Slut Pride

The first time somebody called me a slut, it had nothing to do with sex. This was not somebody I had ever met, much less considered having sex with. I was in high school. I stood up at some sort of board meeting and voiced my opinion, with confident sweet sixteen aplomb, that sexual education was important in schools. I said that teenagers deserved to have access to information that would make a difference in their health and well-being, that sex was not a horrible awful thing, and thanked the adults in my life who helped provide me with guidance and support. Afterwards, a man approached me outside where I was standing with a friend. He narrowed his eyes and said: "So, do your parents know that you're already a little slut?" He spit on the ground next to our feet and walked away. Hateful and sad. 

I also experienced slut-shaming prejudice from peers in high school. I noted the irony of being called a "slut" by a guy I had refused to go on a date with. The irony caught up with him hard by way of a sucker punch to the gut when he had the nerve to call me a slut again in the parking lot after a football game. Also, he should have known better than to enrage my crew - stoners, math wizards, band geeks, and art freaks are the true masters of creatively crafty paybacks.

Then along came Kathleen Hanna. The stunning lead singer of Bikini-Kill wrote "Slut" on her belly in bold black letters. Pissed off by the loud aggressive, testosterone fueled jerky ass dudes beating each other senseless in the mosh pit, she took back SLUT. Also, CUNT, DYKE, WHORE, and a handful of other "dirty" words, scrawled all over her body with a sharpie. She cut through the violence and aggression with words and energy and inspired a movement (Riot Grrl) that united young punky chicks everywhere. Strength in numbers. Fighting fire with fire. Challenging people to look, to deal with it. I liked her style. Hanna said: "I felt that if I wrote slut or whore or incest victim on my stomach, then I wouldn't just be silent...." And together we reveled in it. Whatever it was - our angst, our pain, our rock n' roll, our dignity, our pride, our sexuality, our self-expression.

Like everything after high school, things continue to get better and brighter. There's an exquisiteness to hearing "the S word" spoken with love and affection, rolling off the lips of a dazzled lover - "There's my beautiful little slut..." he says, twisting my nipples and nibbling my earlobe, enjoying the way I feel, taste, look, and respond to his sweet touch. Hell yeah, I'm a slut. So what?! I love healthy, happy sex. I'm sexy and proud, bitches. I'm GGG (Good/Game/Giving - in Savage lexicon). I like responsible, safe, honest to goodness fucking. I like giving and getting pleasure and passion. In the words of the indomitable Margaret Cho : "...And so I wondered, am I gay or am I straight?! And then I realized, I'm just slutty!!! Where's my parade? What about slut pride?!" Word. 

Margaret Cho fabulousity: