Reclaiming My Inner Slut

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It’s been a long time since I’ve written a blog post that wasn’t a review. I’ve felt like a bit of a sex blogger fraud and like I haven’t had anything to say since it’s been a long time since I’ve been up to anything slutty. Hell, I’d subtitled my book The Wet Coast Confessions of an Anxious Slut and I began to fear people might call me out on not living up to it. My battles with mental illness, particularly depression, essentially stole the latter half of last year and the first few months of this one. Getting sexy fell completely off my radar while I worked to find a version of me that wasn’t just about surviving. Thankfully, I’ve slowly been finding my way back to myself though I still haven’t been able to fully reclaim my sexuality.

It was strange after having several years of super-sexy discovery and exploration to slip into a mode where the sexual piece of me that I’d considered so foundational to my identity was nearly entirely shut off. I no longer felt like the person I’d been for the past three years and seriously wondered if those years had been it for me. Like they’d been a peek into a life that I loved but one with a specific expiry date.

I’d been feeling a big distance in my romantic and sexual relationships and although Flick and I have grown close again, other relationships near and far were changing as we all fought our own battles, and most of those have transitioned into friendships. Adding family stress, changes in Flick’s relationships with his people, and some truly un-sexy physical ailments means I haven’t felt at all like the pervy slut I’d built a community and online presence around.

Unfortunately, when even the effort to lie on your Doxy Die Cast wand to get off feels like way more effort than you could possibly manage, dating and parties seemed out of the question. Even reviewing toys has often felt completely beyond me. You mean I have to get lube and a throe and put this thing inside/on me and then wash it after? Ugh! Occasionally, I have a small window of feeling sexy and fun again, and I’ve tried to take advantage of those moments, but it doesn’t take long to slip right back into the blah.

As someone in their mid 40s who was raised female, I’m ever conscious of both my attractiveness being considered more temporary than that of a man, as well as the hormonal changes that are going to be coming my way that may curb my sexual desire. That ‘last fuckable day’ looms large. As someone who is genderqueer I hope to harness the power of the Silver Fox rather than evolving into the crone. But then I get mad that there’s such a disparity in aging and that attractiveness at 50-plus is a thing reserved for masculine folks and I resent it at same time.

A couple of unexpected recent sexy experiences have reminded me that I do still have the sexually charged, libidinous, exhibitionistic piece of me inside. I felt the strength and charge I used to feel almost constantly at a queer kink event recently while Iris and I played together. To celebrate my 45th birthday, I invited a group of sexy people over to join me for a Babe Bang (more inclusive than Lady Bang but still no cis dudes) and that was an exceptional night of immersing in hedonistic pleasure. More on that night soon.

After not having any luck meeting the kinds of guys I’d like to date as I scrolled the dating apps, I have switched up my approach and have a few dates lined up with sexy women. Through putting myself out there I’ve started seeing someone pretty damn special who has helped me reintegrate the me who’d been trapped behind a wall of depression for far too long. I’m hoping every small step will continue to feed the flickering sexy spark until I’m aglow again with a brightly burning slut flame.

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