Friday, October 24, 2014

Slut



Samantha was the first woman I had ever met, well, the second actually, who ever sat down with me and told me she was a slut. Sex was something she enjoyed doing more than sitting around talking to somebody you really wanted to have sex with, but were just talking around it. Just ask for it, Sam told me, and if I am in the mood we’ll do it. If I’m not you don’t have to stick around and try. Sam also lacked a filter when it came to telling people what she was thinking at the time, and that more than anything else she might have done drove people away from her.

Men, Samantha told me, are more apt to walk out of a woman’s apartment with their desires unfulfilled if the woman tells them upfront she’d like to have sex. Let’s do it before we go out and that’ll knock out some of that sexual tension, okay? But that freaked a lot of guys out and it ruined it for many more. Where’s the conquest? Where’s the reward for effort? Where’s the constant pressure and eventual breaking down of the barriers? Where’s the epic struggle with the bra clasp and the tight jeans pull? Samantha changed the script when it came to sex and most of the guys she met were more than a little intimidated by the idea of a woman who was not only willing but willing to talk about it.

I remember the first night I met her. I was at a bar in Valdosta and my friend Sara was telling me about her. Sara was thoroughly fascinated with Samantha because they were cut from the same cloth. Sara had an air if elegance about her, a little aristocratic snobbery that her looks allowed her to get away with it but Sam was all blue jeans and tee shirts, mostly. Sara sat down at a table where Samantha was drinking with a female friend and then motioned for me to join them.
“What do you think, Samantha?” Sara asked. “Would you sleep with this guy?”
Samantha laughed hard and then looked at me to see if I was in on it and clearly, by the look on my face, this was the first I had heard of it.
“Sure, why the hell not?” Samantha finally said. “Have you got any pot?”

So on the back to my apartment we smoked a joint, made introductions and took off clothes off and had sex. The pot was good, Samantha was too, and we enjoyed the evening a lot more had we just danced around the subject until we were drunk enough to leave the bar.

“I’m a bit of a slut, in case you haven’t realized it yet,” Samantha said to me. She said it as if she had just told me she was a Scorpio, which as far as I can tell, mostly the same thing.
“I wonder why men doesn’t get that sort of reputation for doing the same thing?’ I asked.
“The same reason people bad mouth cheap beer.” Sam told me. “Men are willing to pay more for some beer that no one else is drinking because it makes them look like they can get something no other man has. Men drink to get drunk, as drunk as they can, but it matters how they get drunk, to other men. You see some guy with a bottle of Boone’s Farm in front of him and you’re not that impressed, but when a guy is sitting there with a bottle of, oh shit, I don’t know any good wines,” Samantha laughed hard at that.
“I don’t either.” I admitted.
“But it’s same thing.” She said. “Men want to be seen with a woman no one else has but they still want her for the same reason. Chances are, someone’s had her, but at that moment she’s property. Now the man may be looking at every hot looking little ass that comes through the door and he may even take a shot at something he wants, but he’s not going to tell his property this, and he’s not about to let her do it. But men have a cash investment in relationships, they buy into it like they’re renting a piece of property to grow crops. Dating isn’t exactly prostitution but there isn’t a man out there who doesn’t understand that his chances of getting laid are almost zero if he asks a woman to pay for a date. Women buy into the idea it’s not selling if he’s nice about it, opens a door or two, says the right things at the right time, and finally about three dates deep, both of them are ready to get over it and get in bed.”

“Sleeping around is more honest,” Sam told me, “I don’t feel bought. Sex is different when you get what you want when you want it. You spend a lot less time and effort trying to get it. It doesn’t drive your reason for living like it does those people who can’t get any because they’re so damn uptight about it.”
“Wow” and that was all I could think to say.

