Something I wrote when I was kind of drunk…

“I slept with this slut the other night…”

He calls them sluts. The girls he sleeps with are sluts. But what does that make him then since the term “girls” is plural. Just a man? An ordinary one? If that’s what ordinary men seem like I want nothing to do with that. Seriously, you have no problem looking for naked pictures, but the moment any girl takes her clothes off…she is just a slut to you?

“Damn man. I’ve never has sex before and I even think calling those girls ‘sluts’ is harsh…especially since you’re also a slut.”

He thought himself exempt from the term. “It’s different for guys, they’re allowed to be sluts.” Really? I’m am so done I can’t even. I have never wanted to hack off someone’s head with a sword so I could hear their screams, more than this moment. I can’t even begin to comprehend that mentality. To never take responsibility for my own choices. To think I was exempt from the rule. That something a narcissistic sociopath would say, and who was to say that he wasn’t one.

Most of the women I know who sleep around do it because they hate themselves and want to pretend they’re loved. That is what they have admitted to me, and isn’t to say that it’s why all women do it, but it is the reason that makes me top he most passionate. They don’t wait because they don’t think their sexuality and beauty is worth waiting for. They were abused….and most of them sexually at one point in their lives. So to some guys they’re sluts? Ironically those guys are the ones playing the part of abuser in those women’s lives. They use men to help abuse themselves. An assisted abuse. They want to be hurt, even if they don’t realize it, but strangely enough, many of those women do realize it. So who is the sick one? Every one of them. All those so called “sluts” play into a system of self torment, and call it pleasure….and so many men are just okay with this.

I’m out. I’m done. I don’t have time for that. I may have been hurt in my past, but I will not let a damaged culture change me into believing that the way looks like a list of bodies I slept with. I refuse to make that list. I refuse to be on that list.

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