Columns

What I Wish I Would’ve Said When He Called Me A Slut

39c9b3b30409f62ee9554b6840a53b01-1024x768

I respect people who aren’t phased by the criticism of others. Someone can throw shade at them and they just pretend it’s nothing. Unfortunately, I’m not one of those people. I like to be liked. I mean, I can handle a few comments, but if someone questions my character, there’s a good chance I’m gonna lose it. And one terrible day when a stupid boy crossed me, that’s exactly what I did.

I was posted up at the bar, a few beers deep like any typical Wednesday afternoon. To my left was my favorite pledge sister and to my right were a few fraternity boys that I’ve hung out with a time or two. I had finished my exams for the week and life was good. Until it wasn’t. One of the bros to my right caught my attention. I could tell he was far past an appropriate drunkenness level for two in the afternoon, but it wasn’t really surprising. I’d never had any previous problems with this guy — in fact, I thought we were becoming good friends, so I didn’t think anything of it when he said he had something to tell me.

“B! You know what? You sleep with anything that walks. You’re such a slut.”

I’m a woman of many words. I have a keen comeback for everything that’s said to me. This was the first time in my life that I was completely and utterly speechless. I stared off into the distance, holding back the water that was attempting to break my eyelids. Suddenly my favorite place on Earth had become a place I wanted to run away from. I didn’t reply to his comment. He was beyond wasted and I didn’t want to continue the conversation. I went back to my drink and brushed it off as if it didn’t happen. Unfortunately, I thought about it every single day for a month or so. Now, only every so often. I wish his stupid words didn’t have such control over me, but they do and it sucks. Now that I’ve had time to absorb it, I wish I could go back and spit these painful words in his face.

“That’s funny that you think that. That’s funny that you even think at all with that narrow-minded, ignorant brain of yours. In fact, I feel bad for you and the views and opinions you’ve decided to stand behind. You think that if I sleep with more than X amount of men, that I have no standards or self-respect. You think that my personal worth is defined by the amount of dicks I’ve sucked. Less is more. If I’ve only blown two then I’m good enough for you, but more than eight and I don’t deserve a date.

I feel bad for how absolutely misguided you are. I feel bad for any past or future women in your life. You must be delusional if you think the number of men I bring home affects who I am at all. My choices regarding sex don’t define me. Sex is what I do, not who I am. I’m not: B, 22 years old, NY, X sexual partners. I’m: B, 22 years old, NY, confident, intelligent, doesn’t take shit from anyone.

And if you don’t believe my views on how things are, we can take it to the facts. There is entirely no difference between a girl having safe sex with 50 dudes and a girl having sex with her boyfriend 50 times. No. Difference. Women’s vaginas don’t, in fact, stretch into black holes the more dicks that enter them. I don’t know where small-minded assholes like you got that idea, but get rid of it.

The fact of the matter is, sex makes me feel powerful and confident and satisfied and I won’t let douchebags like you shame me from saying that. I’m happy with all decisions I’ve made regarding sex and, therefore, you should be too. You know, I give every person I meet the benefit of the doubt and assume they’re a good person. That’s exactly what I did with you. Never would have guessed I was wrong.”

I hope you all can remember some of these words to throw back at someone who wrongs you. Or at the very least, read them through and know that you’re the only one in charge of your worth. In the meantime, I’ll be sending this article his way, or depending on how I’m feeling, posting it on his FB wall.

Email this to a friend

Blackout_B

Blackout_B (@b_m4rie) enjoys drinking beer by the gallon and making memories she'll never actually remember. When she isn't embarrassing herself by making out with randos on the dance floor, you can find her pretending it's normal to drink a glass of wine with breakfast every day. It's fun to sit down with her on Sunday mornings and hear how fucked up her weekend was.

3 Comments You must log in to comment, or create an account
Show Comments

For More Photos and Content

Latest podcasts

Download Our App

Take TSM with you. Get

New Stories

Load More