An Ode to Men

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I love men. I love the way you smell, the way you walk. I love hairy men, strong-bodied men, skinny men, short men, tall men, dark-haired men, light-haired men. I love calloused hands, I love hairy butts and arm pits. I love penis lines, linty belly buttons, a freshly-shaven face, a strong jawline. I love the way you touch me, hold me, grab me. I love the way you look at me – “steak eyes” is what Stella calls this, the way a man looks before he’s about to eat a really good steak – I love the way you dress, the way you talk, how you move in a kitchen, how you order your food, how you interact.

I just love men. Continue reading “An Ode to Men”

To Be A ‘Slut’

Every now and then my mother feels it is absolutely necessary to tell me to change the name of my website.

To her, a ‘slut’ is not something one should be referring to themselves as.

She tested this theory about a year ago when I had just started the blog and exclaimed to me in the car one day: “So, WHAT! Do you just want to be called a ‘slut’?!”

I reacted neutrally, shrugged my shoulders, and said “Yea. Sure.”

We just so happened to be on our way to a restaurant. A small, dimly lit place where people go to pay lots of money for a small glass of wine and delicious food.

When the waiter comes over to our table, my mother animatedly turns to me and says: “What do YOU want to eat, SLUT?”

That was a nice touch. Like the mother who attempts to turn their offspring off alcohol by giving them a six pack when they are twelve and saying to them: “You want to be like your dad! FINE. But that means you’ve got to really be like him. Drink all of these in one sitting.”

What my mother didn’t quite understand was that I was already pre-conditioned to being referred to as a ‘slut’. Continue reading “To Be A ‘Slut’”