Slutty von Slutwhore is lurking in the wings…

I’m not GONNA give my friends access to my dating apps so they can handle the correspondence and I won’t freeze up and feel like stress vomiting when I try talking to people I WANT to answer.
 
But I’ve definitely considered it.
 
I’m not sure what I’m scared of, exactly, but it’s definitely fear. Of WHAT, Brain? Effort? Failure? Success?
 
Christ. This is gonna be a LONG year in therapy. She’s already told me, “You can just DATE them, you don’t have to have sex with them,” and I…do not understand that boundary. I’ve waited too long — if a man touches me the right way, I’m-a fuck him. I won’t even WANT to, my body will just DO it, and then I’ll feel bad about it, and then we can talk about THAT in therapy. It’s the Circle of Slut Shame, Simba!

A watched iPhone never beeps with a text that saves your faith in humanity.

Having given this some thought, and having STILL not heard from this guy…

I had sex with a person I liked, and who, at the time, I honestly thought liked me. Not LOVED me, not falling for me, but like…we could be friends.

THEN he started fading away. We haven’t had sex since.

So, that’s not this guy keeping me around to get his dick wet, not any reason for me to feel slutty. That’s a relationship that started, was fine for a few weeks, then…ended? I guess? It’d be SUPER great to be sure of that. I don’t think I’ll be convinced until we get to the weekend and he’s still radio silent. (We had tentative plans.)

I WILL actually be hurt if he just ghosted. Not BADLY, but I slept with him because I thought we were at least THAT cool. Like, hey, I swallowed your semen — show some goddamn respect.

But I can handle “ghosting;” I’ve been on the other side of that. Nice person, fine in bed, but just not for me, but I’m a little bitch who can’t just say that, hence the fadeaway.*

That helps.

*For the record, though, it DOES feel shitty and I’ve tried to learn to be a goddamn grownup and tell people. It sucks, but it’s not THAT bad. Tell people. Don’t be a dick.

The Girls’ Guide to Emotional Fort Building

Ah, yes. A key decision in any “relationship” — do I end it now while I’m pretty sure I can handle it, or let it ride until it crashes and burns in the most damaging possible way?

Pfft. JK, it’s not actually a question. Y’all know I’ll suffer for a good story — let’s dance, Feelings!

Kidding. The beauty of having played the He’s Just Not That Into You home game for 2 years a while back is that I can see it easily now. Plus ending the 10-year relationship right before THAT… I mean, it can’t hurt TOO much if this one ends. “We’re done? Oh, OK, cool. I’ll have more time to clean.”

But it turns out the “slut shame” doesn’t come from the sex. It comes from sex being all there is — from me not being feelings-worthy for whatever reason, from being kept around solely for my ability to wet a dick.

I’m not built for that. I don’t need Edward Lewis, but I damn sure ain’t settlin’ for Stuckey. 

I acknowledge the possibility that I’m hormonal and misinterpreting, but I think I’m right. If I can’t tell that you, um, like me, or want to spend time with me, that is legit insane-making for my membranes.

I deleted (not blocked) his number, and, with it, my ability to text him anything belligerent and cunty. He’s still free to contact me, though, so we’ll see what happens.

Hm… Though I guess I probably should’ve seen what happened before I spent the weekend getting myself over this based on these assumptions… Oops. Ah, well. Call it preventive care. 

Ain’t no slut shame in my game. 

I never recapped the first date with New Guy last weekend, but it ended with a pleasant goodbye kiss and plans for a second date, which happened yesterday.

So.

I was actually happy when my period started a few days prior, because then when I went to his house to watch movies, we both knew second-date sex wasn’t an option. No need to worry about things moving too fast, or for me to get bonus therapy beforehand for being all “Insane in my Slut Shame” — it just ain’t happ’nin’.

Um, yeah… Turns out my period doesn’t stop me from stripping down to just panties and then blowing him.

Whoops.

But also, godDAMN, I’d missed doing that. (He seemed pretty happy about it, too.)

And at least so far, no shame to speak of. I like him. I think we’d be friends if we weren’t dating. Even if it ends up just being casual or short-term or whatever, I already know I didn’t blow a boring idiot. So…you know…progress.

P.S. He said he owes me oral once my body isn’t made of betrayal, so if you hear about a woman exploding with years of pent-up tension in South Philly this weekend, it’s been fun knowing y’all.

P.P.S. He also called my body “fucking hot,” even though I suddenly have 10-15 extra pounds on me that I’m working on getting rid of. Pay attention, gentlemen — that’s the kinda game that gets your dick wet.

Happy birthday, Mr. Feminist…

glam.pngThere’s a point during mutual attraction at which my body takes over and tells my “proper lady” brain to shut the fuck up and enjoy. The people on the receiving end of that shift seem to enjoy it, but I’ve definitely felt disgusting and apologized for it once my brain came back. I have no idea where this comes from. It’s improved, but I sometimes still find myself sinking into a rabbit hole of self-slut-shaming for some of the choices I’ve made.

And this is also getting better but I still do tons of things I don’t want to do because I don’t want to be rude, or hurt anyone’s feelings by saying “no.”

So… this. All of this:  “We need to keep changing the attitude that raises our girls to be demure and our boys to be assertive… We need to keep changing the attitude that punishes women for their sexuality and rewards men for theirs.”

Full article via Glamour magazine: President Barack Obama on Feminism and the World He Wants to Leave His Daughters