For me the word doesn't mean things that are so bad, not the things that would pop to your mind when someone next to you muttered in your ear about a girl passing you, "Bro, she's a slut." and then anyone hearing the comment passes dirty judgment on that girl, her kitten and her HIV status.
No, to me its something far off of that.
For me its very different because I've made my bed and I'll lie in it....And have with a few people, more than I actually can list on one hand, or two. I can see a girl who makes choices not based on social appeal and judgment, but on her own emotions, her own body and her own pleasure. Her own life and freedom.
I spoke with my cousin on the who turned twenty-two and the dreaded "S" word came up in the lines of dialogue and witty repartee. She was nervous because she had now slept with four men and wasn't sure how to feel about herself, her "slut status" if you will. I bit my nail and was glad we were only connected my wireless cell phone signals floating through the atmosphere versus actually sitting face to face. I let her know that four wasn't very much and when she asked me how many men I'd slept with, I told the truth.
She thought I was lying.
I countered her doubt and yet...
She still thought I was teasing her.
When finally, and achingly she believed me she got very quiet but then piped in with a story of her favorite sex memoir and started to recount it. Because all sluts like me love to hear sex stories, oh yeah.
Basically, the story was a let down and ended with her fucking a long standing high school friend after a chance encounter and reunion in a locked closet....In an empty house. How exciting is that? No one is there to catch you. Yes, closets seem like a fun place to be diddled but...Only if there's a chance of being caught.
But this would be impossible in an empty house in a locked closet.
I sighed and picked at my nail polish, trying not to think of all the more interesting things I could talk about but I demurred because they would flip her out seeing as how her libido has all the spice of an ice cube.
What would I tell my applepie cousin?
Could I talk about the four girl orgy I had at a house party in an outer suburb of London one summer? The sweaty palms sliding over heaving breasts as giggles and moans issued through the now steam and heat filled attic.
Musty sweet smells filling my senses as a girl lapped at my swollen and dripping clit, my orgasm pounding on the doors of my self control. My scream pounding to the very walls of the ancient 5 story town house as my body spasmed its way through its third orgasm within the hour and my body was reduced to a panting, sweaty and super-sensitive mass of naked breasts, thighs and a very tired kitten.
My body warmed afterward by the cuddling bodies of three other girls like an International lasagna. All of us a different nationality like global friendly poster-children for lesbianism: America, England, Brazil and Russia.
I couldn't talk about that with her. I couldn't tell her those sweaty details and be able to live with myself afterward.
Could I relay the time I let my blind friend go down on me because he could smell my wet kitten from his bedroom door as I stood waiting for him? Instead of leaving for a concert, he pulled me into his room and down onto the bed, kneeling before me as he gently pulled my panties down, commenting on the sweet smell of my most-feminine asset.
His lips soft and wet and hot and burning into me as he kissed my soft, wet and sacred lips. My arching back as I came in his face after his tongue swirled gentle stars on my clit and his strong hands held me down. His compliments hitting every sense aside from sight:
You taste so fucking wonderful, my lord, so wet. You smell like a dying flower in a cold room. Your moans are so lovely, so beautiful. Your skin is so soft and smooth, almost like a baby's, perfect.
I couldn't tell her that, I couldn't tell her I let my friend just go down on me without even taking me on a date first and having a first kiss. I don't think I ever kissed him on his mouth....Hmmm.
No, I couldn't tell her that.
Could I tell her about the time I stripped down lasciviously when I knew one of our family's friends was watching me through my half closed bedroom door, looking him in the eye the entire time? At 15, I was feeling that I was fodder for the male mind and sex drive, at 41 he saw me as a prime sexual being. I listened to the smooth music on my stereo and at times briefly closed my eyes and let my hips sway from side to side as I peeled another item of clothing from my sun-heated body. I felt his eyes burning my skin like a curse of lust and when I pulled my bra down over my forearms and his hand went to his mouth. I blew him a kiss and motioned for him to come inside.
His face was resolutely serious and focused like a surgeons. I smiled and when he kissed me on the side of neck and I moaned deep within my body and audibly. I knew he would long for me far away when he was by himself and that he might touch myself. I knew that when I thought of that fact later when I was alone, I would touch myself too.
No, that would push the limits of her morality and I couldn't do that to her, now could I? No, I wouldn't.
Could I expose to her the time I went down on my ex boyfriend's new girlfriend because she and I both knew she was a lesbian but was just toying with him because he had hurt me? It wasn't my plan, but she said it would be perfect and would love to extract some sex-related justice on him. She planned it so that he would walk into her apartment as I was going down on her, my tongue deep inside of her and my sense of flavor tasting her sweet and slightly salty dew. She came before he got there and we had to start again.
I didn't mind.
I don't think she did either.
I sucked gently on her super-sensitive and swollen clit as her back arched and she cursed out against god and he walked in, his mouth agape and his expression hurt and shocked. She came again, looking into his face.
And when she came so hard against my slick lips and slippery tongue, I looked into his face too.
No, that wouldn't do to be such a bad girl and push her sense of sexual self slip into darkness and crawl away from her into the abyss of morality. That would be like punishing her for having less than a sensual and passionate sex life and pushing that fact that I had a more varied and active sex life and drive than she could ever hope for (to borrow a line from fellow blogger, Jefferson).
So instead I yawned into the phone and spoke quickly and animated,
Oh my god cuz, you're such a naughty girl!
She giggled and assented. Too bad for her she hasn't even begun to realized what life can hold for you. What sex can give you and what you can take from other people with their permission, assent and sometimes, even hard determination.