Well, here we go...
One of my mother’s favorite sayings is “you change your men more than you change your underwear!” I’ve heard this several times from her. Is she implying that I have poor hygiene, or that I’m a slut? Perhaps she assumes that the two go hand in hand? As most of us know, that depends on the night, and one’s access to a shower and fresh panties. I apologize in advance for my tangential nature, but I am reminded of a quote by yours truly that my friend Jessica STILL laughs about. It was 2007 (the worst of times, the best of times…) and I sauntered into her apartment at some ungodly hour of the morning and said “well, you know it’s been a good night when your thong is in your purse!” Laughter ensued, and continued…for years. Oh my, those were some interesting times. ANYWAYS, back to the issue of clean panties versus new men.
Okay, so apparently I’ve gone through a lot of boyfriends. Or perhaps they’ve gone through me. I suppose it depends on who you ask. Regardless, back to the point of the article. Where have I been, where the fuck am I now, why does it matter, and is it any better than where I used to be?
I’ve spent most of my life spinning my wheels, crashing, burning, re-inventing, and waking up hungover. It’s been a party, and it’s been non-stop. Shit…it’s been fun!! Those that know me well (or at all) know that there is never a dull moment, or a quiet bedroom. I guess in some ways, I’ve always been “sex-positive.” I just didn’t know it until about a year ago, but now that I do, I’m all fucking over it. The irony? Before I was “sex-positive,” I was a way bigger slut than I am now. Let’s explore, shall we? By the way- don’t EVER judge yourself for being a “slut,” at ANY point in your life. It’s NOT a bad thing- it just means that you’re having a good time!
One year ago, June 2011. I was newly single after a long and tumultuous relationship. I dated a wonderful man, and I am so blessed to have those memories, but it was time to walk away. So, I did. Cue: 6 months of online dating, partying with friends, sleeping, studying, getting fat, getting skinny, getting in trouble, finishing my M.A. degree. Whew, it was tiring.
It was fall and I’d made it into a doctoral program. It wasn’t the program of my choice, far from it, but I was going to make the best of it. I had a research mentor, a dissertation topic, and a whole summer’s worth of work with him. I was feeling pretty smug by the time the semester started. I wasn’t at the university of my choice, but I was going to rock out with my cock out. It was going to be okay.
So, the fall. The following doesn’t deserve more than a line or two, and so I will sum it up quickly: met a hot guy from a WASP family with a previous drug problem and MULTIPLE arrests, was skeptical, went on a date, was won over, “fell in love,” gave him a key, met his family, and got dumped. So, the fall- yeah, that was all in two months. Learned that sometimes, if it’s too good to be true, IT FUCKING IS. RUN.
Well, I still had my dissertation. Oops, nope! That had to go to the trash too, on my terms. Reason cited: un-reconcilable differences. Well, now I’m in a doctoral program with no dissertation topic, no chair, no direction, and I am considering dropping out. FUCK.
Cue: martinis, tears, fuck buddies. And a really beautiful, wise, supportive, intelligent woman. Within a week, I had a new chair and a new topic- one that I actually gave a fuck about. Here I am, 8 months later, doing research on the sex industry, interviewing sex workers, going to porn award shows, teaching psychology of gender, speaking in sexuality courses, working on a blog, writing articles for adult industry news sites, and…wow. It’s been a blur, a fabulous fucking blur. I’m LOVING this.
What I am trying to say is that the sex-positive movement, the sex industry, sex workers rights movement, WHATEVER THE FUCK YOU WANT TO CALL IT, has breathed new life into me. I am passionate, I am loud, I am opinionated, and I am proud. I am not ashamed to talk about the orgasm that I had three nights ago, or the discharge that sometimes stains my panties. Are you cringing? Well, I’m not. I am proud; proud to talk about the way my lover’s kiss tastes (and damn- I miss it!) Proud to admit that I watch porn, and that I can bring myself to orgasm while watching. I have been fascinated by the sex industry since I was young, perhaps 12 or 13 years old. Now, at 26, I am immersed in it, writing about it, (living it? Mystery!), getting my doctorate, and I am happy. For all of you radical feminists that insist that the sex-positive movement hurts and degrades women, I have a couple of word for you. Fuck you. Don’t tell me what to do with MY cunt—yeah, I said CUNT. CUNT CUNT CUNT!!!!!!!!!!!!!
On a final note; I’ve only had sex a handful of times in the last few months. Don’t get me wrong, I wish I was having it every day- multiple times per day!! However, the man that I love does not live close enough for me to fuck every day, and it sucks, but he’s worth it. The irony in that? I’ve always been sex-positive, but I didn’t know what to call it, and I was having a ton of sex. Now that I’ve identified myself with the movement, immersed myself in it, I’m having very little sex. Strange? Surprising? Who knows—I honestly don’t think there’s any correlation to my current romantic/sexual state and the sex positive movement. I just find it interesting that for the first time in my life, I have found a man worth waiting for, and I met him by being part of this movement. Strange, right? Aren’t we all horny animals that fuck everything we see? Well, apparently not. And if we were…? So fucking what? It’s not for me, but if it’s for you, then fuck yeah. Be safe, scream it loud, and make sure your partner/partners know how good they feel inside of you. I will never judge, and neither should you. No one should.
This was my most personal article yet, so I felt it would be appropriate to finally share a few photos of myself.