"You’re all getting Nexted. I’m leaving you and running away with the Cunnilingus Cowboy, the fine feminist gentleman who penned the illuminating “My Night with Jenna B.” on Friday. Everyone knows a girl simply cannot resist a man who rates her fellatio skills on a 10-point scale. I’d make an educated guess he’s been haunted by that particular number (5.75) quite a bit lately, as it is precisely the length of time, in seconds, it took him to — oh, easy digs on helpless, faceless dudes: how I’ll miss you.
First, as I’ve said many times, I was infuriated that guys often viewed a woman with an immense collection of notches on her bedpost as an unfit candidate for a relationship — and I thought that addressing those stereotypes and reclaiming the word “slut” would challenge those age-old assumptions and double standards.
I was wrong. We’ve still got a long way to go. The number of “Yo this girl iz a slut OMFG” threads I encountered on JuicyCampus was disheartening, and my own experiences as the self-appointed poster girl for promiscuous Cornell women were even more so. For instance, whenever I stuck my palm out to shake a dude’s hand in the fart-scented steam-bath we know as the basement of Rulloffs, my other hand was always death-gripping my plastic cup of vodka and soda waiting for a reaction — curiosity, terror, surprise — this dude knows I’m a slut, how will he handle it? In a handful of cases, I found that I was no longer a generic blonde with a skanky top and too much eyeliner. I was The Sex Columnist — an objective that, when attained, would give this college boy license to brag over breakfast.
