Booty-calling is a subject I can discuss for literally HOURS. The merits, mostly. Sex is awesome, one of my favorite things in the world. I will defend it to anyone who questions it. I will be the first person to rejoice knowing that my friends, and even mere acquaintances, are getting laid. I have always advocated people going through a "wild phase", should they desire to do so. I've never embraced the idea of monogamy, and booty-calling seemed to meet the few requirements I did have when it came to my wants and needs. But as I have been continuing on this 100 Day journey, my views on no-strings banging have grown into realizing it's a slippery slope (beyond a spit-covered shaft.) There's a personal cost and price to pay that is sometimes hard to recognize when you're too busy getting your twat stuffed. For years and years I've been so happily humping away, I didn't see any reason to stop, or examine my behavior. I mean, sure, there were judgments and haters, and even shrinks telling me, "You've slept with HOW many men?!" I still didn't care, I just kept doing me. Which was fine, for awhile. Then in 2011, my involvement as a subject of a documentary forced me to look at myself and reflect on my loose actions. I had been so stolidly thinking that I was fine and dandy, compartmentalizing and detaching. I was so sure that I was doing just fine, going out and getting mine, and that it was enough. In truth, it probably did a lot more damage then good. I don't regret it, because the casual sex with guys I was friendly with was what I wanted at that time. No, the damage came from how I treated myself, how I allowed men to treat me, and the thunderstorm of destruction that comes from those two meeting head-on.
THE SELF
During the first few months of the documentary, the subjects evaluated their personal habits and behaviors in the realm of dating and relationships. I tried my best to dig deep. And there was some good self-discovery work done, but ultimately my brain and motives were still too men-centric for any real strides. I wasn't thinking from a purely "I'm doing this reflection because I need to improve myself, for me". It was more "I'm stopping a few of my bad habits because they prevent me from being in a real, healthy relationship." So it wasn't about plain ol' self growth. It was more like I was doing an exchange of one man-scenario for another. That wasn't the core issue, but I couldn't know that, because damn, I had serious dude-tunnel vision. And besides, was switching from super-fast bone-jumping, to a more normal pace of "let's get a boyfriend!" (ughhhhhh) necessarily better? My main "bad" habit of going to bed, too quickly, was probably worse. It would ruin chances of something real developing, because, well, you all know the reasons. But I didn't care nor did I want to change. I was, or so I thought anyway, happy. And I thought that was because casual sex is THE BEST THING EVER. It was fun, easy, allowed me to see as many people as I wanted, left me free of obligations, and let me hang out with guys and get taken out to dinners and brunches and drinks, but none of the messy stuff. And if it didn't work out, who cares?! Well, that's what I USED to think. Then as the documentary project continued, I realized I was so stubbornly defending my lifestyle because I was in truth, terrified of real intimacy and of getting hurt.
Sex provided a buffer, a way to avoid pain. I could still feel physical intimacy, and have fun and get to know someone on a very basic level. But I was also effectively keeping them at arms length. I was like a flat, sexed-up billboard: viewable and attainable, but from a distance only. And that facade was all I would let anyone experience. I liked my flashy front that I was presenting to the world. It was comfortable, because I was showing only what I wanted to show, and only the specific side of me I thought men wanted to see. It was giving me a way to get a substitute for what I really needed, which was self-acceptance. Through showing only my sexual side, I was playing up a part of me I liked, that I felt I was strong in and great at. And that horny side of me was also fun, cool, happy, easy-going- so naturally, guys would like it, too. All the other parts of me: my flaws, my fears, my interests, my thoughts, were bottled up inside the tiny person hiding behind the billboard's shadow. That backless mask spanned so wide, it completely kept out anyone from seeing around the facade, to where that crouching, vulnerable girl was waiting. And that did, in a way, prevent any form of real rejection, should random booty call #AF42367J end. When booty calls fail, its usually because it fizzles out. It can be awesome while it lasts, but it's got a life-span of 3-5 months of continual hanging out, tops. It may last years, if it's sporadic. The point is, it doesn't fail because some guy saw my true self and was like, "YOU'RE DISGUSTING, I'M OUT OF HERE," which was, and is, my fear. That was a level of hurt I was in no way ready to meet, so I found a (temporary) loophole to get around it. So while being a part of that doc project had it's benefits, it was only the first tiny step to realizing the whole picture. Now that I've started this 100 Day round of self-exploration, I've fully disengaged myself from men and am realizing that that fear goes deeper than rejection from a man. It was me projecting my own self-hatred onto guys.
Booty calling turned out to be damaging here because I was blinding myself, to myself. I focused on, and presented, one very particular side of who I am, to the world. All the other parts of who I am suffered, and got dusty from neglect. The billboard of my sexual side provided a wide span of protection, but it was the only part of myself I was "practicing", so to speak. Over time, that billboard kept getting wider and wider because it's all I would ever reveal. And that made it harder and harder for anyone, including myself, to see or even remember there was a whole other person hiding behind it and waiting to be loved. I used sex as a means to cover up, and avoid, my own issues with who I was, and who I am. I don't think my sex lifestyle was ever unnatural, nor did it ever come from an inorganic place; I am most definitely a sexual being and loved all of it. But I do think part of the fuel that pushed that drive came from the need to keep my personal issues buried deep. I mean, really. What would you rather do: some serious, soul-searching shit that leaves you crying and forced to own up to your flaws and self-disgust, OR, bang a parade of gorgeous, fun, well-endowed (for the most part) men? But you see, when you clench your eyes shut to your issues, you don't even see that "would you rather" game at all. You see only your desire, and the men. You don't open your eyes to your problems because it's too painful. You'd ultimately prefer to continue to distract yourself. Which does even more damage in the long run, because those issues are only going to feel worse to extract once you finally face them (and if you ever do.)
Unfortunately, the self isn't the only thing that feels the harmful effects of a booty-call lifestyle. It's not just you out there; men are directly tied into it, and provide a slew of other problems, no matter how great they fuck you.
To be continued...
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