Mistress Power

Mistress Maybe: Clive James

“Is that your wife
your girlfriend
or just your main bitch?”*

Imagine a bunch of frat boys standing around high-fiving each other while they stroke egos. Visualize them recounting one of their random exploits. Then, witness as a witty member of their whore-hating posse declares with a clever smile, “Guys, you can’t turn a ho into a housewife" and the maniacal laughter that follows.

Their intelligent phraseology is meant to insult women of a morally bereft disposition while they wipe their ass clean of any responsibility for the encounter. But what these poor misguided frat boys don’t realize is most whores would rather choke on a fully erect cock than be their one and only, or hell, even just their “main bitch.” Erroneously, they assume every woman wishes to inhabit girlfriend/wife territory.

Well, gee girls, aren’t I a lucky duck? He picked me!

Unfortunately, now I’ve got another job (i.e. the care and feeding of a bottomless pit). Men have been programmed to expect the servant feminine because their mothers either engrained an attitude of entitlement in their psyches, or because of a lack of nourishment in their primary bond. Emotional vampirism runs at full throttle for those men who assign all of their emotional development to their partner. They want to be fed, nurtured, comforted, and consoled- constantly.

It’s not a surprise, then, why one would gladly pawn off this responsibility on another woman. Who wants to (metaphorically) wash socks all day? As appealing as it sounds, some women instinctively understand this is not a position of power. Not only does one lose value sexually, the interest factor is reduced considerably. Nobody wants to bang the maid, although, modern day Cinderella stories would like to convince us (women) otherwise. Realistic sluts, on the other hand, understand the maid/servant is the most unnoticed, under-appreciated, powerless woman in the tribe. So, she would rather slip into the less demanding of the two roles- the mistress.

There are people in the world, like mistresses, who defy tradition. They challenge society’s notions about love, sex, and relating. Mistresses embrace another brand of “being”. However, it wasn’t always so. Mistresses of the past were used as concubines, still dependent on the support of their lover. The unspoken agreement was, “I’ve got my normal life/wife, but she bores me and I’d like to fuck you.” The mistress accepted the offer under the conditions that financial support would be provided, but no emotional support. Unfortunately, the mistress’s survival was still hinged upon the male dollar (power).

Fast forward a few hundred years, and now, women are beginning to recognize the Cinderella story is a big fucking lie. Additionally, there is no need to barter our security for sex anymore, if you’ve got a little ambition and aren’t afraid of some hard work. However, there is a particular Brand of Pathetic out there who falls into the mistress role expecting her fellow will eventually ditch the old model and upgrade. But this, my friends, is a gross misuse of mistress power.

“Tell me lies, tell me sweet little lies.”

Mistresses who embrace power know they have it when the illusion is sparkly. When the glitter fades they are nothing more than a girlfriend in waiting. And, since “girlfriend in waiting” is almost as desperate as a “bride in waiting”, one needs to guard against the onset of reality.

Mistresses are able to maintain their air of mystery and intrigue precisely because they have no desire for love in the mundane. They allow their lover to escape from the heaviness of their primary bond to a “wonderful land of make believe.” The mistress guides her lover into a new state of fluidity. Lovers lose themselves in a sea of passion and release, while idealistic fantasies about fusion and unconditional love are exchanged without expectations.

Any savvy mistress knows, internally, she has the upper hand. He will return to his regular life craving her body, her scent, and her lips. He will dream of her, unable to capture the beauty of the bond during normal waking hours. But, who will wash the floors? Who will scrub the dishes clean? Who will care for the children? And, most importantly, who will deal with his moods, temper, smelly feet, and long-winded repetitive speeches about nothing? She will!

The mistress is not expected to assist with maintaining a functional reality, and really, why would she want to? Reality is a cruel taskmaster and isn’t compatible with beautiful visions of adoration. As long as the mistress harbors no illusions about the bond, she is able to freely fuck as she chooses.

