CONFESSIONS OF A S*UT

The one thing I was afraid of was not being accepted. I wore a mask, a façade, I pretended that I didn’t care. This was me; you get what you get, but I so badly wanted to be liked. I always remained authentic but deep down I knew no one would like me romantically if I shed my filter. This generation is all about filters. Creating a thin enough veil to wear around proudly so no one would suspect a thing. Bobby was one of the first people I maintained my mask for. I knew if I wanted to be in his life, I would have to play his role, he was the director. I let him think he had control because he was a rising superstar with a huge ego. Behind the ego was insecurity and imposter syndrome, it was odd to me that someone with such success and talent would still need validation from others. I knew he would never think to take me seriously, but I knew we would be great for each other with our shared love for demeaning s*x, solitude, and intellect. He never shared his intellect with me, nor did I, but I knew it was there through his music, which was enough for me to silently fall in love. He was fighting an inner battle that he probably would only win if he was ready to face himself. Oddly enough, I still believed he liked me. He would call me hour long Ubers to the city when he could easily call someone closer, but he wanted MY touch. It made me feel special, like I was a one-of-a-kind mail order sl*t just for him. I liked the idea of being a sl*t, but only for 1 man. I’m sure my long-time ex would love to take credit for creating my s*xuality, but it was always in me. I always sought control in every s*xual step I took. Of course, I wanted to please, but it gave ME pleasure in the end. Which is what I gained most from Bobby, stroking my own ego in the process. He’s f*cked so many women, but I was the one who made him weak in 5 min. S*x really was the only place my mask fell, I was a different person. I think it scared men, how much I enjoyed it. But sleeping with many men never did it for me, I felt that was draining. It was one man, all the time, I wanted. You see, men can’t fathom you not being an actual sl*t vs. a sl*t just for them. Their lenses are jaded because they know their own capabilities. I was always magnetized towards men in the creative industry because I was scared I didn’t have a talent. I often didn’t know if I wanted to be with them or be them. It was definitely the later, because they didn’t even care enough to know me fully, so I knew it wasn’t true love. Bobby and I went on for a few years, I was one of his Atlanta women. When he was in town, I knew a call was coming, and he would be cumming to. We were in it for different reasons. I liked the way he made me feel, like it was just us in that moment, he was hardly ever on his phone and he would compliment me all the time. I knew it would end one day, and to be frank I was wishing it would. After we would f*ck, I would fall deeply depressed. It’s like this wave of sadness would hit me, the reality of not knowing when I would hear from him next. If I really meant so little to him… Unfortunately, there was still something addicting about him; how important he could make you feel. But the last time we f*cked it was different, it was mean, he was mean. He didn’t kiss me, and it made me feel disgusting. No, it wasn’t the slaps across my face, the spit on my chest, calling me his b*tch, that made me feel this way. It was him f*cking me from behind and not nurturing me afterwards. Reality struck for me, that yes, I was his doll, and it didn’t matter if it was me or someone else. I immediately got up to leave and I didn’t realize that would be our last time together. My mask slipped, he asked me if I was ok after I left, but I wasn’t, I was disappointed. I wanted him to feel it, so I expressed my anger, and I knew he didn’t like that. I didn’t fit his role anymore. You come, you get f*cked, you leave. Emotions were not a part of this equation, so we didn’t speak again. It taught me that no matter how long I wore the mask if I wasn’t for them, they would not care to leave. It scared me though, would I always have to pretend to be in a man’s life, fit his mold, or I would discarded? In the end, I knew my life lesson was radical self-acceptance. If I did not love all of me, and put my mask aside, I don’t believe anyone else would either.