Why Am Not A Slut, But a S.L.U.T.?

I have always had a love/hate relationship with the word "slut". A former bartender at the NYC gay bar, The Cock used to call me "Slut-asaurus Rex". Most of me loved it. Another part of me hated it.

While the word-perv that I am loves what the word "slut" is about, I think the part of it riddled with disdain is from the many self-destructive behaviors displayed in porn from all genders and that I have seen in sexually permissive spaces with my own eyes from gay males who can be defined by the word.

Such as how sluts choose quantity over quality. Meanwhile, while I love having my body entertain and be entertained by the beauty of the male form, and there are so many beautiful men to entertain, I put quality first. Quality by way of a spiritual connection through the eyes, and not just sight of the body, or in the case of many gay sluts I have seen, feel of any body. Hence why I can go to a sex party for 3+ hours and have one great 5-minute fuck to call the night great. Meanwhile, to those who are the more common definition of "slut", one fuck (no matter how good the sex was) is a lousy night.

This is why in the poem I said the lines:

So I call myself that standing for something 

That something is not the word you know 

For those who define as the word 

In some ways, live by a different code

For that reason, I wanted to come up with a definition for "slut" that more so suited me. Then it came to me. Instead of trying to use the word, why don't I make the letters that spell the word mean something. Much like Folsom Street East did a few years ago when they started calling the event S.L.U.T.S., an acronym for Sex, Love, Unity, Trust, and Safety.

Now, I have come up with my own acronym. With that said, I'm all about sharing it and maybe even starting a movement with it. For I know a number of people whose sexuality is much like mine. They have the lust to have sex with every adult human of their preferred gender with a pulse, but won't because they crave a connection besides just a pretty face, even in that fleeting moment.

So which are you? Are you a slut? Or are you a S.L.U.T.?

No Pull-Outs, No Push-Outs

Funny how this poem all started because after writing the article for Thotyssey about how guys pulling out when they ejaculate takes away from the sex, I couldn't get the thought out of my head of trying to write a poem to make pulling out less appealing. In the process of writing it, coming across a bunch of videos showing push-outs also made me need to address that in the poem as well.

I wanted to be stern about my position on both, yet continue my poetry mission of making dirty talk free of shame, and sexier as it aided in one being honest about their feelings on pulling out and pushing out.

In the poem, I believe I said all I needed to say about why pulling out is counter productive. However, when it comes to the pushing out of cum, you might have noticed that I did not say too much for my position on pushing out. In fact, I probably more so extended my argument against pulling out. Hindsight being 20/20, I realize that being detailed and honest about my feelings on that would have likely lessened the immediate post-reading sex session I want to inspire with the poem.

Such as how when a guy shoots his load into your ass, then it comes out naturally over time with no real effort from you, cum in the butt then is a beautiful anal sex by-product. However, a conscious and forceful push-out of cum makes cum an anal excrement to me. Thereby making a push-out just a step below scat, which I am not a fan of at all. 

There was no way to make that sexy.

For I want this poem to inspire a fuck session in which right after reading, a couple fucks. As the top pounds away at his bottom or the bottom rides the top, they emphatically agree that the top is going to shoot his raw load in the bottom's ass, and the bottom is going to let time (not his mind) be what tells his body to le the load go.

With that said, I hope this poem has either done so for you already, or it will in due time.