Fuck me, put your pants back on and kindly leave, sir.

As most of you are aware, Sally is one bitch who enjoys a good power play. Thus, the mistress role fits like glove. Even if the dude has no other woman he’s fucking, living with, or married to, one can still create the dynamics of a naughty mistress-like tryst. It’s not terribly hard to do. Men have Prince Charming fantasies of their own and will eagerly fall off the edge of the Earth with you for a few hours. It’s very important, however, to quickly pull back afterwards. A smart mistress understands human reflexology and uses it to her advantage. Leave him with a wistful feeling, like he almost had it, but it slipped right from his fingers.

Whimper.
Feed.
Release.

It is the pattern we adhere to.

And so it goes.....SS

*Lyrics: Rollout: Ludacris

The Economics of Ass

Businessman in Water: Chuck Carlton

“Her good looks could've sailed a ship
but her will alone could've sunk it
Funny thing about money for sex
you might get rich, but you'll die by it”
~Close Call: Rilo Kiley

Hello my little goblins, Happy Halloween. It’s been a few days since my last confession, and I’ve been very sinful. Losing one’s soul is exhausting work. And, in true Sally Slut form, my favorite holiday did not disappoint. So, even though the light in my eyes is just a flicker and my skin is still on fire, I come bearing gifts. I’m your supplier, your dope dealer, or, should I say... sex dealer. I’ll sell myself to you for practically nothing and ask for very little in return. I’m an economist’s nightmare. I’ll offer you my ass for free. I’m the girl who won’t say no.

In a capitalist society, the law of supply and demand dictates the cost and availability of scarce resources. Men demand the booty, and women supply it. However, most men have the distinct feeling booty is not bountiful. And, if they do have a chance to fuck, they often retreat because of the emotional entrenchment (i.e. drama). Women expect something for their effort, which is why sex with a woman who doesn’t charge is relatively unheard of. Even though the cute little hottie you met at the bar is probably not a paid slut, one should not assume there won’t be a price to pay. There is no free lunch. If you take hottie home and fuck her like a call girl, she will most likely demand remuneration whether it’s emotional (a new relationship!) or actual money (dinner n’ a movie- reverse courtship style.)

It’s very seldom, then, that one finds a whore, whether she’s paid or not, who will fuck you for free. It screws up the system. If you don’t believe me, analyze the failure of Regan’s “voodoo economics” (supply-side economic theory) in the 1980’s. The idea was the wealthy, who received the benefits of the tax cuts, would eventually share their bounty with the less fortunate. The benefits, thus, would “trickle-down” to average folks and we’d all revel in our richness. The crux of the failure revolved around the concept of the “Free Share.” Were the rich (booty plentiful) really going to share with the poor pathetic (men) folk out of the kindness of their hearts?

Those who have lordship over resources (the booty) have the power. Since history and economic hardship has taught women to bargain with their bodies, power is not surrendered easily. And, if it is surrendered, it almost always has a price. Demand may increase when a woman offers her body at a discount until a certain point is reached. High quality shoppers will have moved on a long time ago, and, even the low-end buyers will scratch their heads in confusion when a seller gives away their goods for free. What’s the point? Where’s the value? Is this a liquidation sale?

Essentiality, this is the power struggle men and women find themselves in. Men want the booty to be more available, while women instinctively understand demand drives price standards. Whores who willingly spread themselves out under random strangers for nothing undermine the system. Radical sluts understand the system is fucked up. They know men & women would enjoy each other a lot more if the market crashed. Yes, some stockbrokers may plummet to their death from great heights when the structure collapses, but, a new freedom will surface in its place.

We are constantly told there is a shortage of resources on this planet. We cling tightly to our treasured possessions. Whether it’s our bodies, partners, or standard of living, it’s difficult to let go of the power associated with acquiring. Yet, it’s the ability to relate to ourselves, partners, and the world at large which ultimately suffers if we do not. Sex doesn’t have to be a means to an end or another bargaining tool laid flat when we reveal our hand.

