I've a new post on Filthy Gorgeous Things as part of their June issue, Modern Love. It's the tale of my time spent in the throes of SlutFest 2004, snippets of which have made cameo appearances here on my pretty dumb things. You know how it goes. You spend a summer having indiscriminate sex and one day you find yourself squatting on the very clean bathroom floor of some former tennis pro, fingers spelunking your vaginal depths, chasing an elusive and escapist condom. And you think to yourself, Just what the hell am I doing here?
We've all had that moment. And even if we haven't, we can enjoy mine.
Here's the first paragraph of my piece:
Five years ago, I spent my summer in the throes of something I've come to call SlutFest 2004. For that brief, tawdry and occasionally halcyon period, I gave myself a virtual blank check to indulge unto surfeit any and all of my sexual appetites. I fucked women and men, sometimes together and sometimes separately. I had sex anonymously, and I had sex with names. I had twosomes and I had threesomes (sadly, I didn't have moresomes; I'm not certain why I didn't push that particular erotic envelope). I had phone sex, kinky sex, vanilla sex, banal sex, anal sex and hotel room sex. I had pity sex. I had passionate, even emo, sex. I had a lot of sex that summer, and all the sex I had, every last sweat-stained thrust, spent condom, and ululating orgasm was brought to me courtesy of the World Wide Web.
Now go here and read the rest. Then return here and tell me what you think, because I so want to know.
kissykiss,
chelsea g.
