The Libido Myth | Confessions of a Real Life 'Slut'

There's a long standing double standard when it comes to libidos and interest in casual sex. While cis men are somewhat celebrated for their sexual conquests from a young age, cis women are often labeled a 'slut'. But what weight does that word carry and can it be reclaimed? 

We reached out to our favorite 'slut', Molly-Margaret Johnson @whatswrongwithmyvagina to share her perspective. 

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I’m a cisgender woman with a high libido and a love of casual sex. I’m a slut.

The word “slut” can spark many different tastes in our mouths. Some people hate it, some people are embarrassed by it; ashamed, disgusted, offended- but if you’re like me- you delight in it. I’m basically like Scrooge McDuck diving into a pool of gold coins, except the gold coins are my slutiness. It is my guiltless pleasure. 

What is a slut even? I used to think it was a woman who fucked everyone for the wrong reason and had no moral compass. The woman with a broken heart trying to be the life of the party. Deeply sad, hard to look at. Little did I know, I was that woman in my earlier sexual days. Imagine vodka soaked breath, runny eyeliner and horrible sex that usually went unremembered. It was, to say the least, sloppy. And I’ll tell you why- it’s because I thought that’s what you had to be like to want constant casual sex. I was apologetic for what I wanted and leaning into the 'party girl' narrative certainly helped distance me from my sexuality. I was scared and alienated by my high libido. I was unsafe, ungrounded and insatiable. Lethal combo.

After many bouts of chlamydia, countless mornings of waking up in another city, fucking people I shouldn’t have - I’ve wised up. I now define slut as a person who enjoys casual sex. Unrelated to gender, sexual orientation or a moral compass. My moral compass is truer than ever, as another slutty year goes by. I have rules and boundaries like you wouldn’t believe. Negotiations are had, conversations are shared. Alcohol rarely plays a role. And the eyeliner has left the picture altogether- never could get the hang of it.

The common denominator is my love of casual sex. Casual sex freakin' rocks. For many reasons. I love the hunt, I love the thrill, I’m a social butterfly and mostly my romantic desires are getting lesser and lesser. I don’t do it to prove something or do it in an attempt to gain a significant other. It’s a primal need- like food, water, and shelter. It’s an itch. So why shouldn't scratch it? Ignoring and denying it certainly won’t make it go away. There’s no shame in scratching the itch- everyone is too busy solving their own weird sex problems to notice yours anyway.

Believe it or not, I don’t have daddy issues. I don’t have sexual trauma in my history. I don’t have negative femme role models. I don’t do drugs and I rarely drink. So what made me a slut? What made my libido so high? Easy answer! And that answer is “Don’t know, don’t care !” It’s in my bones, it’s in my soul. It’s perfectly part of who I am. It took me many years to stop judging myself and stop criticizing my sexual choices- even though in my heart of hearts, I’ve always relished in them.

Straight cis men are rarely interrogated for their provocative behaviors, and when they’re lucky enough to roll in the hay with me; why am I looked down on? It took two to tango, people.

Each threesome, nameless partner and positively filthy sext is a trophy I proudly collect. My slutiness manifests in many ways. It lives in my lingerie, quietly tucked away in my top drawer. It lives in my raging yeast infections. It lives in my devastating nude selfies I take before every shower. It lives in the way I kiss. It lives in the way that I’ll never want to have breakfast with you. It lives in the cab ride home that I make my dates pay for. It lives in the bossiness of my boundaries. My directness. In my non-negotiable protection rule. In my quickness to kick partners out if they can’t rock my world.

The moment I stopped wondering, “Is this a phase? Will I ever be “normal?”’ is when guilt and apologies melted away and I was able to bask in all my slutty glory. I no longer care if it’s a phase or deeply who I am- it doesn’t matter because I’m done apologizing for what I want and how I get it. This slut is a slut for being a slut and doesn’t care who knows.