Sex can be offered freely as a healing gift to others in service.

Fuck the markets. This ain’t no exchange. ~SS

Screwing Strangers

Thank you, Drive thru.

“Look at me, I'm skinny
It never stopped me from gettin' busy
I'm a freak
I like the girls with the boom
I once got busy in a Burger King bathroom”
-The Humpty Dance, Digital Underground

Anonymous sex fascinates me. Typically, we at least learn a potential partner’s name and a bit of their history before we jump in the sack. Now, within the context of an orgy when one is participating in a free-for-all fuck, anonymous sex is the norm and histories aren’t required. For instance, my girl friend is heading to Manhattan this weekend for some Halloween fun at a swinger's party. She may engage in some stranger screwing, which, in the sexually liberated atmosphere she’s in, will be perfectly acceptable. Regretfully, free-for-all fuck situations don’t present themselves often unless it’s in a “promoted event” type format. We don’t expect to meet a stranger at Blockbuster and fuck their brains out in the parking lot. Hell, forget the fact that it’s a stranger, and instead consider your significant other. Would you screw your boyfriend/girlfriend in the car during broad daylight at Chucky Cheese?

The fact is a large majority of us wouldn’t. Most of our sex on this planet is done at night, with lights off, under a mound of covers. We know our lovers, we know what they taste like, we know their histories, and even if the lights are dimmed, we can still find them in the darkness. In contrast, with a stranger, there is no familiarity, and no sense of “home.” We park our body on someone for a few hours and move on. Luckily, I’ve been able to experience both sides of the coin during my life time. I’ve had some loving moments buried deep in the sheets, and I’ve fucked strangers on bathroom floors under the florescent light. And, really, both are illuminating experiences.

So, last night, at the mall, when a complete stranger/store owner approached Sally with a few good lines and sales pitch, I was smitten. I didn’t buy his product, but, I did lick his balls in the bathroom under the bright light of retail. I knew very little about stranger boy before I ran off with him. He told me he:

A) had a girlfriend
B) was a Freak Boy
C) thought my daddy was an Israeli

Physically, stranger boy was right on point. Tall, skinny, longish dark hair, and foreign. Yummy. So, while I waited for him to finish closing down shop, I examined my options. I could walk out the door and never talk to him again, offended because he had a girlfriend, even though he was obviously turned on by our energy. Or, I could follow him to the nearest bathroom, and get down on my knees. Sex was out of the question, neither of us had a condom and I was ovulating. So, knee pads it was.

Alone with him the bathroom, he tasted my mouth first, lifted my shirt, and begged for my pussy. He wanted to eat it like its never been done before. He reached over to shut off the light and pulled me down to the floor. I sprung right up, turned the light back on, and let my pants fall to the floor. The guy had an amazing mouth, soft lips and thick tongue, just the way I like it. Before I climaxed and lost interest, I implored him to remove his pants so we could suck on each other simultaneously. He had such a lovely cock, and when he said, “I’m gonna cum in your mouth, you little bitch”, I melted even further into the cement floor.

During our bathroom bliss, his phone rang a couple hundred times. His girlfriend was on the line, impatiently wondering when he would return. We dressed quickly, gathered our possessions, and shut the door behind us. He nervously inquired about my intentions and pleaded with me not to reveal his infidelity (which is impossible since I don't know his girlfriend). I promised, smiled sweetly, and turned on my heel. I was almost out of shouting distance, when he yelled, “Hey, you forgot something!” Alarmed, I looked back at him, and he replied, “My name! You forgot my name..it’s....” I laughed, shot him the peace sign and continued on.

I’d probably fuck stranger boy if I saw him again. And who knows, maybe I will see him. I’m not at the mall that often, but I do know where to find the dude, after all. Yet, these kinds of encounters are geared toward never seeing one another again. I’ve had little rushes of lust running up and down my spine all day, and I wouldn’t want to ruin it by placing it within the confines of a routine.

