The Shame of Sex Drive

Before we begin, I have to warn you my friends… this is the realest shit I ever wrote…

Okay, so I know the VMA’s were weeks ago, but something happened to me recently that made me think of Miley Cyrus. Now, before you ask me, no I am not doing drugs, losing my mind or considering a career in twerking. Now that we got that out of the way, walk with me on this…

I’ve been trying to get back into the dating game and have taken yet another dip into the online dating world. My responses thus far have been overwhelmingly positive- and I think it’s because of two things: 1) I am having fun, and letting things develop as they should instead of always feeling the need for control; and 2) I’m not letting the responses from the weirdos get to me anymore. Now, I’ve been messaging and then eventually texting a few people and my dealings with one of them made me think of poor, little butt, crazy Miley. Let me tell you how.

After the VMA’s, there was a firestorm of articles and blogs talking about her performance, from her imitation of twerking (I call it an imitation because it was my understanding that you need ass to twerk and she doesn’t have any) to her rude gestures and her supposed “appropriation of black culture,” because apparently twerking was invented by us and she “stole” it to advance her popularity, thus making a mockery of us or… whatever. But anyway, she set the Internet on fire for a day or two while people wondered what drugs she’s on and how she could step on her daddy’s achy breaky heart like this. Along with that though, many of the articles and blogs questioned her morals and argued that she was behaving as though she didn’t have any. People were questioning her need to be quite so free with her sexuality, since she is a young woman influencing other young women. The Internet has even given this a name: they call it slut-shaming. Slut-shaming is when a woman does something of questionable taste, that has a sexual connotation- and other people chastise her for it. Your lack of propriety makes people point their fingers and shake their heads and wonder how you were raised. This has become the semi-polite way of letting a woman know you think she’s acting like a whore. But… let me get off of Miley and onto me. The public business of slut-shaming hit home for me when I had an encounter with a man who I felt tried to shame me afterward. I think he was trying to make me ashamed of my sex drive, my sex life- and my sexual awareness of him. I think he was slut-shaming me! How you ask? Well here we go…

I have to start with some background so you can know me a little more. Most of the time, I do what I want- when I want. I’m an emotional creature, so I usually fall fast- and I fall HARD. I’m also really tactile; I love to feel things. Touching is everything to me. I don’t like sex; I LOVE sex- and I’m not ashamed. I know that there’s levels beyond the physical, but my tactile self thinks the physical level is a damn good one for me- so I’ll keep it. I probably have the highest sex drive of anyone I know (men included). I’ve been in love, and I know love. So I’ll thank you not to see me as some lonely girl using sex to kill the pain. But I appreciate a strong physical attraction and will act on it. Now, having said that- I don’t see myself as someone with no morals. I’m kind of selective. In no way shape or form do I give it up to everyone. But I do give it up- and I’m not going to pretend like I don’t. I also rely very heavily on my feelings, my instincts. I really think on the idea of me and you- and really try to dissect how you make me feel- from the very beginning. I still get butterflies- and I listen to them. My instincts have never steered me wrong; in fact, I’ve only been in the wrong when I haven’t listened to them. So I’m not the kind of girl who puts some sort of time constraint on when I give it up. When it feels right to me, it just feels right to me. And contrary to what you might think, there have been many times, and people- who haven’t felt right. I know we’re all flying high in this Think Like A Man, five dates, ninety days and a partridge in a pear tree relationship era where there are rules at every step. But I’m not good with rules. Most of the time, I do what I want- when I want. So here we are. Now… I had a conversation or two with this man that I like. All signs were pointing to sanity, and there was an attraction there. But also humor and intelligence and ambition. It was nice and we decided face-to-face was definitely needed. I had already made up in my mind that I was going to see if he was as good a kisser as his lips suggested, so I was prepared for that. It went… a bit further (I’ll spare you the details- but I didn’t give it up. It just went… further). Now, I didn’t feel bad at all about this extra distance because to me, IT FELT RIGHT! And I listened to myself. I did what felt comfortable to me. But afterwards, I had a conversation with him that made my head hurt, then it made me cry- and then it pissed me off.  He said that he felt like we disrespected ourselves going further than we intended and that there was still a lot we didn’t know about each other, and that he felt like it was necessary to slow down and reassess what we really want. He threw in some stuff about how he couldn’t believe what had happened, and how he agonized over it the entire drive home. I could have screamed when we were having this conversation. AHHHHHHHH!!

