Along this journey I have found myself having to confront several things that make me uncomfortable. Although I was regarded in a delicate light as I mentioned before, I wouldn’t have labeled myself a prude. I was open to new ideas. Not only was my behavior not prudish, my thinking wasn’t prudish or so I thought until I was put to the test. I believed in keeping an open mind and then he said certain words to me. Words like pet, collar, leash, slut, fuck and my mind scrambled to keep up because it wanted to put the brakes on. Me a pet? Me in a collar? Me a slut? Excuse me? Just who do you think you are talking to...Sir?
Slut. I’ll focus solely on the part of my journey with that little four letter word and my confrontation with it. You see I am an intelligent woman. I am not a slut. I do not sleep around. I take the decision to go to bed with a man very seriously. That was the soundtrack playing in my head as Sir called me slut and it was on constant repeat. How dare he label me otherwise! I could see my inner feminist just shaking her head at him. Oh she wanted a piece of him for calling me that. What she wouldn’t have done to just have five minutes alone with him until the moment he added one little magical word to the mix…my. My slut. Well if that doesn’t just change the whole dynamic. Not just any slut but his slut. His personal slut willing to do anything for him whenever and where ever he desires it. It is hard not to go along with that. Turns out I am a slut and it turns out I am proud of it too. Now if you call me a slut I’ll wear it like a badge of honor. Yes, for the right man I am absolutely a slut. I am willing to do anything for him whenever and where ever he desires it.