bags and bushy nose hair makes you pee your pants.
Oh God, is that what I’m heading for?
Think I better quench that thirst before I acquire the zimmerframe.
Right, what does a good woman have to do to get a decent shag round here?