Because, as we all know, it's better to have loved and lost then to have never loved at all.

P.S. For those weekend party animals who are enjoying their Halloween festivities this Saturday, make it a good one. I, for one, plan on losing my soul Saturday night. Anonymous random pairings, here I come. See ya on the flip side.

~Little Ms. Slutty Sunshine

Slut Guilt

Guilt: Anthony Guerra

“I don't know why
you want to follow me tonight
when the rest of the world
with whom I've crossed and I've quarreled
let's me down so
for a thousand reasons that I know
to share forever the unrest
with all the demons I possess
beneath the silver moon
maybe you were right
but baby I was lonely
I don't want to fight
I'm tired of being sorry” :: Tired of Being Sorry: Ringside

Sally has fucked, left, and destroyed quite a few people in her short life on this planet, which has led to various accusations like:

“You have no heart.”
“You’re dead inside”
“You’re a scandalous whore.”
“You ripped my pretty red heart in two.” (tribute to Sylvia Plath)

and the old stand by:

“You’re a player.”

What these malcontents don’t realize is during my younger years, I was a nice girl, a people pleaser, in fact. Often times, I would lose interest in relationship long before I broke it off. Even when relationship no longer honored self-discovery and growth, I continued on with the person at my expense. Hell, I spent two and half years with one ex-girlfriend when it should’ve been a one-night stand. But, the girl would flip out, threaten suicide, and stalk me to the ends of the earth until I relented. In order to protect her feelings I soldiered on, half-heartedly, to appease her. This relationship is only one example of how I traded the truth for a lie to protect someone’s feelings. I had many more relationships over the years that followed this pattern.

A part of me felt an obligation to help my partners maintain their emotional balance. Oh, you’re unhappy? Here, let me help. So, you hate yourself and feel weak and misunderstood? Come here, then, my little bird with broken wing. Let me stitch you up and put you back together.

The problem is, once you’ve helped someone in this capacity (either sexually or psychologically) the subject (i.e partner) yearns for fusion and wholeness with their guide again and again. In many cases, the subject becomes addicted to, what they perceive to be, their “savior’s” attention or presence in their life. The subject, then, feeds of this strength while taking what they need for themselves. When the “savior” finally attempts to gracefully bow out of their role or let’s the projection expire, the subject is, naturally, enraged. They want more. We don’t especially like it when our faith or image of someone is destroyed. But as Tori Amos sings, “I was never the vision of what you wanted me to be.”

Readers, I realize this scenario makes Sally sound like a real bitch. Who does this chick think she is? God? a Savior? a freakin’ saint?

My father had a severe Jesus complex, so I am particularly sensitive to being viewed as anybody’s savior. It disgusts me. However, Dad was a charismatic preacher, people wanted to believe him. They needed to believe him. When he spoke his “followers” listened in awe, the man was damn inspiring. Growing up hearing him and seeing him certainly affected me and the way my communication with others is received. Further, since ancestral imprints run deep through our family heritage, daughters and sons carry the strengths and weakness of those who have gone before them. In other words, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

It’s also important to realize human beings are hard wired to seek out meaning in their encounters with others and are prone to projections. For every savior out there, you’ll find someone in need of saving and vice versa. Saviors need their followers as much as their followers need their saviors. This is, essentially, a karmic situation and a sticky one at that.

I wish those who’ve felt slighted by Sally could understand the deeper impact of their perceived abandonment. They were learning something beautiful, and I was too. Nothing is ever lost. People get what they need from one another, even if it hurts. Important lessons do come through our pain and disappointment. And those who have crossed paths with Ms. Sunshine have learned about self-reliance. I can pick you up and dust you off, but in the end, each person must develop their own inner resources, their temple of self, or strong core.

So, here ends Sally’s Slut Guilt.

When we start to understand ourselves (i.e. “birthing” ourselves) we recognize radical honesty is the only way to go. This blog is dedicated to the pursuit of radical honesty, and as we all know, revolution is never a dinner party. It’s tough.

Telling a lover,

“Hey, I’m sorry; I just don’t do relationships right now. “
“I’m sorry, I can’t see you anymore.”
“I’m falling in love with you”
“I’ve fallen out of love with you”
“I want to fuck your best friend”
or “I’d like to fuck you again.”

all requires balls (or ovaries!) of steel. It may be embarrassing, the other person may feel like shit, or you may end up losing them, but we must commit ourselves to the highest order in life...truth.

So be it.

Love you all immensely, Sally.

Got Game? Part II

The Hare and the Tiger, Uffe Christoffersen

Read Part I

The Dating Game is notoriously competitive. For those of us who are in it, we know It’s a Jungle Out There. The Pick-Up Artist (PUA) teaches men how to navigate this rocky terrain, but it's not rocket science, folks. Women have been using similar methods in a different form (i.e. feminine wiles) most of their lives. Same tricks, different trade. What Mystery and other pick-up artists have done is turn the game around. Now men are playing while we sit back and watch them, for instance, “peacock” (i.e. dress to impress).

Seduction Theory became increasing popular among men during the 1980’s. I don’t believe this was accidental. If we look at what was happening in the world, especially in the United States, women were finally starting to see the benefits of the activism and energy the Women’s Movement commanded during the 1970’s . As an oppressed group, women finally gained greater sexual freedom and status with court decisions like Roe v. Wade and the passage of the Equal Rights Amendment. The affect of these impressive strides on our society should not be underemphasized.

Because women enjoy more freedom in their new position and have far more options available than before, it was inevitable; our relationships with men had to change too. Men, who were ill-prepared, encountered this new framework of relating and were understandably confused. Hell, to a point, they still are. Should I open a door for her? Should I offer to pay for the meal or share? Should I make the first move or not? Mystery’s method has been successful because he is teaching men what their father’s never did, but should have. (minus his stance on Sluts, which I whole heartedly disagree with)

Mystery and other Pick-Up Artists clearly have found their place in the market place of ideas because there is a demand for it. The boys are hungry, they are willing to devour any information throwin’ their way like a pack of ravenous dogs. Even if the information is incomplete, faulty, or just plain foolish assholery, it helps them relate to women, and of course, score with the babes.

Yet, some men still can't get it right. Last weekend, I was chatting with a new boy when he started to thoroughly bore me. From his, “Can I come over and tuck you in?” to his “One night with me and you’ll see, baby”- I almost threw up in my mouth. Hello, gross. Needless to say, that won’t be happening anytime soon. His stunning wit and impressive verbal skills reminded me of all the cheesy one-liners I’ve been exposed to over the years. See examples below:

Game that’s almost destroyed my faith in humanity:

All you need is a good dick!

Can I watch?

Guy in too-tight sweater leering with Cosmo in hand: “Hey ladies, you from around here?

"This is Tony, my business partner." (referring to the fat old guy to his left) "Can we buy you a drink purtty lady?"

Here’s my card, sweetie, call me. (wink, wink)

Nice Tits! Wanna dance?

And how bout’ the old “Feelin’ On Your Booty” move-
I walk by and he grabs my ass, and I, unfortunately, break his wrist.

And a few other extremely offensive one-liners:

“Do you wash your pants in Windex? Because I can see myself in them.”

and

“Your Daddy must’ve been a thief. Why? Because he stole the stars and put them in your eyes.”

God save me. I’m sorry to subject you to those, dear reader.

Sally’s Tricks of the Trade

One trick I have been using for many years, although admittedly somewhat unconsciously, is to enter a room/dance floor/bar with more energy than others around me. I am, by nature, a high energy person, so when the music’s pumping and I’m in the mood, I hit the dance floor with vigor. I’ve danced in clubs in Paris, Budapest, Prague, New York, and Las Vegas- to name a few- and it never fails…approach with high energy and a bit of sass, and you’ll have a crowd of on-lookers assembled in no time.

