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>Quality Over Quantity

>So umm … I hate admitting this but … I’M CONFUSED.

Growing up, the almost unrealistic concept of saving yourself for marriage was a reoccurring theme in most households where teenage girls lived. And the tale of the cow that nobody bought because she gave away her milk for free was a popular bedtime story.

Meanwhile, I was wishing I was Brenda in the 90210 episode where she lost her virginity to Dylan during prom. Needless to say I didn’t wait ’til marriage lol. But subsequently, I can still count the number of men I’ve slept with using two hands, and as I’ve annoyingly mentioned numerous times I’ve yet to have a one night stand or a successful booty-call.

And if it sounds like I’m envious of women who’ve partook in these type of sexcapades it’s ‘cuz … well, I kinda am.

Yes ladies, gentlemen, and all my younger readers who look up to me or see me as an “a’te,” asides from a writer, fashion designer, teacher, broadcast journalist, and wardrobe stylist – I also wanted to be a whore when I grew up. OK, well maybe not a whore per’se (‘cuz I definitely don’t think that just ‘cuz someone’s had a bc or ons, it makes them a whore). Let’s just say I yearned to be whore-ish. *Sigh* my mother would be so proud.

Now I know all of that sounds ridickulous. And I know there’s more to life than waking up hungover in the Venetian with some fine ass stranger butt booty nekkid next to you and your bra swinging from the ceiling fan – yet I can’t help but still feel slightly I dunno … inadequate? inexperienced? boring? Ugh, I SUCK. I FUCKING SUCK.

For most of my life I prided my lack of promiscuity, while thinking men respected it. And while I didn’t expect to be put on a pedastal because of it, I at least figured it would place me on a higher step than those who’ve been around the block one too many times. But I’ve come to learn an inconvenient truth – IT DOESN’T REALLY MATTER. So now I’m sitting here feeling as I’ve missed out on something.

And I guess I’ll continue to feel that way … because as much as I’d love for my next post to be about my crazy night that rivals the one they had in The Hangover, I don’t predict one anytime in the near future. I’ll eventually come to terms with it as I proceed to live vicariously through others. Because I rather be the “boring” girl that doesn’t know how to separate emotions from sex, than the girl who cries after her booty call leaves because she thought she could separate the two, or the girl who cries after having sex with a stranger because it’s not what she really wants.

Besides, quality over quantity. ‘Cuz while I ain’t sayin I’m the best lay in the world or even a good one, I’m definitely not inadequate or inexperienced. And sweetie, I definitely ain’t boring.

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