“Think about it Mark,”
“Mike”
“Oh, sorry, uh, Mike, “ Sam giggled, “you’ve gone out with women, fell in love with some of them, had your heart broken or broken her heart, and during all this time you’re paying a monthly bill of X amount of dollars. You’ll get a discount once she starts paying for a few things, but that’s when the relationship begins to even out and you, as the man, start to lose a little bit of control of her and the relationship. If you can sit down and have a dialog with her, about who pays for what and when and how, then you’ve finally reached the point where I start when someone wants to date me.”
I don’t say anything. Samantha was lying next to me, one arm tucked underneath, one of my arms over her body, and she looked really good naked. But all I could think about was what she was saying. Then it occurred to me, that even within Samantha’s System, she would have a very hard time finding someone who would quit the normal Prostitution Dating System and join the revolution.
“You’re thinking about how hard it’s going to be for me to find someone to get into a relationship if I tell them I’m a slut upfront.” Samantha grinned at me in the candlelight.
“Uh, yeah, that’s close” I admitted.

“So what if starting right now, you tell every woman you meet you’d like to get into her pants. Oh, but you’re willing to take her out to movies, talk about world peace, buy her meals in places you’re not going to take her again in the coming months, open the car door for her, and at some point in time, sex is going to happen anyway, so why not the first night? I think if you started out that way you’d wind up with a lot more sex and a lot less hassle. Maybe not, but how does that dating thing work when you go home alone anyway?” Samantha got up and went to the bathroom. Watching her walk nude was exciting.
“So now what?” I asked when she got back.
“What do you mean?”
“You want me to take you back to the bar now or do you want to hang around for more sex?” I asked. “I mean, as long as we’re going to talk openly about it.”
“I’ll spent the night if you’re up to it, but I’m not going out with you.” Samantha said.
“Why not?”
“You’re still hung up on the Prostitution Dating thing.” Samantha said. “You’ll have a good sex buzz after this and confuse it with actually liking me. You’ll buy me stuff and confuse that with some sort of pre-commitment and the next thing that will happen is you’ll find dancing with someone I like and you’ll feel hurt, through no fault of my own.”
“Wow, you’ve got it all figured out.” And it really sounded like she did.
“Your friend Sara, now she’s got it all figured out. She sells herself to the highest bidder every night but on her terms. She might not sleep with the guy buying the drinks and everyone knows it. She steals from the men she sleeps with, she treats them like shit, and they eat it up and empty their wallets in public for her.” Samantha sat up on the bed, crossed legged and faced me. “You were there, right? That night she told her boyfriend she was going to sleep with the next  guy who walked through the door? And she did it, right?”
“That’s what happened.” I told her. “I was sitting right there.”

“And he still chased after her.” Samantha raised both hands to the sky as if she was invoking some holy spirit, “How does a man get that invested in a woman whose nature is well known? He invests money into her and that invests his heart.” She lay back and unwound her legs, throwing them across me.
“Why does Sara sleep with you?” Samantha asked.
“I have good pot.” I replied.
“No, Sara sleeps with you because she actually likes you.” Samantha told me. “That’s another reason we can’t date. I don’t want that bitch in my life in any form”
“I don’t think Sara likes anyone.” I said. I knew Sara too well.
“She can get better pot from one of a dozen men, you never have cocaine and you know she loves the stuff, you’re way under what she wants out of a Sugar Daddy, and you drive a Toyota. So why is Sara setting you up with other women?”
“To see if I’ll do it.” I replied and that seemed to be a good answer. It felt good.
“No, she sets you up with other women because she likes you.” Samantha laughed hard and I grabbed her and tickled her for it.
“You don’t know anything about women, Mike. You never will.” Samantha laughed even harder. “Are we going to talk all night or do you want more sex?”  

Take Care,

Mike

4 comments:

  1. What the hell, Mike? You didn't get in touch with me? You didn't want to share the bounty? Keep all the nookie to yourself, right? You call me "brother." You call me "friend." You call me in the middle of the night when that harpy you picked up in the last bar decides she likes your car better than you and you're walking. What's that about, hmmm? I tell you what, keep the harpy, dawg, tell me more about Samantha. Oh, and this pot thing? You know I can roll a better joint free-hand than 90% of the spliff builders racking up with a box of Swisher Sweets. And mine is primo Columbian sinsimilla! What the fuck, man? Are ya happy, now? I just had more than a flashback to the early 70's.

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    1. Geezer. All of this happened in the 80's. Sam is likely happily married with five kids and a rich husband. And I had as much control over her as I do the weather.

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  2. It's always interesting to meet a kindred spirit.

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