"I know you, you're that slut from my English class".
I'm 20 years old, visiting my home town and standing in line outside a nightclub. A guy I recognize leaves the line up, undoes his pants and proceeds to urinate on the door of a neighboring coffee shop. One I have frequented many times as a former resident of the city.
"Um, can you not?" I say loudly. He does nothing.
"Hey, can you not piss on that coffee shop? You can literally pee inside in like 5 minutes or pee in the parking lot across the street".
He looks at me blankly. He looks at me again and I see some recognition in his face. I know he knows who I am. I can specifically remember our interactions. None pleasant. Once, Slut-shamer and I argued about contraception and whose responsibility it was when engaging in sexual activity, after the concept of a male birth control pill was brought forward for discussion by the sex ed teacher in high school. I believe his words were "Why would I take medication to keep some girl from getting pregnant. It's not my problem." I remember thinking "Great. You're going to be a real gift to society." I told him he was ignorant. He was incensed. I have wondered if he's fathered any accidental children and if he still thinks it's "not [his] problem".
Another time, I met a friend of his at a party. I never went to parties. I wasn't allowed to go to parties. I didn't really know kids from other high schools. I didn't really learn how to behave at parties or how to interact in large groups unsupervised. The prospect of male attention was exciting. Expected. Isn't that what people do at parties? Is that what I'm supposed to do at parties? We went outside on to a balcony and ended up making out. I looked up to see Slut-shamer at a window, looking at me and his friend, pointing to me and shaking his head. Slut-shamer's friend did not have Slut-shamer's approval. I was a poor choice. Find a different one. Slut-shamer's friend left the balcony and didn't come back.
"I remember you, you're that slut from my English class".
Silence. I had nothing to say for myself. Was I a slut? If I'm a slut, is he right to call me one? Am I less than him if I am a slut? People around me were as silent as I was. I could feel their humiliation with the proximity to me and the proximity to the interaction.
Slut-shamer smiled, satisfied with shutting me up. With the timing of a teenage rom-com, Slut-shamer's friend collected him from the line, indicated that he knew the bouncer and they would be spared the humiliating inconvenience of waiting in line. Waiting in line with the slut from English class.
SLUT.
For as long as I can remember, media has been telling me how to be pretty, how to be desirable, what's hot what's not, how to give good head, the right hair colour for my eyes, the right clothes for my body, how to manage my body hair, all for the enjoyment and approval of men. Get them to like you. sleep with them, but do it right, do it within these lines because if you're not careful, you might be a slut. Beauty = success. Validation from men = success.
I saw printed pornography when I was about 9. The negligence of the individual caring for me at the time I came into contact with it is potentially incriminating and humiliating, so I won't get into detail about how it happened. The women were beautiful to me. Everything that women should be, right? They were in magazines after all. Someone picked them Someone said they were good enough. They were right. They were the gold standard. Decorated, fit, confident. Make up on point, pussies perfectly groomed, skin smooth and shiny and covered in beautiful jewelry. I felt confused, but not. The message was clear to me. I took it in at the tender age of 9. I am certain it's impact on my life was significant.
When I was 10, I was at friend's house. We tried on her mom's club dresses and pretended to be strippers. They were like celebrities in our minds. They were beautiful. Men paid to see them. I wanted to be them. Striptease had come out a couple of years before and was on TV. I watched some of it. Someone wanted to pay Demi Moore $1,000,000 to have sex with her once. I remember thinking how pretty she was, how fit, how desired she was. What value she had. A million dollars. A million dollars.
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To be clear, I have zero issue with sex work, or sex workers. They deserve respect and protection and benefits just like any other worker. In providing them with these things, we would prevent exploitation and empower them to live their lives with dignity and respect. They deserve nothing less. But, I digress.... maybe I will delve further into this in another post.
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Over the next 15 years I confused sex with connection. Sex was an achievement, my abilities a source of pride. Something that was really me proving my worth to myself and whomever I was with. Ever searching for the validation that I couldn't get from myself and so desperately wanted. Even when I found myself in a long term committed relationship and eventually a marriage, I was happy for the attention from other men. My interest in women was a source of insecurity and confusion but also a source of satisfaction, because, men like that, right? Nothing was for me when it came to sex. I felt resentful of every thing I did because it was never for me. I didn't ever expect to cum. I was uncomfortable with focus on me in interaction. I so desperately wanted approval. I so desperately wanted validation but it was below the surface and easy for me to ignore.
When I found myself single after 9 years in a relationship, my next action was clear, find someone else. Now. And I did. And I didn't matter to him. Or the next one. One guy didn't take me on a single date. Not one. We got take out once. All we did was have sex. Validation and shame at the same time.
I have put up with some horrible treatment from men. I think deep down I've always thought I deserved it. Whether it was emotional neglect or outright aggression. I've taken it all, not without protest, but I've endured it. I have stayed. I've thought about it a lot and there are so many reasons why.
When I finally met someone who had similar issues to me, the opportunity for dialogue and personal growth was something so liberating for us both. There was a level of respect and caring and appreciation that I had never experienced in relation to sex. While the relationship wasn't perfect and ultimately ended for a time, I feel there was real benefit for me. Despite how fucked up it was, I learned a lot about myself. Part of what I gained was self awareness. Part of what I gained was self-worth. It pushed me to make a decision about my life, and if you read my previous post, you may remember I'm not super great at making hard decisions. I've come to the conclusion that I like sex, and honestly, I'm good at it and I'm not ashamed of it.
Pop-culture reference here: Amber Rose has been in media for organizing a "Slut-walk", for making female sexual empowerment ads, and for some real talk about consent on the show "It's not you, its Men". She gets so much flack. And for what? For enjoying herself? For being self aware. The patriarchy paints men as slaves to their loins, stupid, incapable of caring, boys will be boys after all. Entitled to your body, entitled to your sex. It tells you and me and every other lady, look hot, and give it up, but DON'T BE A SLUT.
A partner's ex wife once texted me and said "If you don't want me to call you slut, don't act like one". Her friend had seen her ex husband and I kissing downtown. Even a female social sciences and humanities student didn't hesitate to call another woman a slut.
My self-worth (for some reason this embarrasses me, it feels like failure on my part) is still lacking, believe me... but it's a work in progress... and I'm making progress. Am I slut? Maybe I am, but I am not ashamed.
<3
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