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I’d like to open this blog post by telling my dad, mom, aunt, uncle, etc to immediately close this tab. I’d like to thank my friends for overwhelming mass amounts of inspiration. I was originally very hesitant to publish this piece, not because I don’t believe in every word I wrote, but because of the judgement that may come of it. However, I think it is more important that I speak up as opposed to preserving my reputation (do I even have one?). This is written to nobody specific, but hopefully speaks to many.
To Mr. Last Weekend,
Hello, I hope all is well. I’m not sure if you remember me, every time I try to make eye-contact you tend to look away. Maybe your memory is foggy, so let me introduce myself again. My name is Mackenzie. I’m not sure if you remember my last name, or if I even told you in the first place, but its Newcomb.
When the first time someone called me a slut was; I’m really not sure. There was no reason for me to hold on to that moment as they were probably kidding. When I was younger I used to think of the word as nothing but a tribute to sexual liberation. I will never forget the first guy to tell me I had “mosquito bite” boobs, because when you’re 15 there is no greater insult than “prude”. The so-called “whores” got all the attention from guys, and I was the furthest thought from their mind…. for awhile anyways.
I’m sure you’re confused as to why I am confessing all of this to you, after all we don’t really know each other, but I encourage you to read on; you might learn something.
I have a question for you, how do you avoid being called a slut? Was it the v-neck I wore that made you treat me like a piece of meat, was it too juicy for you? Did my floral dress scream “fuck and chuck”? Or maybe I never stood a chance at all. There is evidence that in order to be “wifed up” one must be a size zero waist, and bleach blonde. Not only that, but she must be the perfect combination of sexy and “bring home to mom”. In order to be pursued as a girlfriend, one must not be too skinny, but must be in excellent shape. She must know how to apply makeup flawlessly, in order to look like she does not wear any at all. One must also have enough personality to entertain you, but not so much that I become annoying. Unfortunately that leaves those of us who do not match this criteria to fend for ourselves on a Friday night, trying to play “hard to get” while the tequila in our blood is trying to get the night boiling.
It may appear that sluts don’t have hearts, they just have hormones. Is it possible that perhaps “sluts” actually might have abnormally large hearts, ones that need more love than most (which is why they so easily let people in). I would like you to consider for a moment that one-night-stands happen not because they want to see a different penis every weekend, but because the last guy can’t imagine making a commitment to a girl who is “such a whore”.
It never felt very excessive, there was never a point where I ran a brothel out of my dorm room. Perhaps I am virtually undatable. It could be the fact that I have a blog about sex, it could be the fact that I have a reputation following me. Whatever it is, it is what it is. I think purity is a hoax. One number doesn’t give a full explanation of WHY something happened. Maybe my judgement isn’t perfect and I can’t tell a good guy from a bad one. I can tell you this, with the exception of a few nights on vodka that probably weren’t in my best interest, I assure you I always hoped that _____ and I would have an arrangement that lasted longer than the next morning.
Instead of granting me the decency of an awkward wave the next time you see me; maybe you should consider more thoroughly what this encounter would be like before we slept together. Unless strangers accidentally make eye-contact they do not speak to one another. That is fine, because at least that relationship is honest. Why does the reaction one would have to a complete stranger so closely resemble that of two people who have seen each other completely naked? Instead of acting like you didn’t anticipate my arrival, acknowledge me with the respect you’d pretend to have if you were trying to get with me for the very first time.
I want you to know something, Mr. Last Weekend; the look on your face said it all. While you may have thought you acted like you were Mr.Cool, you were actually just Mr. Obvious. You didn’t want me to be at the party. You were hoping you’d be able to hangout with the girl you actually like who doesn’t give you the time of day, the girl who definitely isn’t sleeping with you and probably never will. You did this instead of acknowledging a girl who definitely thought you were cool, and probably would have done it all over again. Now I just think you’re an asshole (and lets be clear, you are) and feel like an idiot. You know you never would have made me feel this way when you were trying to get with me.
