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We’ve heard the classic (late ‘90s – early ‘00s) plea of equal opportunity banging. If a girl gets her groove on she’s a skank and if a guy manages to smash he’s a hero. An archaic remnant of a male governed society, right? Obviously all us forward thinking folks would like to believe that the double standard has withered away in the wake of female empowerment.

Obviously.

Well, apparently not. Apparently people believe the sexual revolution was not an exercise of equality but rather some rampant decline in female morality and self-respect.

It’s a hard job defending promiscuity as an ideal, and while 50 taught me having sex > making love, I learned my lessons from sex for the sake of it on my own. I let my own version of Jonah too close to the hill and always chose Plan B over plan wait and see.

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Let’s all admit big pimping has its fair share of low profiling. And so, I purport that my intention is not to promote rampant promiscuity, but to demand an equal opportunity lens through which we judge. We call everyone sluts. Or nobody at all.

But according to bass-ackwards expectations, women are to be respectable and pure. Well it’s difficult to ignore external condemnation, and at times even more so to rely on ourselves and our own self-actualization — we don’t live in vacuums and with all the exterior influences of media and peers, it’s a challenge to know exactly where we stand and to know so firmly within ourselves. Our every move is watched, policed, predicted. Our internal judgment has been influenced by everything from Bible studies to Sisqo’s Shakedown.

Slutty is a state of mind. If you are what you eat and you’ve been feasting… lucky for you this day and age, you probably won’t be stoned for it. The problem is we are used to stoning each other with guilt inducing player hatred, pointed fingers and a subscription to shame.

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In order to flaunt your polyamory, homies need to stop expecting women of the Taylor Swift variety. Whether she’s getting her pussy popped or not, her denial of her sexual activity is a façade that has us learning lessons on morality from mere human beings with too much media attention and too little time to figure her own shit out.

Let me make a thesis somewhere. You are as slutty as you feel. There we go.

Allow me to propose a remedy: Let’s start by completely stripping ‘slut’ of gender, let’s neuter the noun and stretch it across the grand spectrum of humanity – because (GASP) gosh darn it – there’s a part of me somewhere that believes we’re equal and amenable to the same definitions. If ladies can be pimps too, you can bet your bottom dollar that some men out there are slutting it up as well.

What does it mean to be as slutty as you feel? Modern connotation would have you believe that a girl who takes mad dick on the reg is a slut. And who am I to challenge that assertion? Motherf*cking Kgazm that’s who.

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My grievance for the stratification of sluttiness is intentionality. I think the motivation behind your promiscuity separates the sluts from the pimps. If you’re waking up next to what’s-his/her-face saddled by regret and guilt – if you feel dirty (in the bad way) – if you feel…slutty – well then maybe you were.

But as long as your mind is on your slutty and your slutty’s on your mind — dust that dirt off your shoulders because, dare I say, sexuality isn’t a thing to be ashamed of. Ladies and gentleman, if you are smashing and getting smashed with a dedication to your own self gratification, if you wake up in the morning with a smile and a story — there ain’t no shame in your game.

When your sexual appetite is governed by something missing within yourself, when your pussy/penis performs the mechanism of pleasing others over you, leaving you feeling empty inside — when you feel used and abused (in the bad way) after an encounter, when you take no pride in your conquest…when you feel uncomfortable — slutty be thy name.

But part of the problem remains that our brains are still chained to the moral landscapes of ancient ruins while our bodies have been upgraded to the modern day liberties of safe sex practice. In lust and love making, we have more say than ever before. And to poison our tongues by spewing the word slutty – as the antiquated adjective goes, you are spoiling your understanding of sex with an outdated conversation on sexuality.

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So don’t tell me I can’t f*ck emotionlessly. Because it makes me feel good. Don’t tell me I’m not a lady if I don’t keep my legs closed. You can have your “ladyhood” if it means I’m squirting on a backroom mattress. It’s my pussy I can do what I want, I’m a big girl now. I have way more fun in reverse cowgirl than staying in your momma’s missionary position.

Good women used to succumb to hysteria, but I think it’s hysterical that you are stuck romanticizing ancient ways of livelihood. I’d like to see your fat ass hunt and gather or stand up for anything other than your “right” to bang without apologies while searching for the “One” who has no need to repent. You sound more like a hopeless romantic than a lady who learned all she knows about life from “Leave it to Beaver.”

UNDERSTAND MY CUNTOTATION while I shout it from the rooftops, sound my barbaric SLUT over the suburbs of America: I’m a modern woman and I get mine. With shamelessness as my shield, I can at least be damn sure I made it my duty to stand up for my sexcapades, and that’s more than most.

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Hey there Mr. Gorbachev, tear down that wall that separates me from my eternal happiness…or my next orgasm. The double standard stands as a bleak remnant of your patriarchal governance and strict standards of my supposed morality.

Bitch, I f*ck. I bang. I get jiggy with it. I swallow, I spit. I take it on the face. Does my crassness offend you? Am I not the unicorn you’ve been searching for? When you find that lucky horn, stick it up yours, and let me know how it goes to be with someone who has never ridden a pony on her own.

Have I been a freak on the streets as well as the bed?

I don’t want to be your dream girl. I don’t even want you to know my name. Don’t try to cuddle me. Don’t ask me for my number. This isn’t YOLO, it’s GTFO. I’m done with you. Leave your dignity on the dresser. I am the new age slut, hear me climax.

– via Elite Daily