And Loving Every Minute of It

I have been called every name in the book. Before I lost my virginity, I was a slut, a ho, a whore. Before I learned how to stand up for myself, I was a bitch, a twat, a cunt.

I came to accept these words. The labels became me. I embraced them. Everyone thinks I’m a bitch? Fine, I’ll start fights with everyone. They think I’m a slut? I’ll sleep around.

I learned early about sex, which upset my parents who kept me extremely sheltered. At fourteen though, I had lost my virginity, and by fifteen, I had already had my first one-night stand, experienced phone sex, sexting, and cyber sex, all with different boys.

By sixteen, I had started skipping school to sleep with guys. I didn’t know how to say ‘no’. I didn’t know how to tell them that they weren’t my future, but my education was. I was an outcast for most of my life. Until I started spreading my legs, I didn’t get the attention I believed I deserved.

By seventeen, I had already had an audience. A bunch of trashed rednecks watched my boyfriend of two weeks and me fuck like bunnies in a tent. They then proceeded to pee all over the outside of the tent.

By eighteen, I had anonymous sex. I didn’t care what his name was, and he didn’t bother to ask mine. We were drunk, met at a frat party, and he was just visiting his friend for the weekend.

I wasn’t a self-proclaimed slut yet. At eighteen, I had only slept with ten boys. That equaled two-and-a-half boys a year since I had lost my virginity. I shouldn’t be judged for that.

The tenth boy, though, is the one that made me truly embrace my sluttiness. The irony is he was frightened I would be a slut. He hit me, several times, when I wouldn’t sleep with him, or when he thought I was cheating on him, which was basically every night. Then he would hold me down, and fuck me. Sometimes he was passionate, kissing my neck, careful not to brush against the bruises. Sometimes he was rough, holding me down by my throat, hissing the words “slut” and “ho” in my face. I began to believe it.

He was arrested.

I went four months without sex. Four long, painful, dragging months. My fingers became super nimble, and I learned more about my body than I ever could have learned before. Those were the longest four months of my life.

I worked with a nice boy, who asked me out one night. We did everything right. We went on dates, we talked, we learned about each other. And then I told him I was a slut. We jumped into bed. He was probably the best guy in the world to get me back on my feet.

He found out I was moving, and got upset with me. We called all things off.

I decided then, that I wasn’t good enough for a relationship. Besides, I enjoyed being a slut. I liked anonymous sex and being used.

I had a party at my house. It was mostly guys there. We got trashed. I can’t tell you how, but somehow I ended up in bed, with four boys. I had one dick inside my twat, and one in my mouth. The other two were in their hands, waiting impatiently.

I moved. No more labels. That’s what I told myself.

I danced on the table for a group of Marines at a local bar. I told them I was a slut.

Within a month of moving, I had slept with a Marine, the DJ and his brother, one of my friends, a co-worker, a frat boy, and one of my professors.

My number doubled in a year.

It felt like I had my label tattooed on my forehead. Everyone knew if they wanted to get off, give me a call.

I somehow ended up in a no-shit, honest-to-god, relationship. He had been a fuck-buddy, and not a very good one, but I could hold a conversation with him. We worked together. I trained him in bed. I rocked his world.

Then, he got bored with me. We dated for a year, but somewhere in there, he decided he didn’t care about my sex anymore. I had nothing else to offer him.

I cheated. I didn’t mean to. I held off as long as my pussy allowed me to, but, being the slut that I am, I couldn’t control myself. It also didn’t help that I had gone six weeks without getting laid. SIX WEEKS. AND I was in a relationship! I should’ve been getting dick every night.

The man who I cheated with knows I am a slut. We had been good friends, and shared fantasies and sex stories. He is twelve years older than me, and gives me everything I need. He lets me be a slut, and when we go out, he’ll be the one talking to guys, asking them if they want me. He knows I’ll make out with anything that moves, and brings girls around for me.

He also treats me like a lady, though, which is what no man had ever done before. He cuddles with me and tells me he loves me. And I have never in my life been happier to be a slut, because I am HIS slut.