I, Slut

On January 24th, 2011, a representative of the Toronto Police gave shocking insight into the Force’s view of sexual assault by stating: “women should avoid dressing like sluts in order not to be victimized”. – from the SlutWalk Toronto Facebook Page

Hi, my name’s GrayDancer, and I’m a slut.

No, I don’t want to sleep with you. Or him, or her, or…oh, yes, her I do want to sleep with. As much and as often as possible.

Why are you winking and nudging at me? Yes, in fact, she does go, though not often gently, I’m not sure what you…

Good lord. You’re blushing. Why? I’m a relatively healthy human being only recently entering into what will hopefully be a long and very slow sexual decline…of course I like sex.

Yes, I look at porn. More visual than others (Bend Me Over is great) and I find erotica much more stimulating, but sure, I enjoy sexually themed media.

Oh. I get it. I’m supposed to be embarrassed about liking sex. About having sex with her. I’m supposed to be ashamed of watching porn, either because it’s dirty or because it’s exploitative or something. It’s not talked about in polite company, apparently, because…well, I’ve never quite been clear on the because.

No, sorry, I’m a slut. That doesn’t mean that I sleep with everyone, nor does it mean I sleep with anyone. It simply means that I am unashamedly enthusiastic about sex.

Oh, really, you’re going to go to “Dictionary.com” to prove me wrong? Are your arguments that desperate? Fine, I’ll play along, just because it’s so ridiculous. “A dirty, slovenly woman. A woman of dissolute morals; prostitute.” Let’s take them one at a time:

1. “Dirty”, “Slovenly” relate to appearance. As most “slutty” clothing is actually usually pretty well-kept and shiny, doesn’t really apply to the people the Toronto police seem to think of as “sluts”.
2. “Woman.” My friend, if we can’t get beyond heteronormative gender binaries as a starting point, this entire discussion is fruitless.
3. “Dissolute morals.” First please let me know what “morals” you are talking about. For example, by the “morals” of the Taliban, Sarah Palin dresses like a slut. Then let’s take a look at what “dissolute” means: indifferent to moral restraints. YES! Finally we agree on something. As I said: unashamed.
4. “Prostitute.” Again, depends on what you mean by the term – any sex worker? Sex for money? What constitutes sex? Anyway, while I am not now, I have in the past earned money through performing sexual acts. So yes, I’m a prostitute. Wait…were you implying that’s a bad thing? It’s not like I said I was a member of Gov. Walker’s staff, or a PR spokesman for British Petroleum, or something that’s actually harmful.

Oh, I get it. I am supposed to be ashamed that I was (or am, depending on your point of view) a sex worker. Nope, sorry. I don’t work for the school district of New York City, so that bird won’t fly. I’m much more ashamed of the time I spent trying to convince people to buy time shares. That was unethical, dirty work.

There have been many groups that have taken terms meant to be derogatory and reclaimed them for themselves. Cunt. Whore. Nigger. Faggot. Members of the oppressed group now use these as terms of pride, taking on their identity with a fierceness and shoving it back in the faces of those who would use it as a weapon. Yeah, this is who I am. Deal with it.

When I sit here and say I am a slut, it is in that spirit. I was raised to be ashamed of my sexuality, to try and keep it hidden. Not only by my parents, but by my peers, teachers, and the world around me. It always – always – struck me as ridiculous; if everyone has to deal with sex to some degree, why are we not talking about it? If everyone wants to fuck, why is Fuck you an insult? If all my high school chums were desperate to get into their girlfriend’s pants, why do they call each other pussy? If women want men to be more careful with where they put their penises, why do they call it junk?

True story: I’m working as a dishwasher at age 16, and one of the busboys (who’s a bit of a bully) has discovered that I have a girlfriend. He proceeds to razz me about it. “Have you done it? Have you? Really? How many times?”

That last question took me a bit aback, and I stopped trying to ignore him long enough to reply, in honest confusion: “Who counts?”

He looked like I’d punched him. In a way, I suppose I had. His world was filled with furtive gropings of partners too drunk to care. Mine was with a sexually experienced partner whose mother was sex-positive and gave us a safe space to explore our sexuality.

Yes, I was very, very fortunate. And it’s probably why so much of the sexual attitudes of our culture just don’t make sense to me.

So, fuck it (and yes, I mean that in the joyful sense of the word). I’m a slut. Say no more.