On Not Being A Very Good Slut

The Complications Of Being Sexual but not casual

slut (noun) \ ˈslət  \

[disparaging + offensive] a promiscuous woman : a woman who has many sexual partners

I write a lot about sex. I think a lot about sex. I spend a lot of time doing things related to sex. And yet I am not a very good slut. To be clear, when I use the word “slut,” I mean the literal definition involving promiscuity and many partners while divorcing it from the disparaging/offensive connotation.

For starters, I am just God-awful at casual sex. I mean, I have casual sex sure, but it’s not easy and I require connection and attraction to the point where an acceptable partner is basically approved as relationship material except not… It’s complicated.

More importantly, I really haven’t had that many partners. I am 39 years old, I’ve been having sex since turning 13, and I have only had 55 partners including women [mostly but not entirely from threesomes] and one guy who just went down on me but didn’t fuck me. Maybe 55 seems like a lot to you, I don’t know, but to most people who’ve spent any time in my company, the number is both surprising and small. If I had to pick a number that represented what I believe outside expectations to be, I’d say about 200. So you see what a failure I’ve been in that regard!

I’m joking of course but in a way not… I can absolutely see myself having had 200 partners so it’s surprising to me too that there have been only 55. But there’s that damn need for connection which just fucks things all up. Between the need for connection and the large portion of early adulthood spent in a series of long-term relationships, there hasn’t been all that much time or possibility for sex with new partners.

But getting back to that need for connection, recent events have brought all of my very complicated feelings into focus… Since launching my SEX COMMUNICATION project, I’ve engaged in all manner of kinky affairs, experiments, flirtations and what have you. At first it was all '“why not? this is fascinating,” then it was mostly research, then a “this is the kind of fun I can only have when single” thing and then finally a revelation.

The first item to give me pause was an encounter with a handsy photographer; I was initially allured by sparkling conversation and the promise of a giant cock only to find myself flatly uninterested in fucking. He had sent me images of himself [of the non-dick-pic variety] prior to his arrival, but while the photographs were accurate, they did not capture his mannerisms and presence, neither of which was particularly attractive to me. He proceeded to take photos of me, as we had discussed and planned, before asking if he could shoot me while I masturbated. Ultimately I agreed to his proposition. I was not expecting to be touched but when it happened I went with it, choosing to shut my mind off and physically experience a very specific act I had generically fantasized about many times before. However, that choice left me feeling empty and uncomfortable; I put a stop to any further contact and we went our separate ways.

Another pause-giver was the sex I had with a gentleman I’d been communicating and meeting with for about two months. Over that time we talked, texted, lunched, coffee-d and attempted to align our schedules. By the time we finally reached schedule alignment, my interest was almost non-existent. I assume any other person would have just cut bait and run, and I had some regret over not doing that, but given the drawn-out nature of the whole planning business, I felt curious about whether I could rise to the challenge. Also the real purpose of our encounter was research and documentation, not necessarily physical pleasure or emotional connection [follow the podcast for more info]. These details were my justifications and I kept moving forward despite a deficit of any attraction, mental or physical. The intercourse was not awful, but when it ended I felt even more empty than I had with the handsy photographer.

In the background of both of these events, I’ve also been engaging in cybersex of sorts with a [former?] stranger in England, yet another individual found via FetLife. We wrote back and forth for a while before finally speaking via Skype. I got on well with him; we both had a fascination with discussing our philosophies and interests in sex and I felt comfortable saying yes when he eventually suggested “playing” together, meaning he would verbally dominate me and I would masturbate at his direction. I hadn’t ever done such a thing over the interwebs, especially not with someone I had never met. Also at that point I still had not seen his face nor did I know his name. Anyway, I considered it to be an experiment, another kinky thing to try, and I said yes. So far we have “played” a handful of times and have plans to do so again, but honestly, despite my initial, intellectual interest, I believe I may have hit my limit.

That limit could be the aggregate of a series of non-intimate and unemotional experiences. It could also be PMS, life is a mystery, I don’t fucking know. What I do know is that I can try all of these things and new things or no things, and still be a highly sexual creature who happens not to enjoy casual encounters but still very much loves getting off in many different ways [assuming some type of true connection].

I’ve also come to know that while all the experimenting is fun and interesting, what I want most is a lifelong relationship with a partner who equally values kink and sexual compatibility along with all the standard partner stuff like intimacy, trust, support, respect, etc.

Between my recent struggles and the acknowledgment of my desire to be in a committed relationship, I about as unslutty as I’ve ever been — despite the wealth of alternative sexual interests and explorations which remain.

But really, this entire essay is a joke because the notion of a “slut” could not be any less important. This is merely an absurdist reaction to a ridiculous standard, born out of frustration with being branded as such by people who are ashamed and fearful of sex. In my quest to change the sticky archaic attitudes that persist, I choose to use my work and voice to demonstrate the potential for shameless sexual acceptance. Here’s to all the others out there owning their unique experiences.

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