We’re whores

 
Twenty-nine percent of men in the U.S. report having 15 or more female sexual partners in a lifetime, while only 9 percent of women report having sex with 15 or more partners, indicates a 2007 survey conducted by the National Center for Health Statistics.

Findings also conclude that, on average, men have seven sexual partners in their lifetime, compared with four sexual partners for women.

Are you fucking kidding me?

Says who?

Granted, the news articles based on this report include no statistics on exactly who was responding to their survey — we know not their age, race, religion, class or even country. But these figures simply CAN NOT be accurate (I‘m spelling that word wrong to make a point, so suck it.) Now, I’m not an unabashed cum-guzzling, jizz-mopping, tea-bagging, penis receptacle; but I think it goes without saying: I’ve had a few dicks in me. Plus, I know a lot of women who blow the roof off the mother fucker when it comes to being a gap-toting slutbag, so I think I’m free of full-blown trollop status. And, even if tons of people marry their high school sweethearts, and/or have relationships that last 5-10 years, wouldn’t the porn stars even out the prudes? What, they didn’t survey any?

I find it more than a little concerning that these stats come from a division of the Center for Disease Control. I would imagine the CDC actually knows what they’re talking about. You’d think the government would have the best technology and the most honest statistics available. Or, maybe this is a huge conspiracy. Perchance the National Center for Health Statistics is secretly funded by the religious right, whose goal is to interview limited subjects, and publish false findings, in an overall effort to curb sexual activity! *insert dramatic sigh here* Well if so, good luck, The Man, I’m pretty sure sex will always win — in any battle.

I’m also curious what the Center means when they say the results were obtained “using high-tech methods to solicit candid answers on sexual activity.” Did they bug my bra or something? I don’t care how high-tech the methods were, and how frank the responses, I’d say a fair amount of people lied about their answers. Who replies honestly when a complete stranger asks about their personal business? (Besides me and a few other shamelessly sluttastic individuals, that is.) I feel like a great deal of people must, for some reason or another, be embarrassed about their sex lives and, consequently, fib about fucking as many fools as they have.

Pulling rank

So, what makes 15 the magic number? If I were to draw a line in the sand, I’d say a solid 50 cocks marks a slut (although that’s probably because that number seems so far from my own guesstimate.) These audacious facts have encouraged me to create a pecker -ahem- pecking order in terms of sex and the modern woman.

Here you have it, the Hierarchy or Whoredom:

     Porn star 15++++

     Prostitute 15+++

     Slut/whore 15++

     Single/sexually liberal 15+

     Prude/serial monogamist 0-14

You can determine where you place on this list; but, please, don’t be ashamed of your status. In some states it's still illegal to be on top; give a blow job; take it up the ass; or even pair patent leather shoes with a skirt. If you aren’t scared of the police knocking down your door, you shouldn’t be scared of what other people think. But, in the end, it’s your business and no one else’s… unless, of course, you talk about sex and dicks and such as a leisurely pursuit, like someone you all know.

Since these statistics are seemingly nonsense — and as a result of no demographics being released along with the fraudulent findings — I took a little survey of my own. In my research, I surveyed women between the ages of 20 and 50, who are either married or single, and of all sexual orientations. And, as it turns out, the whore’s have it! My survey of 65 women found that 44 “ladies,” or 68%, have fucked 15 or more partners. Meanwhile, 21 refined females, or 32% of respondents, have lain with less than 15.

And, apparently, every man is a whore (shocking). Either that, or they’re all liars, since only one man admitted to having slept with less than 15 partners. For shame! Married, under 15 sexual partners, and NO diseases before the age of 30? How dare you be a civilized non-man-whore! And in the year 2012, no less? Psh! (To be fair, I think those men who had scored with under 15 women simply didn’t answer.)

And, you may be wondering why I didn‘t include gay men in my findings. From the few responses I gathered, I’ve concluded that their ranking system is far different than my own. The lifestyles of some gay men represent 2012’s approach to free love and loose principles and, I must say, I admire them for that. They’ve revamped the social norms and stigmas attached to sex. Why aren’t heterosexuals less uptight about sex? Or maybe the majority of us are...

