what a slut is

There’s “slut” in the current one-phrase description of this blog.  I’m a shimmering disabled oxytocin slut, luminous and kind.  Lately I’ve been thinking about what a slut is.

When the man I loved came here to visit me, he used me, and I’m still recovering.  He had sexual contact with me, gave me zero aftercare, rejected me the next day, and didn’t do anything to help me when my old trauma was activated.  I suggested a way he could help me, and he ignored my suggestion.

Felt very puzzling–wow, why would he come so far, to act so reprehensibly?  Suddenly yesterday I realized–he never knew what I meant, when I called myself a slut.  Did he think “slut” means I’d have sex with whoever and not have needs or feel emotions?

Right–to him, if a slut is trash, all the more reason he could dump me in the gutter.  I was a grease-smeared fast food wrapper, tipped half-empty cup of soda with melting ice, and some cigarette butts.  Nothing–worthless.

It’s amazing, I could love someone, attuned to his well-being, building his happiness from afar, always being there for him, supporting in any way I could.  I thought we were doing something real.  I was doing something real!  And I believed we were on the same page about basic things, like how to be kind, what love is, and basic concepts of gender, respect, and worth.

worth

I’m still shocked I wasn’t worth shit to him.  It’s amazing that he could be almost 40 years old and still not know that a woman might need aftercare the day after having sex with him for the first time.

Also shocking is that he couldn’t comprehend any nuance of physical contact.  When I asked if I could cuddle him, I really did mean cuddle–if I meant sex, I would have said sex.  So when he went for my breasts almost immediately, that threw me.  Ok, we’re making out all of sudden–I had to adjust in two seconds to a whole other activity.

I’d think that in almost 40 years of life, he would have experienced cuddling with someone.  Either he doesn’t know what cuddle is, or he doesn’t care.  In his mind, pretty breasts override language.  What I asked for didn’t matter–what mattered was that he wanted something, and the opportunity presented itself.

willful ignorance

To him I wasn’t the person who’d been devoted to helping him have a good life for more than a year, sacred, to treasure–I was a mark, to use and discard, a pile of resources to exploit.  If he misunderstands what a slut is, I can’t help that.  He has a deep, willful ignorance, his head so far up his ass that reality isn’t interesting to him.

I gave him attention, praise, ideas, patience, the benefit of the doubt, forgiveness; I reframed circumstances over and over, to tell him how good he was and brilliant.  Worshiping and adoring that man was my joy.  But I couldn’t give him curiosity.  It would take curiosity to want to know what cuddle can be, or for him to learn that most women need aftercare.  At least he could give a fuck to check in and see.

It’d require curiosity to learn what a slut is, not just assume I was available for his appetite of an evening, then to discard.  His life is apparently working for him.  He performs that he wants to improve himself and make better choices, which many people find inspiring.  Therapy, 12 step meetings, and spiritual practices can’t eradicate deep selfishness, childish but brutal, hurting the people who love him the most.  Self-improvement is a show.

desire to love

My stellar love-example wasn’t enough to show him how to love.  He’d need to want that.  His own body created sexual desire, but not the desire to love and really be there for anyone other than himself.  There are many reasons I should have given up, at many points of that relationships journey, but this man doesn’t love.  That’s the biggest reason.

I kept thinking I glimpsed God in him, but I’d rather see God in abundance.  Easily I can find Mother God in nature, friends who know how to love, my spouse, my own self.

what a slut is

I’m powerful, grounded in sexual desire, vibrant and honest, ready to feel emotions and bodily sensations of lust, ready to come.  That’s what a slut is.  The word is fiery to reclaim–something I’ve been called since childhood for having desires and asking for what I want.  I was dismissed and disrespected for being a slut, so I take back that word.  It’s mine now.

Please don’t misunderstand.  That I’m a slut doesn’t mean I’m worthless or won’t feel.  Doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want to me.  Quite the opposite–I’m full of worth, incomprehensibly.  I’ll feel everything and dwell in truth.  And if you don’t respect me, you’re the piece of shit, not me.