Super Slut

I have never been one to lie back and think of England.

North American views on sex and sexuality are so skewed it fucking HURTS. We are this continent founded by people who were too puritanical to stay in England for fuck sakes. 200+ years later…same shit.

I used to carry so much shame about my body, my sex and stripping. The minute I admitted out loud that I love all these things a weight was lifted and everything got better. Atlas shrugged, stood up straight and walked off into the sunset with zero fucks given.

I love sex. I truly do, sex is better than eating, sleeping and almost as good as one of those ridiculously sticky hot summer nights mid heat wave, when the lake is body temperature and you swim naked completely lost in the quiet, wet, warm oblivion.

It will go without saying, part way through this article that I do not speak for all sluts. I am a once in a lifetime kind of harlot.

I could be the reigning Queen of all of Slutdom for all I know.

I lost my virginity on a lawn, in a sleeping, bag with a virtual stranger. I was drunk.

I was 15/16.

Originally she was on lock-down for High School Sweetheart. Sometime in the 10/11^th grade, before I had ever really kissed a boy proper, I got the reputation as a Super Slut. We will just thank Regan & Esther and their Puck-Bunny-Pussy-Posse for that moniker. The story goes, one of their mens said my name mid coitus, and I became Pussy-Posse public enemy number one. Don’t let the irony of that slip past you, a girl getting fucked gets called the name of a virgin, and…ya.
God let that be the truth. I don’t want to imagine a world where girls just make shit up about other girls and ruin their lives for no reason.
(=sarcasm.)

I couldn’t tell you the exact moment I stopped fighting against my rep and started rolling with it. I just know, the opportunity presented itself to rid myself of my troublesome virginity with someone from far, far away and I took it. Cherry discarded like a once favorite red sweater that didn’t fit anymore, and, in retrospect was silly and childish.

If memory serves (and it always does) the sex was good. Like really good. I had an orgasm or three. Kinda unheard of, but it happened.

Spent the next few years trying to get that feeling back. Rather unfair to let me know what an orgasm is then have it denied until I finally slept with High School Sweetheart (mind you, he could put his finger on my elbow and I would climax).

Biker Body Pillow has expressed a dislike for the following; Silver Linings Playbook quotes, and the over use of quotes mid article, says it interrupts the flow. Sorry Daddy-O, here goes. “Maybe Tiffany thinks that if she offers you something of value (sex) you will value her.” I am paraphrasing. This idea has been coming up a lot lately.

I did that thing. Often. I wanted to be valued, so I used sex as a commodity.

I was born backwards and have been living that way ever since. Cart before the horse, trailer before the truck is fixed, sex before the relationship…I didn’t know any other way to be valued.

I spent so long being treated as though being in my presence, or hanging out with me was some kind of price that needed to be paid by men, killing time between fucking me. Like my company was a burden. Fuck that shit. I know better now. I was with the wrong people.

The right guys? The ones who wanted to hang out, get to know me, spend time and effort on me?
I dumped them. I didn’t get it.

There was a weird subtext that I was not prepared to speak out loud or acknowledge.

Somehow, I was conditioned to believe that if a guy sexually aroused in my presence, because of something I did or said, it was my responsibility to take care of him. I have NO idea where that mindset came from, honestly, that can of worms is not open for discussion, lead lined casket, bury that shit and leave it there. But it explains my sexual exploits for most of high school and beyond, of which…there are many.

Saying no, not an option until recently. And I am at the tipping point between 40 and 41 as I write this, just realizing it is NOT okay to think the following… “might as well”, or “it’d be easier if I  just blew him”, or “I should probably just do this and avoid a fight”. These are not sexy thoughts. The sex itself was alright (mostly) but the reasoning…gross.

I have taught my son “even if she stops partway through and says NO, you stop. The end.”
Why do I value all women except myself this way?

How many times have I had sex just to shut someone up or get some sleep, or for a place for me to sleep, or out of some weird guilt/fucked up mentality of mine that I had to Do Something. 50-50 sadly.

I am not trying to excuse my behaviour, I don’t have to answer to anyone. I am a slut because I love sex. Just my reasoning for a lot of it is blurry and bordering on rapey/shitty.

This all came to light 3 weeks ago. BBP and I were asleepin’. I was the little spoon. 4am rearrangement of bodies and what to my wondering lower back should appear…morning wood. My first thought, “whoa, Nice”. Second thought, “this is going to ruin everything”.
So, I said no, gently, but still no. I braced myself for the morning wherein he would be angry and leave me. I slept for shit for the next few hours.

We woke up and he… smiled at me?

Had he forgotten how selfish and horrible I had been 4 hours earlier? Was it a dream?

I kicked the hornet’s nest and asked him.

Which led to the discussion wherein I said out loud (but in my mousiest meekest confessional voice) ‘honey, I think I have a problem. I thought you were going to hate me this morning’ I proceeded to explain my obligatory feelings regarding his rather impressive erection.

This look of righteous and genuine concern crossed his face, he then gathered my crumpled, scared self up in his arms, kissed my forehead. Looked me in the eyes and said that I am valuable.

And I believe him with my whole slutty little heart.