Monday, 16 August 2010

Clever Slut



I have been examining my oeuvre. 

What a satisfying word that is to say. Let it elongate and roll off the tongue, with a roll of the eyes that both acknowledges and relishes its pretensions.

Playing games was one of the ways that Virgil and I got to know each other. (By this I don't mean the kind of game where one person says they'll call the other next week and then doesn't until Thursday and in the meantime the other person has spent all week wondering what 'next week' means and has made plans for the weekend because they don't want to end up doing nothing and they feel borderline angry at being fucked around.) They were mostly games we invented, with themes, dares, forfeits and prizes. We would also set each other homework, things to do or prepare for the dates we went on.

At the time the subtitle of my online persona was 'clever slut' and one such assignment was this:
"Your homework is entitled "I am a clever slut because..."
It is to be delivered in the form of 30 lines, written on one side of lined A4 paper, in your neatest handwriting using blue or black pen and single spacing. You may discuss the causes of your slutdom, some examples of it, or both: but there is to be no deviation from the topic."

I wrote this in response to Virgil's challenge:

Sluts are born, not made, and not everyone is a slut undiscovered. It takes a kind of brain: nonconformist, curious, philosophical, honest, brazen. It's not about the size of your sex drive. I am soft and hard at the same time. I can love for the sake of love itself - really I can - but walk away from sexual misadventures with no more than a backward glance, a shrug and a mental note to do better next time.

A clever slut does not have to justify his or her behaviour, but having claimed the title they probably won't mind telling you that they are motivated by pleasure, curiosity, the desire for new experiences and the many permutations of sexual encounter that people create.

The key to my sluthood has been knowing and accepting myself. I do not completely understand all of my sexual tastes but I no longer need to. The person I shortchange the most by denying my sexuality is myself (and in honesty it wasn't very fair on previous partners so hopefully I can do better next time). 

My sluttiness is basically a choice for: for doing what I want to do, not according to received ideas of what sluts do. This is not an internalisation of male fantasies or power relations. I know what the gaze is, thank you, but generally prefer off jokes and banter to earnest political debate.

So clever sluts do what they want to do, not what they think they should do, and before you object, I will add that what I want to do is not always a) the right thing; b) necessarily pleasant or enjoyable; or c) a guarantee of happiness or satisfaction. I am my biggest fan, my harshest critic, my own worst enemy. As an attractive slut, I know how easy it is to get someone's attention, for a time, and also how little that means.

I want tenderness and I need pain. I love the bruises that flower on my thighs sometimes, but I need to feel cherished. I'm a sub, not a doormat, and a volatile sub at that.

Sex cannot violate me but feelings can, so I try to fuck people who I like, whose company I enjoy, people I feel lucky to spend time with and who make me laugh. However, it's important to sometimes have bad sex: soulless, joyless, lonely fucks, either for the perverse enjoyment it can bring and also for learning how indomitable I am.

3 comments:

  1. I think I agree with all but the last sentence.Nice post. I'm going to follow your blog

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  2. We are metaphorically on the same page. Consider me your bitch. ;)

    ReplyDelete