women never have our own damn sexual needs; that it's wrong or wicked or dirty for women to negotiate any sexual exchange for pleasure; that women are meant to trade sex for "commitment" or "support" (though, bizarrely, never outright for money). If we assume that I can get something great from sexual relationships without Being On The Path To Marriage. That I understand and honor my sexual desires, that those desires are worth fulfilling in themselves. And if we assume that men have something wonderful they could bring to the sexual exchange; that they aren't always "using" or "exploiting" or "winning" some kind of sick war-of-the-sexes, every single time they fuck. But even if the fears don't make sense, sometimes they still come out and whisper at the back of my neck... /'m selling myself short. As if I should have bargained better, should have traded my sexuality for far more than "mere" pleasure with someone I "merely" liked, was "merely" attracted to, who "merely" respected my boundaries and "merely" was fun to hang out with. Would some people see it as ironic that I prefer relationships with real emotional heft, even when short-term or casual? Even with that said, though, there is no description of how reasonable, safe, or awesome my relationships are that will matter to our slut-shaming society -- or to the fears it's hammered into me. Society, whose judgment of whether a girl is a "slut" can be sudden and devastating, stupid and stereotypical; a lightning strike that lands based on absurd factors like how non- normative or straightforward or aware of her sexuality she is. And once I'm a "slut" -- if] dare dance over that ever-shifting line -- then I'm beyond the pale. The world always seems to be outdoing itself in finding new ways to tell me that once I'm a slut, no man will ever respect me again. ok I went home. It was raining, all across my cypress city; raining so hard, I had to take the bus instead of walking. The rain struck me as an insultingly obvi