When I saw the prompt for this week’s Wicked Wednesday it was a total blast from the past and took me right back to my school days and while I was mulling over the reason for frigid being used a lot when I was a teenager, I realised my thoughts surrounding words like frigid, coincide perfectly with my thoughts on ageing, which was one of the topics I wanted to cover for the Erotic Journal Challenge catch up month.
When I was at secondary school, which was an all-girls school if that’s relevant, there were two main insults in play, you were either frigid or you were a slag. Which meant you were judged for having sex with boys and you were judged for not having sex with boys. There was no middle ground and apparently no pride in either.
Personally, as a teenager, I found the idea of sex with boys horrifying and quite frankly a little bit disgusting. Even if I had wanted to be a top shagger teenage boys were not interested in teenage me, everyone knew though that teenage me was interested in other girls, so I was just branded and dyke and that was that. While they were calling me a dyke though, I had met lesbians a little older than myself who were very out, proud and self-identified as dykes, so luckily for me, their ‘insult’ didn’t really stick. It did mean though I avoided being labelled frigid or a slag because apparently lesbians can be neither of those things.
What I observed at school was having sex was bad and not having sex was bad. Which I suppose reflects on the belief held by certain people that sex is only okay when being used to procreate or at the very least inside a marriage. I don’t think the girls at my school knew that this is where their polar opposite insults, where no middle ground existed perhaps transpired from. I also very much doubt they realised that their words were the kind of insults that make life harder for women and support misogyny more than anything else.
They just said things, they said them because in my experience girls can be cruel and the more you have in one space the worse that cruelty gets. I also remember one young lady, who was actually quite sweet despite being in the popular crew, whose nickname was bucket minge. Yes, apparently she had been fingered so much her fanny was as big as a bucket! I remember at the time thinking that didn’t sound very accurate. I wasn’t a very anatomically wise back then though, so I just had to keep quiet and ponder much of what I heard, despite feeling very unsettled by much of it.
All these years later, in fact it’s nearly 20 years since I left school, these words and how they were used still pop into my mind. The world around me gives me insight into how folks younger than myself view sex and relationships and overall what I’m seeing is pretty good, but there are still times where I want to get on my soapbox and share my alternative views, even though no one asked for them. Age thankfully is on my side in these situations and I either breathe a sigh of relief that I’m not eighteen anymore or I’m old enough to know how to share my views in an appropriate manner.
When I turned thirty I was mortified. My twenties had not been wasted, I’d spent them with a wonderful man, we’d had so many awesome times together, including having an amazing baby. We’d also had tough times, including the loss of my mum, our second pregnancy and sadly the breakdown of our marriage. All this meant that by the time I was 30 I was single again, I was involved with a man who was not right for me and I was extremely lost and felt like I had very little to show for my thirty years on this earth.
In about six weeks I will be thirty-five and despite some initial reservation about being halfway through my thirties, I am actually freakin’ loving it now and sex-positivity has a lot to do with why.
When I see any level of shame being attributed to someone having lots of sex, or having sex with multiple partners, I am always ready to shut that shit down. I have no issue explaining to people that insulting the girl who shagged a bunch of dudes by calling her a slut, while attributing no responsibility to the men who got it on with her is totally shitty behaviour. That naming and shaming her, but keeping her male cohorts names out of the picture is a disgrace.
I also have no problem with challenging people’s beliefs about sex and relationships by laying my own cards on the table. My dynamic with Bakji, non-monogamy, sexuality, kink and sex are all fair game. If folks ask questions they get honest answers and the older I get the less I care about their reactions to whatever it is I say.
Age has taught me that frigid as an insult is woefully inept and truly outdated, and as for being a slag, well it doesn’t quite feel as good as being a slut, which oddly has a nicer ring to it, but a rose by any other name and all that. I’m still not a top shagger, in terms of numbers, not ability, but if I was I’d be quite happy to be a proud slag, see, does not sound as awesome as proud slut does it?
Either way, the body I have is mine and what I do with it is my choice. I have zero desire to bend myself to the will of others so that they feel more comfortable with how I use my own body. Sex, tattoos, kink, erotic images, the clothes I wear; all of those things I do for me. Yes, it’s great when someone like Bakji comes along for the ride, or enjoys how I look, but at of the day I do the things I do for me because I want to feel happy and comfortable in my own skin and those choices make that happen.
Turning thirty-five is proving to be a somewhat pivotal age for I think, the last five years have been spent making my life one I want to live and this upcoming birthday feels like the perfect time to solidify who I am, embrace the life I’ve lived and look forward to many, many more good times ahead.
Myself and Bakji have had a few conversations lately that have highlighted that one area I could improve in is asking for things I want. Not in terms of kink, but in terms of everyday life. I’m not good at asking Bakji to accompany me on vanilla outings, I worry he’ll be bored or that they’re just ‘too vanilla’ or ‘too coupley’. Discussing this with him has made me see that he would love to go on these adventures with me, and if I asked him to do something he truly didn’t fancy he’d just decline politely and the benefit of our dynamic means I could invite someone else and that wouldn’t be an issue.
I am looking forward to moving into this new phase of ageing, I think it is going to be positive for me. While forty is perhaps still a good few years away, it is my next big birthday and I already feel far more positive about that than I ever did about turning thirty. At thirty I was clueless about who I was and what I wanted. At thirty-five I know who I am and I am unapologetically me and I love the life I have built for myself. At forty? Well, who the fuck knows. I’ve got five years before that milestone. That’s five years to be more awesome, more sexy and more sexual. What’s not to love about that?