A man lists bodies and he is experienced
I do the same and I need saving. That double standard is older than my bloody rent.
I have heard the word in bathrooms, cabs, group chats, and the quiet after a good night that should have stayed good. Slaggy. Easy. A bit much. Like my confidence was the offence, not the sex. Like I walked in wearing my own appetite and that was rude of me.
I like sex. I have had plenty. I will say that without the little cough people want as an apology. If that bothers you, the door works the same both ways.
It is not even about the number
They pretend it is a maths problem. How many. How recently. Who. As if a tally is a moral system.
I have watched a man tell a story about three girls in a month and get clapped on the back like he passed a course. I have mentioned one night, one name, one ordinary fact, and watched a face change. Same city. Same weekend energy. Different vocabulary.
He is experienced. I am a lesson. He knows what he is doing. I need to be careful. He has a past. I have baggage. He is honest. I am oversharing. It is the same behaviour with a better press team.
The number is an excuse. What they do not like is that I do not look ashamed while I say it. Shame would make me easier to manage. Shame would make them feel like they found me, not like I arrived already knowing what I like.
Confidence is what they clock first
I put a face on. I walk into a room like I belong there. I can flirt without folding. I can ask for what I want in bed without turning it into a request form. That is the bit that gets named.
Not the dress. Not even the night. The fact I do not flinch.
If I was quieter about it, if I did the little embarrassed laugh, if I said it just happened, I would get a softer word. People love a woman who stumbled into her own desire. They do not love a woman who packed for it.
I have been called slaggy for existing in a body that looks like it has opinions. Before anyone has even asked me anything true. The word arrives as a warning shot. Be smaller. Be grateful. Be the version that does not make him wonder who else has seen this.
I am not doing that. I already spend enough of my week being professional, on time, and good with a rota. My nights are not a rehabilitation programme.
They want the heat. They do not want the history
This is the part that makes me laugh in a mean way.
They like that I am not shy once the door is shut. They like that I can keep up. They like the confidence when it is aimed at them. Then morning comes and the same trait becomes a problem. If I can be like that with you, I could be like that with someone else. Correct. That is how desire works. It is not a loyalty card you stamp by being the latest one in the room.
Girlfriend material is the phrase that follows. I have never heard a man called boyfriend material because he kept his number low. He is boyfriend material if he is decent, funny, employed, and not a liability. I am girlfriend material if I look like I have not lived too much.
Lived too much. I am thirty. I live in London. I go out. I like bodies. What did they think I was doing, collecting stamps?
Women say it too. I am not pretending otherwise
It is not only men. I have heard it from girls who would borrow my liner and then rank someone they have never met. She gets about. She is always out. She makes it look easy. Easy again. That word does a lot of heavy lifting for people who are tired of their own restraint.
Sometimes it is jealousy dressed as concern. Be careful. You do not want a reputation. As if reputation is a landlord. As if the city is not already full of people doing the same thing and calling it a phase if they are pretty enough.
I have judged too. I will own that. I have looked at a girl in a bathroom queue and made a story because I was in a mood. That is ugly. It is also common. The standard sits in the air and everyone breathes it. I am trying not to pass it on like a cold.
Saving me is not kindness
When they decide I need saving, it is rarely about my safety. It is about their comfort.
You deserve better than that lifestyle. You will want something real one day. You should not give it away. Give it away. Like I am a limited edition and I have been mishandled. My body is not a gift with a receipt. It is mine. I used it. I enjoyed it. I came home. I went to work. The warehouse did not collapse.
If I wanted saving I would say so. What I want is someone who can hear I have a past without rewriting my character. Kind is not the same as nice. Kind does not need me innocent to treat me well. Nice will compliment my mouth and then go cold when I do not perform regret.
I do not owe anyone a redemption arc. I owe myself a Tuesday that is not spent explaining why I am allowed to like what I like.
The insult only works if I pick it up
Slaggy is meant to land in the soft place. The place that still wants a boyfriend and a bit of money and a door that is mine. The place that checks the mirror and hopes I look sorted. They aim there on purpose.
I have let it in before. I have gone quieter for a week. Worn the bigger jacket. Made myself easier to plan around. It did not make me more chosen. It made me resentful and bored.
Now I treat the word like a tell. If he needs me ashamed to find me acceptable, he was never going to cope with me on a normal day. I am cocky. I am specific. I will say no and I will say harder and I will leave early if the morning feels like a negotiation. That is not damaged. That is me knowing the room.
You can not want me. That is allowed. Preference exists. What you cannot do is sleep with the confidence and then punish the same confidence in daylight. Pick a story and stay in it.
I am not asking to be called a stud
I do not need a parade. I do not need the male version of the word handed over like a prize. I need the double standard to stop pretending it is taste.
Taste is I like blondes. Taste is I want something slow. Taste is I am looking for serious. Fine. Moral scoring is when my history is a stain and his is a brochure. That is not taste. That is a rule that only runs one way.
I will keep putting the face on. I will keep wanting what I want. I will keep saying it if someone asks, and I will not say it if they only want material for later. My life is not content for a man who could not be honest about his own weekend.
They can call my confidence slaggy for existing. I can call that what it is. Fear in a nicer shirt. An old rule. Older than my rent, and just as good at making people smaller than they need to be.
I am not getting smaller. I have work in the morning.
