The Male Slut

I often think it's funny how men and women are judged in their sexual behaviour.

If a men of twenty has had thirty sexual partners, chances are his reputation rides high amongst both sexes.

If a woman of twenty has had thirty sexual partners, chances are she's called a fair few nasty words.
By those who know. Because she'll trumpet it less.

The man is seen as the conqueror, the woman the conquest.

A man who walks into a pub and regularly goes home with different women is seen in a different way to a woman who does the same.

We had a charming visitor here once, now, alas, returned to his taxi, who described this blog as being written by a 'sexually predatory male'.

Twat.

Sorry, that's pretty much all I have to say about that.

It's a ridiculous judgement based on gender stereotypes, not actually knowing the author, and not taking into account widely differing lives that people lead.

Firstly, let me state that from my point of view, life being single really IS better. Generally. Most people want to find that special someone. Deep down, I'm not sure whether I ever really have. A part of me has, but a huge part of me hasn't.

Up till now, anyway.

I think sometimes, people get the idea my life is one long orgy. Even people who know me. I wouldn't go that far.

I suppose over the last year I HAVE started to look at what I really want out of these sorts of things.

It's interesting that no one who actually knows me, refers to me as a womaniser. Tart, slut, Ho, slapper, yes. D calls me 'Superslut' and Lisa's two favorite phrases to me are 'You're so GAY!' and 'You are SUCH a SLAPPER!'.

Because, really, that's what I've done most of my life.

Anyway, I tried the whole being good and not being a slapper thing recently. And actually, it does wonders for your self esteem, in the main.

I remember on one occasion just over a year ago waking up with a sore head to see before the curtains an image which immediately provoked in my head the refrain 'What's that coming over the hill is it a monster, is it a monster?'

Because Christ, I felt like amputating my errant member and throwing him out of the window for sinking so low.

It's not so much that I ever go out looking for these things, just that after a few drinks the prospect of going to sleep in someone's arms- anyone's arms really- becomes appealing enough to override any other sentiments you might have.

I suppose some would say I've always had a slightly mercenary approach. For one thing, I've always had a tendency to give eye contact to pretty much anyone.

Then of course there was my standard 'party creation' approach.
You're all out clubbing, you have a flat to go back to, all you need for a post club party is more people.



What I used to do, is just any mildly pretty girl who got up on the stage, just say 'Party later, if you're up for it.'

About one in four will be up for it, but they'll bring their mates. Some of their mates will be male, but generally you'll end up with a party where gals outnumber guys by about two to one, and the night is still young.

But to be honest, that's just the more glamorous end of the reality.

GENUINE CONVERSATION, AGED 21.

Forty year old: If I was twenty years younger, I'd be all over you like flies to shit.
Crushed: Tell you what, if I don't find any other options by closing time, you're on.

I kind of regretted saying that by closing time, because I wasn't really quite drunk enough, but a promise is a promise.

And I've done that sort of thing a lot over the years.

I mean, don't get me wrong, I've had some one night stands which could almost described as little fleeting love affairs in miniature, where you sat up getting deep and meaningful and philosophical about the world for hours.

But then there's the others.

You can picture the sort. Plenty of Mascara, plenty of lipstick, black basque, black leather trousers.
Eldest daughter's minding the kids.

It's four AM.

Her: Right, I'm off.
You: You can stay, you know. I won't charge you rent.
Her: No. Prefer to go to sleep in my own bed. Better go now than in the morning.
You: Please stay. I don't want to go to sleep alone. You might as well.
Her: I'd love to, chick, but the kids, you know?

And you let her out, go back to your bed and lie there, feeling somehow cheated.

The birds are singing and you feel a slight sadness.

Was it really worth it?
Is this all there is?

It isn't all there is, no.

But that doesn't always make it nothing.

I've been thinking recently, that life really is pretty simple.

The fact is, I just have to decide what I want out of life. At the moment, I just sit on the fence.
For most of my life I've had a half hearted strategy of 'looking for the right person', punctuated with little binges of being a total male slapper.

And the conclusion I've come to is this.

Both are livable, if you do them properly.

But serial monogamy, is pointless. Completely unrewarding. Being in a relationship with someone if they're not right, is completely unrewarding.

I realise that it really would take a special type of person to get me to give up the independence I have now and actually contemplate a joint existence of some kind.

If I gave up looking completely and just reverted to total male slapper mode, turned up to full throttle because I wasn't actually kidding myself I was looking for more, I could cope, I think. I'd certainly have a much more active love life than now, because I wouldn't be plagued by guilt and the need to maintain standards, at least some of the time.



I could survive by just going with whichever of the charming ladies of our local pub haven't got a sleeping partner that particular night.

That isn't actually really what I want to do with the rest of my life, as such.

But it's preferable to settling.

So that's it for me, really.

The One or Nothing.

Because I can live with nothing.

I'd love to stop being a male slapper.

The only problem is, the idea of actually having sex with someone I actually love does scare the shit out of me.

And of course, the fact that it might take place without stimulants of some kind.

It's actually rather a scary concept to me.

I sometimes wonder if I'd even be able to do it.

But I think I'd like to at least try.

I'm damaged goods, I know that.
But not beyond repair, surely?