I forget how we even got on the topic. We were sitting around chatting after a rather fun day and the subject came up. What was everyone’s number? How many people had each of us had sex with?
I honestly didn’t know mine. For the past few years, I simply stopped counting. Sitting there in their living room, I couldn’t begin to guess.
I began recalling names, ticking them off on my fingers. My first ex. My rebound. My Ex. My first fucks in the scene.
But then I had to clarify. What was our definition of sex? Did oral count? What about fisting? Strap-ons? I ended up creating the definition myself to suite my needs. Everyone else followed along.
Sex was penetration of a hole (pussy, ass, or mouth) with a penis or penis-like object, as well as fists, and any oral sex.
I opened up my phone, pulled up the Notes app, and began writing. 1, 2, 10, 20…
I started with just the men. Some names easily came to mind. Others brought smiles or less than pleasant memories, though not usually centered around the fucking. Quickly, I had a double digit number.
But then I kept remembering more names.
The guy who I invited to my old apartment. He wore women’s underwear as he fucked me. He was the first ass I ever explored besides my own. He called himself a faggot as I fucked his ass with three of my fingers. I never invited him over again because he annoyed me in our text exchanges afterwards.
The guy who fisted me at that event. I had been feeling down. He was a friend. He asked, not having ever done it before. The experience brought me back to a happy event head space, and he truly enjoyed it.
The guy from work I fucked once. He was crashing at my place for the night. I made him a drink and we talked outside in the back in the dark. And then he kissed me. We fucked in my basement and he fisted me too, the first time he’d ever done that. I never told anyone about it because he asked me to keep it quiet.
One after another, more and more encounters popped into my mind. Each time I recalled another experience of pleasure, I cursed (“Son of a bitch!”) and added a new name to the list.
As my friends started to talk about their lists, I decided to start my second list, this one with all the women I’d slept with. My men only list already surpassed the other lists in the room, but at that moment I wanted to honor the depth and breadth of my sexual experience.
My second list was about a third as long as my first.
I didn’t talk much as the others in the room spoke about their sexual experiences. I simply sat back and marveled at how I, who had lost my virginity at 22, had come so far in eight years. (Pun not intended.)
With a few days of this information marinating in my mind, I’ve come to better understand it when I whole-heartedly identify as a slut.
I love sex is its varied and wonderful forms. I love to fuck multiple people in different circumstances. I enjoy momentary encounters as well as long running connections. I seek out new sexual experiences, as well as work to increase my prowess in the skills I already possess.
More than once, I’ve been told I was sexually intimidating. Because of my up front and honest views on sex. Because of my assertions of what I want. Because of my experience.
It wasn’t until I, just a few days ago, consolidated that experience into a varied, and quite sexy, list of names that I truly got why some find me intimidating. And also why I happily identify as a slut.
I can only hope that my list continues to grow as more new and fulfilling experiences come my way.
Categorised as: Sex
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