The subject of female sexual promiscuity comes up often in the manosphere, unsurprisingly. Guys often talk about the nature of female promiscuity (particularly as it relates to hypergamy) and its impact on men (haves vs. have nots) and women (more partners = bad wife?). The more I consider the subject, however, the more I hear a single question repeated in my head with regard to sluts: should we really care as much as we do?
Granted, I’m not saying that the number of sexual partners a woman has had is not ever relevant. Indeed, it would be wise to keep that history in your mind if you’re considering a woman for something long term. A woman who is prone to impulsively hop into bed with different men whenever she gets the urge is a woman who may not be loyal enough to stick by your side, the kind of woman who will be especially prone to using “her emotions” to justify stepping out on you sexually every time something goes wrong. That reality just is what it is.
Many young men, however, aren’t looking for anything serious. Many are merely looking to get some sexual gratification and to take step towards genuine self-improvement in the social, physical and sexual realms. Many are surrounded by females who really have no desire for anything serious either, preferring instead to focus on discovering their own sexuality and improving their social lives.
For these men, is it really warranted that a large number of fucks be given with regard to the fact that a particular female has gotten around a bit? How many young men are held back from realizing their full sexual potential because of their inability to properly deal with the concept of female promiscuity?
Much of my motivation for asking this question here is drawn from my own experiences with “sluts”, and my realization that my inability to merely take what they could offer and accept them as they are cost me a host of potentially very enjoyable sexual experiences, as I’m sure it has cost a lot of other young men.
Pedestalization was one problem. As a teen I would run into several girls who I would discover were, in fact, “sluts”: they didn’t really date and they hooked up with numerous men, going as far as to tell their friends that increasing their partner count was an actual goal of theirs. A couple of these sluts took some romantic interest in me.
What did I do? I tried to turn them into housewives. I took them on dates and treated them like “ladies”, and failed. Why? I couldn’t merely accept what they are. As in the game of American Football, sometimes it is best to just take what the defense gives you.
Modern men have no real control over female sexuality—the days of the male dictating to the woman who/when/how/where she actually can/cannot fuck are done. This renders all efforts to change the slut futile.
Had I merely accepted the girl for who she was as opposed to moving to squeeze her into my own naïve vision of what I figured her sexuality ought to have looked like, I could have gotten laid a decent amount, had a little fun, and left my teen years with substantially more sexual experience than I had.
Excuses were another problem. During my early college years, I used female “sluttiness” to mask my own insecurities. In one particular case, I was in a fraternity basement with a friend on a weekend night. A particularly attractive young freshman was dancing next to me. The opportunity was there, and I suspect she intended it to be so: she was wide open for me to approach, and had oriented herself somewhat in my direction. All I needed to do was make a move. I thought about it, and so did my friend. He wasted no time questioning me.
“Why don’t you go ask her out?”
I was intimidated. She was hot. I had no game.
“Nah, she’s a slut dude. Nah.”
“If she’s a slut, then why don’t you go fuck her then?” My friend replied before pushing me a bit in her direction. Frozen by the logic of his words and my own stupendously pussified, gameless nature at the time, I did nothing. She kept dancing. The night passed. Life moved on.
Now, I wasn’t entirely wrong in my characterization of this girl. She became a well known “team bike” for several of the school’s sports programs, throwing herself at multiple seniors on the football, hockey and baseball teams. One football player even managed to hit it in the football fraternity’s chapter room in front of many of his teammates—she was down for that kind of thing, and made it known to multiple upperclassmen. Despite being one of the most beautiful girls on campus, a top sorority turned her down during Fall rush, only accepting her during the next semester as a late bid. Her female peers were openly shaming her for the reputation she’d gained, and everyone knew it.
All of the above, however, is really quite irrelevant to my own situation. Her sluttiness was not the real reason for my lack of effort in approaching her. Rather, I used that as a cover for my own insecurities.
The efforts of my male rationalization hamster had convinced me that it wasn’t because I was a gameless pussy that I couldn’t approach this hot girl right in front of me. No, it was because she was a slut. By throwing out that label and feigning to be holier than thou, I could divert my mind’s attention away from my own insecurity and inability to even approach a pretty girl. It was all a clever (or not so clever?) ruse.
My friend saw right through it, of course, and rendered it moot with one simple question: if she was such a slut, then why didn’t I go ahead and fuck her?
I said nothing back to him because there simply was no good answer. What reason was there not to have sex with this girl (or at least attempt to approach her and do so)? I was a young, horny, inexperienced guy with a desire to improve my social and sexual fortunes. If I had just dropped a pair of balls, I could have made a move right then and there.
I failed for one simple reason: I could not merely take what the defense (the girl) gave me, and instead tried to deflect and twist reality to fit into my own preconceived visions of what her sexuality should have looked like. I was so overly focused on her “sluttiness” that I threw away any potential to gain any sexual satisfaction of my own and derive enjoyment from it. I simply cared too much about her promiscuity, and too little about my own sexual gratification.
Again, I am not trying to suggest that there are no problems associated with female promiscuity. What I am saying, however, is that it is possible to vastly overstate this concern and fail to get as much sexual gratification as one should.
After taking the red pill, I soon realized I was not alone in this: lots of men, conditioned by false blue-pill delusions and their own ignorance with regard to the nature of female promiscuity have tried to turn hoes into housewives (and failed spectacularly as a result) or talked themselves out of pursuing an attractive but slutty girl and getting sexual experience they should be getting. They would have been much happier (having more sex and catching fewer feelings) simply accepting those women for what they were, getting what they needed, and moving on. No need to waste too much time focusing on her promiscuity (and why it is a negative) and no need to falsely put her on a pedestal. You need no shaming and no praising—just get your touches in and get along when you’re satisfied. Chances are that she’ll do the same thing. She’s probably not interested in being your special princess—don’t treat her like one and everyone wins.
If you’re a young guy and you meet a slutty girl, what is there really to care about? Chances are you have no desire to marry the girl or get serious (and vice versa), so the risk sluts pose in LTRs is irrelevant. Proper protection can minimize the STD risk, and the risk of pregnancy can be mitigated as well.
With those concerns out of the way, the only prominent factor left for the young male concerned with social and sexual self-improvement is his own sexual gratification. In this regard, the slut can be quite helpful, so long as you accept her for what she is. Nothing more and nothing less.
She’s going to be having lots of sex with somebody. Why shouldn’t it be you?
Read Next: 24 Signs She’s A Slut
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