So, here we are. When I started this blog back in May of this year, I had been in a relationship for three months, and it was all good. I have progressed in that relationship up until recently, and now, this blog is about being single.
You see, there is one universal fact about me when I am single: I am promiscuous. I don’t hide from that fact, I don’t pretend not to be, but what I don’t do is make sure everyone I meet is aware there is still the chance of sleeping with me. You see, whilst I don’t mind being promiscuous, I prefer it to be on my terms, I want to be in control and select whom I sleep with, rather than they select me. It’s just my preference, and it’s something that works for me.
So why am I talking about this side of life, when really, I could keep it hidden away? Well, because I am fed up of the idea of shame.
You see, whether you like to admit it or not, everyone likes sex. We feel good when someone is interested in us sexually and are happy to have sex with us, even if we don’t go through with it, but it’s not something to be ashamed of. Sex is sex, and everyone gets their rocks off when they’re getting down and dirty.
The problem comes from generational societal expectations that everyone should pursue a life where you are in a stable relationship, living together and planning a family. That doesn’t work for all of us, and whilst I am all about my relationship when I am in one, I am more than happy not pursuing romantic inclinations, especially right now.
Slut shaming is one of those things that I hate, along with fat shaming. Possibly because I fall into both categories, but that is my choice. The funny thing about life without any ties or responsibilities, is that I can choose exactly how my life plays out, and exactly what I do with it only having an effect on me.
In college, I managed to rack up a reputation that I’d sleep around, but then I vanished off to university. When I returned to the scene in this city, in 2012/13, I once again, fulfilled that prophecy and was known for a good time. Late 2015 and I found myself single again, whilst I avoided the scene, I was still known for the same reputation I had built years before. That’s just how it is, you can pretend to be someone new, but the old faces always remember. Especially when they have formed different cliques and are more than willing to impart their knowledge to folk that weren’t around in your glory days.
That’s another issue I have, that I know there’s whispers when I walk into somewhere and someone recognises me. I’m not actually all that bothered, because when I realise exactly what they’re doing, I call them out on it. I am so plain spoken and direct, that everyone knows I am not here for a relationship, I’m just here for a good time, and some of these clique members will have either had the good time, or I rejected their offers to join me for a good time. That then starts the rumour mills going and then they try to slut shame you.
Oh no. Not on my watch. So I’ll call them out, in front of the clique, or whatever friend or lover they are with. You can’t try to shame me and expect me to accept that without you getting something back. Say what you want, but that doesn’t mean I can’t say something either.
Late 2015, I got drunk, a lot, with the same guy, and we had a lot of sex. But when I wasn’t about, he was getting some elsewhere. I was particularly drunk this one night, and I wasn’t exactly making wise choices, and for the first time ever, I managed to walk away with a nasty little present 5 days later. I am the type of person though that will talk about that sort of stuff, because I sometimes think, if I’ve gone through it, I should at least tell my friends what it is like so they don’t make the same mistake. That’s all well and good, but when you confide in people who pretend to be your friends and the suddenly you’re a pariah for something that was out of your control, it’s just bullshit.
That was one attempt at trying to slut shame me, because in my 13 years of being sexually active, I had finally caught my first sexually transmitted disease – that was the real bullshit. But things happen and we come out the other side.
In reality, and maybe it’s hard to believe when you look at me in detail, I can set up and have a roster of men with whom I will sleep with within a matter of days after becoming available. They know the drill, they know they can be switched out and replaced and that there is no commitment for me to sleep with them or let them spend the night if I don’t want them to. I call them my “fuck boys”, and whilst one takes objection, the rest are fine. But that’s because they’ve known me a while and understand. Of course, they are not mine, but they are people I know and will sleep with. I think my mother has this shock that I am like this, but let’s be real for a second:
It is our parents’ generation that really took divorce to a new level, and the subsequent remarriages and moving on. Why would we, as the next generation, view marriage as necessity? Who would really want to go through all that pain when you can just have disposable relationships? I suppose that’s a harsh way of looking at it, but that’s the truth.
I choose to be this way, just like sometimes I choose to exercise, and other times I choose to eat a tube of pringles for lunch. I won’t be ashamed for liking sex, having sex or branding myself as a fuck boy.