Not The Experience, But the Numbers

The number of men I’ve been with since the start of my sexual life is in the double digits.  It’s not something  I readily tell people.  It’s not even something I’ll offer up to a current lover.  For some reason, it shames me to admit it.  Ok, maybe it’s not just some reason, maybe there’s a definitive reason.  There is a definitive reason and it is this:  My mainly Italian controlling ex boyfriend.

At the time I was dating him, the number of men I had had sex with was in the high single digits.  However the amount of men I had given blowjobs to, was a tad higher.  And I made mention of this because I thought total honesty was expected and appreciated.  Plus, oral sex is sex, or a form of it.   I was wrong.

I’m a whore. A slut.  Disgusting.  Worthless.  I am all these things.  I was all these things.  

I helped to egg on the image he had of me as a slut and whore.  When he asked me a question about the men I had been with, I told him the honest answer.  I didn’t hold anything back.   I knew his reaction because he told me from the start that I disgusted him and anything I said after that would disgust him.  I tried to fight his perception of me, but he was right.   There was no way I could make him see differently.

I know I should be proud of who I was . . . there’s nothing to be ashamed of having had a multitude of men. Even tho at my younger age, it wasn’t for the experience, it was for the pleasure of it.  I wasn’t very discriminating.  Anybody that wanted to give me pleasure, I was there. 

Nowadays however, I take a look back and realize that the now-me doesn’t want to do that again. Hearing about a friend’s many partners in one month makes me wonder what the hell she is/was thinking.  The now-me just wants to find that one man I can have many, many experiences with.  Someone I can experiment with and not feel judged or labeled.  However if he were to  call me a whore or slut during the act, I won’t mind.