Before ya’ll start trying to rip me apart for not appreciating a man who has morals and who wants more than my body, let me tell you that was NOT what this conversation was. He was trying to slut-shame me! First of all, this took place at my house. Which means he had to physically get into a vehicle and come to ME. And I didn’t invite him- he ASKED if he could come. If you’re so worried about “our” moral compass, why didn’t you stay your ass at home? Now he thinks we should slow down??! He could have slowed all the way to STOP by sticking to Facetime and staying at HIS house. Also, HE made the first move. We were a respectable distance apart on that couch before he started inching over. He could have “reassessed” his position at any time. But he didn’t. He came over, knowingly throwing his moral compass to the wind, pushed his OWN self-control to the limit, kissed me with that gorgeous mouth, and then NEVER TRIED TO STOP!!! He never said, “Maybe we shouldn’t,” or “We’re moving too fast,” or “I don’t want to.” You know why? Because he was waiting for ME to say those things! He was waiting for ME to be OUR moral compass! Well you got the wrong girl, asshole. And now, with this conversation (held at 3:30 in the morning in the softest, most cowardly voice possible), he was attempting to subconsciously blame me for not having more self-control. I’m supposed to have more than him? He had the advantage- because he was all the way at his house. Why is it my fault that he didn’t stay there? He was slut-shaming me- that miserable, piece of shit. He was trying to make me feel ashamed of myself by lamenting to me that he was ashamed of HIMSELF!

Now, after I hung up- it took me a minute to wrap my mind around what had just happened. That made my head hurt. I mean, I know I said he could come over- and I wasn’t denying that, but I had already loosened the reins on my self-control- which was why I said yes in the first place. So I was fully aware of the possible outcomes that I was choosing. Regret is not an option when you know what you’re walking into, and you continue walking. Besides, I liked him and I had a good feeling- for me, that was enough. Then, for a few miniutes, I wondered if he was right. If I was just one of those fast ass, easy girls your mama tries to teach you not to be. If I had thrown away my morals. That made me cry. I cried for a while. I also felt stupid, and rejected. I wondered if he hadn’t liked what happened, or liked me as much as he thought- and this was just his way of rejecting me without me really knowing why. That made me cry harder. The last thing I wondered was if my instincts had taken a beating. Was I losing touch with myself? With my judgement of character? Should I just rely on my head from now on? After the cry, I was so tired- I just went to sleep. But the next morning, I woke up pissed. I mean, I was mad! I’m a grown woman- who is kind, and honest, and careful. I don’t hurt people intentionally- and I don’t make them pay for my mistakes. And that’s exactly what this man had done to me. Now you morality police can wax poetic all you want about my behavior. But this wasn’t about that. I know what I did. And I knew what I was willing to do when I opened the door for him. But he lied to himself- and then to me. He came to my house, like he had self-control and innocent intentions, all the while hoping that I would enough self-control for the both of us. And then when I didn’t he tried to hurt me by shaming us “both,” effectively making me a culprit in his supposed crime. I was beyond pissed. Pissed that this only seems to happen to women- pissed that it was happening to me.

I’m a single girl, trying to make it out here. I have to have control over my own life, and my own behavior. So excuse me if I’m a little more free then you’re used to. If I choose to be an active and willing participant in my own sex life.  It is not my fault that I’m not the innocent you see on TV, begging with her big eyes, telling you no when she really means yes in that breathy little voice. I am who I am. And I say YES when I mean yes. Don’t punish me because you’re only used to girls you have to convince. Maybe it’s the thrill of the hunt and you’re angry that you didn’t have to chase me as far as other girls. But I don’t want to play a game when I don’t need to. I’m sorry you don’t know women who are more direct. But this is me. And you don’t get to shame me because I’m not what you’re used to, or comfortable with. Because I act on my feelings (even the sexual ones). Or because I don’t stop you from acting on yours- especially when you don’t even bother to stop yourself.  Grow up. I’m begging you. And if this little foray into my mind has made you feel differently about me, please feel free to disassociate yourself. I’m not crying over you jerks anymore.

Just as a side note – As much as I might now identify with Miley, I still liked her better as Hannah Montana.