I think I owe you an apology, i’m sorry that I went home with you the first night I met you. I’m sorry that I had to sneak out early, because I had somewhere to be that morning. I’m sorry for acting like a normal human being, who happened to drink a bottle of wine and a pitcher of tequila sunrise. It probably would have been best if we had never met, but luckily I didn’t let you take off the condom as you requested– otherwise we’d probably have to meet many more times in order for me to collect child support checks (only after I take a paternity test— whores cannot be trusted.)
As far as last night goes– I am sorry for the unknown inconvenience of being at the same party as you. I sincerely hope you were able to reel in another bimbo that night. I also hope this time you didn’t get “whisky dick” in the middle of sex.
I am sorry that I friended you on Facebook. I am also extremely apologetic that I gave you my number. After all, nothing raises a red flag quite like requesting a text message. But really, you can think I am psycho all you want. In some ways you are correct, but I’m only crazy if I am crazy about someone, and I am completely indifferent about your existence. I guess I can understand your train of thought though, you think I just can’t get enough of your average size penis that you used to have ever-so-selfish sex with me. Your looks? Well i’d give them a five on a scale of one through ten. It was your slightly below exceptional personality that led me to your bedroom…… wait that was definitely the cocktails.
I never wanted to be a slut, I wanted to feel good, I wanted to kiss hot boys and have fun. I didn’t want to feel like something someone could just throw away the next day. Some girls are just lucky, they get to spend all their time with the one person they truly want to be with. They have low “numbers” and because of their long terms in relationships they will always be looked at as a girl who is datable. Its different for other girls, you know. Guys don’t see that. Guys don’t see past a weekend story or a number. They can have girls lined up at their door every weekend, but thats OK because they have a penis.
These girls who have so called “high numbers” aren’t only the ones who hang off every dude at the bar, they aren’t the girls wearing the tightest of skirts or who have the selfiest of profile pictures on Facebook. We are everywhere, we come in flannels, sundresses, sober and tipsy. We don’t all initiate threesomes or let guys put it “in the butt”. Many of us have had long-term relationships with guys who aren’t “pimp daddies”, and some of us have never found someone we want to settle down with. “Innocent” should only be a character trait that comes into consideration when you’re choosing a prostitute in Bangkok. If the number of guys a girl has had sex with is of that much of a concern to you, prepare to have vanilla sex for the rest of your life, or find one of these girls on the side. If the number of guys a girl has had sex with is of that much of a concern to you, you’re choosing to focus your attention and priorities on something irrelevant to your relationship, as opposed to what REALLY matters.
As for those girls who aren’t trying to be tied down, ever think its because they don’t want to settle for the guys who want to date them? Perhaps they aren’t the man of their dreams and they don’t feel like they should have to be committed to someone they inevitably won’t be with forever. Maybe they don’t like having to check-in with someone every hour of the day. Maybe they are too busy finding themselves to keep up with somebody else. Or maybe, even though they are cool girls with great personalities and good looks, nobody is trying to date them. Maybe its hard for you to believe, as a friend of mine, or even as an acquaintance; that I would not be able to “find someone to date me”. Well, I haven’t been on any online dating sites recently and the people I surround myself with are bimbo-obsessed college guys who think the number of notches on their belt directly correlates to their manhood. Its hard to find a “good man” when all men, the good and the bad, are searching high and low for girls who are as pure as can be, minus of course their virginity which is almost as big of a turn-off as being sexually active. I find it disgusting that in a world where women are supposedly “sexually liberal” that most men would prefer a woman who has encountered a spell as dry as the desert for six months as opposed to a girl who is comfortable enough with herself and her sexuality to fucking have sex.
Perhaps I am simply bitter that according to many many men I am tainted, undatable, and unattractive. However, if you didn’t ask, and I didn’t tell, I think you’d like me. Also– I bet you’d never guess. Its the most common misconception about so-called whores; that they want to be sluts. “Slut” is a noun, it is not a way to describe a person but a way to redefine them. I am not a slut, and while some of the verbs I part-take in may be described as “slutty” as in the adjective, this is objective– I am a lot more than that. I am a writer, a friend, a student, and a human being with a lot of substance. You may think you’ve got me figured out, but for someone whose only been inside me once– you have a lot to learn.