/Slut: Part One

A few weeks ago, Kasia wrote about the findings of an evolutionary biologist, who noted that our physiology suggests that women may be naturally promiscuous. We often hear about men with desires for multiple women, but we don't hear enough about women and their desires for multiple men.  This is the first part of a two-part article on sluttery.  For Modern Love, I'm going to write about promiscuity and relationships.  Next month, for the issue Force, Kasia will write about promiscuity and power dynamics.

A few years ago, I met Ian.  It was at one of the now-extinct downtown parties that regular packed dives with preening hipsters.  After midnight everyone stripped down to their underwear, so the place took on a generally horny atmosphere shortly after I arrived.  I drank until I was drunk, and when I made my way to the bathroom line, a tall, blond man wrapped his arm around my hip and pulled me in for a big, sweaty hug. 

"You're adorable," I said, though it was too loud for him to hear me.  He just smiled, tipped me back, and kissed me.  And that was it.  We entered our phone numbers into each other's phones - I caught that his name was Ian - and then I got back in line for the restroom. When I returned, he was lost in the crowd.

He called me the next day and said that he couldn't remember much but wanted to meet for a drink all the same.  I wondered whether I should tell him straight away that I was seeing at least seven different men at the time, as a professional, perpetual mistress, but it seemed premature.  Our date went well - we had some wine, talked at length about everything we couldn't remember, and then we fucked.  By the second date, I decided I should let him know that I had an active sexual life. I left out the details.

"You're kind of a slut, eh?" he said.

We went on to date, and I continued to see the other men in my life, but eventually it posed a problem.  We argued a bit at first - he wanted to know why I was still sexually involved with other men - and I was deliberately opaque on the issue. But then the nature of the relationship changed.  It became a turn-on for him.  He started asking questions again, but this time it wasn't an argument, it was foreplay.  He wanted to know how the other men fucked me, what their cocks looked like, how they felt, where we fucked.

He went out more often than I did, so late at night, after he'd flirted and kissed his way through a party, he'd show up at my place a little tipsy and very hard.  I'd lie in bed while he propped himself up against the wall, and then he'd ask his questions.