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I've Always Been a Bit of a Slut

Admittedly, I've always been a bit of a slut. Still am. Kinda funny to say that now when I'm a few years shy of 60.



When I say slut, I don't mean the kind of woman screwing any guy - random nihilistic, hedonistic actions before the cutting starts. I'm talking about a woman who fulfills her sexual needs and desires on her terms. Hence, a slut in modern-day parlance.

Being a slut has its good points:

(1) You develop technique equivalent to a PhD in sex.
(2) You learn to accommodate yourself with a variety of men whose expertise, preferences and genitalia range outside the bell curve of normal.
(3) You can assess in a heartbeat whether a guy will be good or bad in bed. Even concerning sex, there are tells!
(4) You understand how your body works with or without a man.

The drawback to being a slut is that it robs you of the humanity part. I'm sincere. Then again, I'm talking from a female perspective.

Back in my late thirties, my on-again, off-again lover of 14 years, Larry, flew into town - we hadn't seen each other in a year or two or three. Larry and I had a torrid romance when I was in my very early 20's. Even though the romantic side didn't work out, there was always that physical attraction. Not to mention the fact that Larry's a great guy - honestly, he has some personality, an incredible joy of life and all life has to offer.

Right after sex, he looked me squarely in the eyes and said, "Whoa! What the heck went on here?!?"

"What do you mean?"

"This was different. Just can't put a finger on it."

I sighed. "You, of course, would notice. I don't care anymore whether the man I'm having sex with is alive or dead."

He pulled away. "Oh, I know what you're talking about. That lack of emotional attachment."

"What should I do? I feel dead inside."

"Stop having sex for a while. And only have it when you feel something for someone."

I took his advice and never had sex with him again. Although we're kept our friendship.

Then, life moved on and I met a guy who I felt some sort of connection. After him, another where the slut in me freely played and romped around. And so on for a long time. Lately, though, something shifted.

I still adore sex, still have my bouts with horniness, but now I'm reluctant to act upon those urges. I developed a shyness. Not a shyness about my body, mind you - I keep in shape and luckily have kept the destructive nature of age a bit at bay. It's a shyness about allowing someone I don't know or trust into my intimate side. Something new.

I don't want just anyone to know that part of me. My sighs of ecstasy, the part of me that's titillated, my inner core, the wild abandon and the release that comes from orgasm. This came to a boil with my last so-called relationship when I realized that I didn't want to share myself with him in that regard. I reached my quota of emotionless attachments once again. And to quote him, "You can't force it," although that's taken out of context.

So, I'll back-burner my inner slut. Until I meet someone who brings the interest and passion out in me.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, character, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.












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