In conclusion, it seems the 44 nameless sluts I studied disprove the theory that the average woman has slept with but four men. So, maybe we’re not complete whores (assuming that I‘m one of the many skanks discrediting this theory): we don’t charge; we use protection; and we won’t get you arrested. And, who determines what makes a slutty whorebag, anyway? 15 P’s in the VG? Eh, NBD. In this day and age, 15 men in your cock chamber in one lifetime ain’t shit. And, if 15 men makes a whore, then wear that scarlet A proudly, you buncha bitches. Say it loud, say it proud, “I’m a whore!” I know most of you wear that badge with your head high — either that, or I only choose to consort with harlots. On that note, let’s end this piece with some priceless quotes from a few of the loose slots I surveyed:

“If over 15 is a slut, I’m a dirty whore!”

“You know my answer... It's true... I'm a dirty, filthy, nasty slutbag whore…”

And, my favorite response, “In my whole life, or this year?”

"Fuck me like you mean it!"

With my ear pressed firmly against the wall, I could hear a woman calling out “Fuck yeah, harder!” “Yeah baby, just like that!” The expression on my squished face could best be described as an amalgamation of amused, disturbed and voyeuristic. I considered rubbing one out real quick (I mean, c‘mon, it‘s free porn), but I didn’t like how I could only hear the woman’s voice and, to be honest, my neighbor seemed like kind of a choch bag.

I had just met my new neighbor Jake two days previous, and smoked a bowl with him one day previous… which had seemed promising. It had taken the maintenance team more than a month to completely renovate the crack head hoarder’s apartment, and I was relieved to find that my new neighbor seemed normal. However, during our smoke session he had waved a few red flags: 1. He said he had sold Buffalo Exchange a bunch of Ed Hardy t-shirts; 2. He kept bringing up this older woman who was trying to tie him down; 3. He didn’t have a fucking bed.

I listened to Jake fucking this woman — or this woman being fucked be Jake — for about five minutes. Then the woman who Jake had the day previous described as “35-year-old,” “blonde,” “wants me to move in with her“) shouted out an encouraging “Fuck me like you mean it!” and I busted out laughing — a guffaw I could not suppress.

While I’m sure this was said amid a moment of passion, and/or a seemingly convincing yet over-played fake orgasm, it isn’t necessarily a testimonial to someone’s dick giving abilities. When I heard her shout this out, what I really heard was, “No, seriously though, fuck me like you mean it. Please? Would you mind? Is it even in there yet? Can you try to fuck me like you mean it? I mean, I came all the way over here to fuck you on this mat on your dirty floor that was once lived in by a crack head hoarder. The least you can do is fuck me like you mean it.”

At that point, I decided to be a complete creep and tap slowly and purposefully on the wall, so they would know I was listening. It was around this time I heard him smack her ass through the wall (and/or one hell of a ball smack,) and it echoed outside the door of my apartment. I tip-toed to the door, unlocked the deadbolt, undid the chain, and slowly cracked open the door, peeking out as if I was scared to see them fucking right there with the door open (it was that loud). It sounded like they were filming a porno in the hallway and broadcasting it in stereo. I could hear every move they made and the images in my mind were quite graphic: an ass slap here, a deep throat there, and more commands from the cougar.

The funniest part, to me, was that I knew this guy didn’t own a bed yet and had been sleeping on a camping mat for the past week (he did own a ginormous “$200” mirror and a barber chair, I should note). I could just imagine this woman on all fours and screaming directly toward my wall. I mean, I know a bed isn’t required for sex, but in my opinion, if the person you are fucking cannot afford a bed, you shouldn’t be fucking said person. It’s a fucking bed. That should be right in there with the basic necessities of food, water, shelter and oxygen. No bed is a deal breaker, you must at least have the option (and please note: a case of “mattress on the floor” comes in as a close second.)



Next time I hear the cougar in action, which I really hope is never, I intend to blast the most annoying, dick-limpening music possible with my speakers turned toward Jake’s wall. If that doesn’t muffle the shouts, I guess I’ll have to call someone over to try and out fuck them. I’ll post a sign up sheet outside my building.

If you don’t have enough time to pleasure yourself, you have problems.

While out with my friends the other night, we somehow started to discuss the topic of self pleasure. One of my friends said that there simply weren’t enough hours in the day to do this deed. Bull-fucking-shit. “Don’t fill this gay bar with your LIES!” I said, asking every man around me his thoughts on this so-called chore (and making mental notes that I ended up forgetting several vodkas later).