Peacocking, or dressing for attention, is highly effective as well. Some critics may say if you have a decent personality you should be able to Work It wearing a burlap bag. Yet, dressing for attention doesn’t have to involve displaying all your naughty bits n’ pieces, there are subtle ways to showcase your style. Be interesting, be captivating, but most of all, be yourself. This is called developing your “inner game” which, when done in tandem with peacocking, is an appealing combination.

Next, don’t forget to activate The Gaze. Since most of my hook-ups have been initiated through eye contact only, Sally has perfected this skill. The trick to a good "fuck me gaze" is to remain mysterious, but penetrating. Size up your object like he’s your next meal and then pounce on him. Men have to deal with an enormous amount of pressure to approach, start a conversation, and make the first move. Most are relieved to let you take the driver’s seat for once.

And last, but not least, Ball Busting. Ball Busting should be done in a flirty relaxed way. A secure man with a sense of humor will appreciate your forward approach. However, if he's a little intimidated by you, that isn’t necessarily a bad thing, it’ll keep him on his toes. On Wednesday night, when I was out with three of my most deliciously hot girl friends, I spotted Thee Sexiest Guy in the Room. Sexy Guy was lurking around our circle when I grabbed his arm and asked him what he was drinking. It seemed like a rather girly cocktail for such a burly stud, so I called him out. We joked about it for a few minutes and then moved on to other provocative topics. Although I was definitely not Thee Sexiest Girl in the Room, Sexy Guy was eating out of the palm of my hand.

And that, ladies, is how it’s done.

Happy Friday. ~Sally S.

Got Game?

After a weekend of sexifying myself in preparation for a number of erotic encounters, I’m ready for break. Sunday is good day to be boring, lazy, and reflective. So, last Sunday, out of either morbid curiosity or procrastination, I flipped on the TV to watch Mystery’s “Tricks of the Trade” on VH1. For those who are oblivious to pop culture references or find pop culture disgusting, bear with me.

The show centers around eight loveable dorky socially inept dudes who have been enlisted to learn the “methodology” of a Master Pick-Up Artist (PUA). Basically, the boys, who at the beginning of the show have no confidence in themselves are, in theory, transformed and should be able to pull their fair share of pussy (or find a serious relationship- *wink wink*) after Mystery’s instruction. At the end of each show, a contestant is eliminated until only one remains. The winner is handed 50k, the title “Master Pick-Up Artist”, and gets to hang/tour with “Mystery”… guru, magician, Libra, and well-known artiste of seduction.

The Kings of Game Throwin’, Spittin, and Tossin’: Matador, Mystery, and JDogg


The Art of Attracting Women

We’ve all heard of the “ladies man” stereo-type. Pick up artists/seduction specialists have been around for a long time. In the past, this closely guarded social network of men resembled a “secret society” of sorts. Now, the public is finally starting to gain awareness about this underground community and it’s becoming relatively main stream.

Some of the techniques Mystery teaches men are basic Tricks of the Trade one should’ve learned early on such as the old “people want what they can’t have”. Mystery advises his protégées to use “time constraints” during their interactions with women, which conveys High Social Value and is apparently what ALL women seek in a mate. By simply stating, “I’ve got a party to go to in a few minutes, I have to leave”, you’ve demonstrated you are in “high demand” and therefore, have High Social Value.

Other tricks of the trade involve giving a beautiful woman a backhanded compliment to knock her off her pedestal and then “stacking” bizarre stories on top of each other to keep her attention after the fact. If she’s not responsive, then one always has the option to “roll out”.

So, do women really fall for this?

According to Mystery and his Wingmen, they do, in droves. The question I was curious about was WHY. In order to find some answers, I logged on to the message boards at Venusian Arts.com (Mystery’s site) under a male pseudo name and started to investigate.

