I was 21 when it finally happened, but I went straight into being a slut without pausing for breath. I'd been ready to get laid for a long time, but my hang-ups about being fat and closeted, along with a sexually terrified high school girlfriend, were barriers to my self-discovery. Once I was in the game, however, I found all kinds of ways to play it.
Being a slut was never a negative for me. I embraced the identity whole-heartedly, with open relationships, multiple lovers, anonymous hand jobs and, eventually, visits to bathhouses.
There were a couple of interesting but failed attempts at monogamy within the first year or so, but after these I was even more committed to having sex for sex's sake. I wanted to see what it was like with as many people as possible, try out new things, see how many cocks I could see in one night. I wanted to be open to exploring as many different aspects of my relationships with other people as possible.
I wasn't acting out self-hatred or trying to make up for a lack of love and affection. I just liked sex. A lot. And the life of a slut seems to agree with me, but it isn't always easy.
I met "Simon" just over six months ago. He was a friend of a friend, and we met at his house as a group of us prepared to head over to the Gladstone. I was into him even before I'd said anything beyond hello. His video collection was in alphabetical order (except the Drew Barrymore movies, which were in the order of her age at the time of production), and he made three hilarious pop culture references in the first three minutes. He even drank gin and tonics, one of my favourites. We talked at the bar, and by the end of the night I was riding the elevator up to his apartment. I could hardly wait for the sex.
Except we didn't have sex. We watched the first half of Clueless, we made out for a couple of hours, and then I went home, blueballed and confused, with his phone number in my pocket. Not only do I always have sex the first time around, if only to see what it's like with that person, but I certainly do not ever ask for phone numbers. I thought it was going to be a one-night stand, but I was even planning to call him!
The next time we hung out, much the same thing happened, although it was a different movie and we weren't drunk. It took until the third date before I finally got his pants off and got down to business. It was the kind of introductory period of chastity to which I have always been firmly opposed.
A couple of months later, it got more challenging. I was told that if I wanted the relationship to continue, it would have to be monogamous. In spite of myself, in spite of proudly proclaiming myself a slut, in spite of a much-enjoyed visit to the bathhouse the week before this conversation, I said I would give it a try. It was one of the most surprising things I have ever heard come out of my mouth.
Four months later, I haven't touched anyone else's cock but his. It's still a strange situation for me, and I have made no secret of the fact that it is not my ideal form of relationship. I intend to ask regularly for a re-evaluation, to see if maybe he could handle a little more flexibility, but for now it's a sacrifice I'm willing to make.
It does continue to be a sacrifice, though. Although this may well be the best sex of my life, I still want to fuck other men, to have threesomes and orgies, to go home with someone whose name I don't know just because I like the way he looked at me or the way he brushed past me in a lineup.
I miss the freedom I used to have, even as I am with the best man I have ever met. And I'm not sure what to do about it.
Whatever happens with Simon, I remain committed to being a slut; perhaps a non-practising one, but a slut nonetheless. I refuse to accept the bullshit romantic narrative that I was just waiting for the right man to come along and now that he has I've seen the error of my wild, youthful ways.
Absolutely not. I have found a man I am willing to sacrifice for, willing to compromise with, but it is for his sake that I do it, not because of some personal epiphany about the emptiness of my past undertakings.
Celebrating sex has been an integral part of the person I've become, and I continue to celebrate it every day I spend with my lover, just in a very different way. Simon continues to be worth the compromise, so I will go with it because I want to be with him right now. Maybe that will change. Maybe he will have to compromise. Maybe not.
Either way, I refuse to tell the story of how I met the man of my dreams and everyone else just faded away. That does a disservice to both of us. Instead, I insist on being able to be honest about my interests and attractions, and on constantly re-examining what kind of relationship we both want. Through all of it, I remain a slut, even if I am just his slut.