i’ve been developing a practice that i refer to as “mindful sluttiness,” as i’m starting to reframe my approach on how to live a satisfying slutty life while the years fly by. as a result i’ve recently found myself turning to my older writings, where i endlessly explored what sex was and meant to me. i’ve known who and what i am for quite some time and, hence, there is no lack of documentation about my sexual prowess.

i found this piece on an old tumblr i had a few years ago and i wanted to bring it here, to join my slutty confessions and maybe provide some context for my stories. enjoy!

•seeking validation through sex•

this is what i do. i have a problem and this is why i’m writing here. i can’t accept the fact that sacrifices must be made to live. manic me is extremely charming, but when i’m there i live through dreams of hypersexuality. i can’t stop myself even when i know it’s wrong and i have fed into this beast for so long. my bipolar “superpower,” it’s almost cliché how i conform to that romantic magnetism that manifests through mania. i am the most charming person you’ll meet when i’m anywhere on the edge of sanity, an incredibly intriguing woman with a voracious sexual appetite. at these times i use dating and hookup sites, i cruise hotel bars, i hit on SO MANY men in all kinds of places and situations, and i’ll look pretty damn hot while doing all of this. i will sacrifice sleep for sex, i will put friendships on the back burner for dick, and i will most definitely fuck the first time i meet someone. lots of men pass through these dreams, men to whom i give my body to destroy. i let them fuck me in all kinds of ways and the truth is i like how it feels when they’re doing it. i’m addicted to that sense of validation which comes with being seen as a sex object. or is desire the drug?

🖤