Upon logging on, immediately potential clients are informed they will learn…

• “The fundamental attraction switches in a woman's brain - and exactly how each one can be activated through verbal and behavioral cues. “
• “A precise model of the body-language and hidden verbal cues that people use to convey interest, social value, dominance, sexual receptivity, and more. “

Mystery has posted several times to the boards, along with his cohorts, JDogg and Matador (his Scorpio wingmen). The board is full of advice about baiting, hooking, releasing, running sets, negs, time constraints, and high value body language in order to.. you guessed it, get laid. (or find a Serious Relationship- winking profusely again here.) You can also find charming topics like, “What to do if your girlfriend’s pussy stinks”paired with advice like, “use a cough drop”, if you’re really interested in some high quality wisdom.

However, what I was looking for was The Theory- Game Theory to be exact. What is their basic theory about women? Because in order to claim a title like “Master Pick-Up Artist”, one must at least have a clue about how women function.

What Women Want

The basic premise is women must engage in “plausible deniability” to avoid being labeled.. *gasp*….a Slut, there by reducing their social value. This means women will naturally play the coy little virgin while the stud chases them. The stud, in order to chase effectively, needs to have, in her eyes, High Social Value too. Women pretend they don’t know they are being viewed as an object while The Man allows them to believe it. Eventually, the woman will let her guard down and The Man fucks.

Lovely arrangement, no?

Below are quotes from one of the boards where Mystery’s Wingman instructs wanna-be Pick-Up Artists on Sluts and plausible deniability.

“Sluts Chase. Women will avoid being labeled 'sluts' at all costs because they are at the bottom of the social totem-pole. Sluts in the traditional sense are women whose need for validation is so great that they have gambled away all their buying power trying to fill it. A woman who is perceived as slutty has a hard time finding quality ass because quality ass is likely to screen her. She is a last resort fuck. Not only that, but other women (and men) on their way up the social ladder will step on her, on the way. They will use her to reinforce their own superiority. The 'slut' is a lightning-rod for the 'cement someone's position as below you' method of gaining status. Sad, but true. Some of this seems ruthless; be aware that women aren't thinking about it, when they do it. For most women, this is all pure instinct.”

and

“Because womens' attraction must be sublimated below the level of conscious awareness in order for the plausible deniability system to have any prayer of ending in a lay, women aren't necessarily aware of their own attraction as a sexual thing. When a woman is attracted to you, she feels it as a fascination - even a compulsion - that doesn't necessarily involve any direct thoughts of sex; this is not to say that it has nothing to do with sex, or that she doesn't want sex, simply that practical necessity requires her to cram that undercurrent of sexuality down below the level of conscious thought. Make it a conspiracy, instead; a conspiracy between you and your girl. Hide her from her inhibitions, and your rewards will be many and hot. Be the man. She's not going to.”

As you can see, the whole concept revolves around the old virgin/whore dichotomy and a woman’s “perceived value" as an object for sale in the marriage market. Women increase their value by marrying/partnering up with a High Social Value Male, and therefore, instinctively will seek a man who demonstrates high value.

Is anybody in the mood to start lacing up the old corset? It’s starting to feel positively Victorian around here!

But, do all women want the same thing?

Quick, strike up the chorus for a resounding, FUCK NO!

First of all, not all Sluts are ashamed. And, not every woman wants to get married. Some women, like this one, are just fine on their own and don’t need Virgin Validation from every pathetic self-loathing Tom, Dick n’ Harry. Also, self-proclaimed little Ms. Slutty Sally Sunshine has never been short in the Fuck Offers Department and certainly has pulled some quality ass in her day. So, last resort? I think not. Further, if you’ve got your own wallet and it has money it, Sluts can buy their own shit. We don’t need yours, or your “high social value”, thanks.

Stayed tuned for an upcoming post about “Sally’s Tricks of the Trade” and the ridiculously Lame Game that’s been throwin’ in my direction over the years.

Peace Out, Ya’ll,

Sally S.