Hitting High Scores and New Lows

After I left Conspiracy, I went into a promiscuous phase.

It didn't happen immediately. I was celibate for the first eight months, largely because I was living with my mom, my stepfather, my sister and my baby niece ... in a tiny, government-subsidized house in the small town of Summerville, SC.

But when I got my own apartment, the lid flew off the pressure cooker and I crashed into the temporary embraces of seven different men over a 21-month period.

I wish I could say that with a feeling of braggadocio. Or with a contemptuous lip curl of sexual liberation, as if I had every right to sleep with who I damn well pleased.

But I'm not that liberated, and it wasn't much fun.

I never set out to be a slut. I never wanted to put notches in my lipstick case.

What I wanted, with a desperate, Catholic hunger was to get married and have kids.

Every time I slept with a man I barely knew, or ended yet another pointless relationship, all I felt was a deep sense of shame. Something was wrong with me and somehow, I needed to do better.

My greedy, insatiable vagina was an even bigger enemy than my cookie-and-candy-bar-craving sweet tooth. She had to be stopped. She was ruining my already ruined life.

But willpower didn't work on her any more than it worked on my sweet tooth.

So I racked up the numbers. In my head, it was like a football score. The number of men I fooled around with (nakedness, fondling, oral sex) vs. the number of men I had actual sexual intercourse with. In my head, I kept track. And in my head, I swore I'd do better next time at slamming the lid tight on my disobedient sex drive.

Welcome to the High Score diaries...

High-Score Diaries: Part 1 of TBD (1 2 3 4 5 TBD)

---

Please "Like" Don't Be a Slut on Facebook or follow on Twitter.