escort diary of Marcella Romaine

Making Friends with the word SLUT; a Personal Journey.

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Making friends with the word SLUT;
A Personal Journey.

The Oxford living dictionary definition;
Slut (Noun)
derogatory: A woman who has many casual sexual partners.

I grew up in the GPS & Catholic education system. The worst word you could be called was a SLUT - A loose girl who 'let' boys have 'their way' with her at whim.

Ironically I was a virgin when I was first called a slut as I suspect most women are. The exact circumstances in which the word was brandished escape me now; I believe that I was called a slut by a boy trying to offend a male friend of mine, as collateral damage.
It hurt; I'd heard the word disapprovingly hissed under my usually liberal mother's breath when she was jealous of other women. I myself had used the word in secret with my friends to denigrate classmates I just didn't like.
We were all so curious about sex, on the precipice of exploring it for ourselves. Yet all of us at that private girls school had been systematically warned about the perils of men, about our 'reputations' being 'tarnished'
It really did seem that being an intelligent and ethical person and being sexual were mutually exclusive. And since I was a good scholar but also felt deeply sexual from a young age, I thought I should probably keep the latter to myself and try to be a 'good girl.'
Ironically, I wonder if this is where the seeds of my fondness for power play in my sexual tastes were sewn.

Through my late teens to mid twenties, I struggled with this insurmountable paradox in my character. Dropping out of two consecutive degrees whilst stripping part time, a new world in Adult Entertainment opened before me. By the time I was 24 years old, I had posed for 11 national centrefolds, performed explicitly - sometimes in front of crowds of hundreds, been crowned Australian Penthouse Pet of the year, experimented with soft core internet pornography.....and only slept with 3 men! (Admittedly, quite a few more women, mostly on the job.)
In my private life, I became increasingly anxious. I was a serial monogamist who held onto relationships with nice young men past their use-by date because I had been taught that 'quality' women don't have multiple sexual partners, or wanton desires...

I have a sad memory that still burns me to this day, of being with my first love. It was a heated moment, he spread my legs as we were about to fuck and I pressed my knees back together hard. "Pretend I don't want it," I'd begged him. I wanted to feel absolutely taken, submitted.
He'd recoiled in embarrassment and something resembling disgust. It was a split second that confirmed my deep seated fears, my inner Catholic programming.
You are a slut. You are different. You are fundamentally wrong. You cannot be both valued and loved as an ethical, intelligent woman and a sexual force of nature.
In hindsight, it's hard to discern if the tuggings of shame and judgement were predominantly from the public or from inside myself. Either way, eventually my confidence was shot. I was convinced that expressing my sexuality would make me a social pariah.
I left the adult industry to work in fitness for 8 years. My desire to paint and write died along with my dancing. It was not a terrible lifestyle, but I was striving for mediocrity. Perhaps I could kill off my sluttishness altogether?

Thankfully, that didn't happen.
Along with simply getting older, and happily giving less metaphorical fucks each year,
I partially credit my male colleagues in the fitness industry for helping me finally love and accept my inner slut.
As my business and our friendships grew, I was privy to their conversations about sex that made it seem like sport. Some of them had seen me in men's magazines, but they didn't make me feel like anything less than a co-worker and confidant. Most of them were promiscuous and unashamed. After all, we worked with our bodies in a different way.
I felt suddenly confident to seek my own conquests and share in the locker room low down. I fucked a few older men, I had multiple threesomes, discovered BDSM. I vocalised what I wanted with casual sexual partners.
I eventually fell in love with someone whose preferences were more aligned with mine than the partners of my youth.

I enjoy being a slut in my thirties in 2016.
For a word I used to live in fear of being branded with, it has truly lost its power of denigration for me. In fact, it's become a term of endearment.
Exploring promiscuity personally and professionally has been mentally liberating.
I wouldn't say I'm a superfreak - just honest about liking sex and exploring its different flavours. My creativity is seeping back through my veins, the more I am born again to my true nature.
As a sex worker, I live in my strengths instead of denying them. I'm not sorry either, Catholicism - just so you know.

Now, when others try to impress their negative interpretation of the word slut on myself or other women, I find it curious and outdated.
Last year my inlaws created an enormous furore in response to a Facebook post.
My partner had cheekily captioned a selfie of us; "Date night with this slut!" and several of our friends had liked and commented on the photo, many declaring their undying love for sluts!
Her parents immediately began calling and messaging her, demanding that she take it down as it read as though she was calling me a "prostitute" (As you can imagine, this was unspeakably ironic and hilarious to me.)
"You are dragging the family name through the mud" Declared her father.
Regretfully, she caved and removed the post, which to me meant that the negative connotation of the word had won the day.

But by and large, I believe there is new hope for sluts like me!
Think of Clementine Ford calling out rape culture in Australia, putting the onus of violence on the offenders instead of victim blaming. The unapologetically sexy Amber Rose sparking Slutwalks - where woman can reclaim their streets dressed as scantily as they bloody well please - because it's their body, not anyone else's!
Just last week, I was so proud of my partner for pulling up one of her friends, who was criticizing another woman for supposedly showing too much cleavage. "You're Slutshaming. Stop it." She told her publicly and firmly, and was supported.

I believe the days of being able to control and demean women with archaic language and attitudes will come to an end if we can take control of them for ourselves. I'm an adult in charge of my own destiny and I will never bow to attempts to control or humiliate me with moral intimidation.
I am not that confused little catholic schoolgirl inside any more....Although you'd better believe I still rock the uniform!
SCARLET BLUE.
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