I’m Not Slutty Because Men Like It
By: M. C. Frances
Tags: Relationships, Sexuality, Feminism, Sex, Women

I’m Not Slutty Because Men Like It

Embracing sluttiness is what gets me off, and I don’t care who does or doesn't like it

Photo by Diy13 on Adobe Stock

Recently, my friend Lisa and I met a man at a bar, took him to a hotel room, and broke him. We planned ahead and acted out a joint fantasy, though we didn’t have a particular target in mind at the time. We were both in the mood to flirt with and bed a random stranger and figured that it was safer to do so together.

Lisa is slutty. I’m definitely sluttier.

Merriam Webster defines slut as “a promiscuous person: someone who has many sexual partners — usually used of a woman.”

I am a slut. I’m not coy about that fact, nor do I see the word as an insult. A well-meaning reader recently told me that men like slutty women, so I shouldn’t worry about my sluttiness being a turn-off.

I wasn’t. I’m still not.

I’ve been told my entire life that I should do this thing or that thing because I’m a woman — because being desired by men is indicative of my self-worth. I should wear my hair long because men like it, or short because my husband finds it more becoming. I should shave my legs, but only up to the knee because I don’t want to be that kind of girl. I should wear short skirts because men like them (but not that short).

It’s enough to make any sane feminist scream.

It’s no wonder that women have difficulty figuring out who they are and what they want among all of this (often conflicting) advice. I spent most of my adult life thinking that I only liked my eggs scrambled when in reality, I’m a veggie omelet with goat cheese or over medium on avocado toast fan. If I couldn’t figure out how I liked my eggs amidst my midwestern-catholic upbringing (as opposed to how I was supposed to like them), how in the hell was I supposed to figure out how I want my clit rubbed?

Enter slut-hood (AKA: Fucking until the shame slinks away like the nasty beast it is).

Many sexuality writers will tell women to masturbate to find out how they like to be touched. Or if they really want to tell a partner how to lick, rub, or penetrate them, they should spend a significant amount of time masturbating.

Sure, I could have spent hours in my bed with internet porn and a vibrator collection (and I did), but the fact is that the way I enjoy my pussy and the way I like to be touched by a partner is different. Also, I can’t lick my own clit. My preferences for touch vary based on my cycle, who my partner is, and, now, my health.

The only way to find out how you like to be touched is to get out there and be touched.

I am promiscuous (but selective and safe), but I am not slutting it up because I think men like it. I have sex (or don’t) with whomever I want, whenever I want, because that’s what I like.

The fact is that (this slut-loving reader aside) most men I’ve met in real life have one of three reactions to my embracing my inner slut. About half of them over sexualize me and ask if I want to sit on their cock in the back of their jeep while shooting cheap vodka and hitting their dab pen. The other half shame me for being promiscuous and remind me about milk and cows that are free. Both are exhausting.

The only men I’m willing to chat with about my sexual proclivities understand that my sexual preferences exist because I am a human being with a right to make up my own mind about what I enjoy.

Sure, some men like slutty women, but that’s just another example of the patriarchy’s focus on women being sexual objects for men. I’m not a slut because I think men will find my sexual freedom attractive. I’m a slut because I find my sexual freedom attractive.