Personally, I feel that if you A.) sleep, or B.) shower, you have nothing but time to rub one out. Unless, of course, you don’t shower or sleep, in which case you have bigger issues to tackle… I would start out by Googling the word “hygiene.”


"Dude, I've jacked it twice since I've been here. Are you kidding me?"
-Paul Rudd, as David in The 40 Year Old Virgin


I don’t care whether you bump bones ten times a day, or ten times a year — you still need to play the skin flute, hitchhike to heaven, dive for pearls, or slam the salami. In fact, the more I get laid, the more I am eager to polish my plum, as I have lots of ammunition fresh in my mind (and nothing better to do now that I’m unemployed [that’s right, the government is currently paying me to get off multiple times per day.])


No matter who makes you cum and how often, there’s no better person for the job than you. If necessary, you know exactly what you need to do to get off in five minutes… and we all have places to be. While a mechanic is the best person to take care of your car, and a landscaper should be hired to maintain your yard; when it comes time to take care of business and strum the banjo, or measure for condoms, it’s sometimes easier to accomplish the task yourself instead of outsourcing the job at hand (pun intended).


“Don’t knock masturbation, it’s sex with somebody I love.”
-Woody Allen, as Alvy Singer in Annie Hall

Another reason to butter your corn, or tickle your tulip is plain and simple stress relief. If you are ever having trouble falling asleep — or are anxious before a job interview, date, or other occasion — I recommend taking a moment to show yourself who’s boss. You will feel better instantly; and, thanks to opposable thumbs, you don’t even need a device to dig a trench or play pocket pool. While some men own a flesh light, sometimes all he needs is lotion, his dong, and an advertisement for bras, as Ben Stiller’s character illustrated in There’s Something About Mary.

On the other band, all a woman needs when muffin buffin is mental stimulation and a finger or two. However, there are countless dildos, vibrators, and other sexual devices on the market that range from $5 travel-size bullets, to $125 big daddy vibrators with more bells and whistles than a fire truck. And who can forgot the detachable shower head? Not I, for one.

You may or may not be aware that the vibrator was initially developed in the Victorian Era to treat hysteria in women. You could go to the doctor and he would perform “pelvic massage.” (If this practice was still a common occurrence, I bet more of my male friends would be doctors.) It is rumored that the vibrator was the fifth domestic appliance to be electrified in the U.S. This came after the sewing machine, fan, tea kettle, and toaster. Astonishingly, the vibrator came about a decade before the vacuum cleaner and electric iron, which indicates that women learned to cream before they learned to clean.

While we’re on the subject of domestic appliances, many women were diagnosed with having “housewife syndrome” in the 50s and 60s. Women who were struck by this “illness” — who were really just depressed about being housewives without ambitions outside of their families —  were prescribed valium (mother’s little helper). These women were likely ordered to purchase a vibrator and zip it before their husbands gave them something to really cry about. “What do you tell a woman with two black eyes?” “Nothing you haven’t told her twice.”

“[It] isn’t illegal, its frowned upon… like masturbating on an airplane.”
-Zach Galifianakis, as Alan Garner in The Hangover

For some individuals, another great part about flicking the bean, brewin baby batter, rubbin the nubbin, or holding your sausage hostage is the act of doing this somewhere they shouldn’t be and/or somewhere they could be caught. If I had to guess the most inappropriate place I’ve had my way with myself, it would be on the second day of jury duty, during a four-hour recess, in Denver County Court. Not bad, eh?

There are countless places to play clit commander, milk the banana, charm the cobra, or read Braille. In fact, this seems like a fun game for persons from 10 to 100 years of age: Think of the most bold and creative place to beat around the bush or play the organ and do so without being caught (or do get caught and earn extra points… the opportunities are endless).

Before I leave you, here are some other places to consider coming into your own:

• The light rail or bus (yes, it could get even dirtier)
• Your car (and they thought texting should be illegal)
• At work (your door has an office for a reason)
• The gym (work it out)
• The library (shhhhhh!)
• The dance floor (show off your moves)
• Your parents house (payback)
• A strangers house (get some strange)
• On a road trip (the only benefit to having not called shotgun)
• A public park (scare some children, they deserve it)