High Life: Slut Shaming

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I am here today to plead the case of human beings who have been deemed harlots and jezebels by societal standards simply for enjoying the spoils of the flesh. I am talking about, of course, those who are called “sluts.”

What is a slut? By definition a slut is a person who has many casual sexual partners. At the risk of lumping myself in with these trampy rejects, that definition sounds like the opposite of a problem. I’ve asked around and consulted the Internet in my quest for an accurate description of this social humiliation and I think Wikipedia nailed it on the head: “a concept in human sexuality. It is a neologism used to describe the act of making a person, especially a woman, feel guilty or inferior for certain sexual behaviors or desires that deviate from traditional or orthodox gender expectations, or that which may be considered to be contrary to natural or religious law. Some examples of circumstances where women are “slut-shamed” include: violating accepted dress codes by dressing in sexually provocative ways, requesting access to birth control, having premarital or casual sex, or being raped or sexually assaulted.” (Wikipedia)

I think what other people do with their bodies is none of your damn business. So long as someone isn’t committing sex crimes against innocent people, spreading AIDS or Hep C or ruining marriages, they are free to use their genitals however they see fit.

In high school, sex is everywhere. It’s the topic of conversation, the ultimate goal and the scariest thing on the planet. And when someone scores it inevitably gets blabbered all over campus and, nine times out of 10, one or both of the people involved in the act are slut-shamed. For doing something their bodies are begging them to do. In my humble opinion we should be stocking kids up on protection, Plan B and all the scary knowledge about how your junk could fall off if you don’t use it appropriately. Oh, and unwanted pregnancies, too. That’s an important topic. Educate the horny little devils and let them go ahead and do what you know they’re going to find a way to do.

As for myself, many people in our wonderful county have some idea who I am. Between this here literary masterpiece, my radio endeavors and performing, I’ve managed to claim some kind of spotlight. But with that comes mass exposure. The Sherae O’Shaughnessy gossip train is full steam ahead. Who I was married to, who I was engaged to, whose boots have been under my bed, all major topics of discussion. I wish I could say I was flattered but if there was a Humboldt tabloid my resting bitch face would grace the cover weekly. But right here, right now, while I have your attention I need you to accept that what I do with my body, as a consenting adult who pays bills, is not your concern. It’s 2015. Our schools aren’t segregated, I’m allowed to vote, the gays are allowed to have their gay wedding cake and we are all allowed to enjoy sex freely and responsibly. Get with it.

Your opinions of how someone conducts their personal life or uses their body are your own. If you believe I’ve conducted my private affairs poorly I can’t change your mind and I don’t care to. What you think of me is none of my business. And maybe I think you’re wasting precious minutes being an intellectual lightweight, nailed to a cross you got the idea to build on Pinterest. But then maybe we should all just shut our gobs and stop imposing personal beliefs as universally accepted moral standards. I’m just spitballing here.

Here’s the number to Planned Parenthood: 707-442-5700.

Keep your bits ’n’ pieces in good working order. You never know when they’re going to come in handy. No pun intended. Keep it safe, keep it classy and keep your opinions to yourself.