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I have greatly suffered the absence of my cell phone for the past four days now. To make the story short, I accidentally left the phone in the car of a guy that I brought home with me one night last week. He's not a stranger, but he's not a friend either. He's a super sexy, smooth-talking acquaintance who coincidentally caught me on a night that I was feeling rather sexy myself. One drink led to another, one kiss led to a make out session, and a blow job in the bathroom of McGuire's led him from the bar to my bed. Judge me if you will, but after kissing him goodbye the following morning, I wore a smile on my face for the entire day because I'd obtained for myself something I'd needed for sometime. I felt like a woman empowered. Yet that day, while attending a wedding, I joked with a friend, whom I view as a big sister in many ways, about the night before; however, she seemed rather disturbed upon hearing about my exhausting night. At the reception, and in front of another girl who sat eavesdropping on the conversation while all of the other wedding guests were otherwise entertained, my friend surprised me with her reaction to my talking about the event. She asked me this, "What are you going to tell the guy you want to marry about your choices?" To speak plainly, an argument ensued. She proceeded in an almost scolding manner to speak against what she termed promiscuity as I spoke in defense of myself, arguing that one night of impulsiveness was hardly promiscuous. Neither of us won the argument, and she excused herself from the heat of the conversation to have a cigarette, at which point the eavesdropper said to me, "Don't let her make you feel bad. It's your body as long as you're safe." I know this friend of mine is just exercising the big sister complex I've allotted to her by worrying about my wellbeing, but it left me to wonder why she cannot seem to see all of the gray area between promiscuity and purity. The popular stereotype that promiscuity runs rampant among the college-aged population prevails in the minds of many. Last week, a friend of mine, while at the health clinic, was asked how many people she'd slept with in the past five years. To which she answered, "Four." Then she was asked how many people she had slept with in the past six months, and to this question she answered three. Upon hearing this, the nurse at the clinic replied, "Yeah, that's what college will do to you." It is as if we offer up our purity as a sacrifice to the impurity that is sexuality rather than come into an age where we begin to understand our own sexuality and act upon the natural urges it creates within us. If you want my honest view on this issue, I have no problem admitting that it is my belief that our societal views on sexuality are oftentimes unhealthy and lead to a repressed expression of human sexuality. Popular virtue used to tell us never to engage in premarital sex, but virtue changes with time, and now it's more common for people to save themselves for love rather than marriage. And then, of course, there is the emergence of the message that we should just be sure to take care of our bodies. Nevertheless, we view sex in terms of how our society views sex, and in the present day, harsh judgments of the so-called "promiscuous" lurk in the very heart of our society. Americans are infamous for making stark contrasts between what's right and what's wrong, and the terms of human sexuality must fit within one of the two if we, as a society, are to attempt to sit comfortably on the issue. I am not condemning the belief that sex is something special to be saved, nor am I asking you to change your views on sexuality. I am simply asking those who would deem me, or any other girl like me, promiscuous to try to stop viewing sexuality in terms of black and white. I am not loose. I am not a slut. And I will not go home with any guy who asks. What I am is a young woman who understands her sexuality and is not afraid to pursue her desires.
Sylvia Chambliss is a pseudonym for a Voyager contributing writer.
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