I've known about Dossie Easton and Janice Hardy's The Ethical Slut for a little over a year now. I'm a fan of Easton and Hardy's easy, approachable writing style, and The Ethical Slut doesn't seem to be any different, nor does the sample I've read thus far disappoint. If anything, I find this may be a very helpful and healing read.
Dear Readers, I was what you might consider a slut. When I was in my teens and twenties, I enjoyed the tiny tingles between my legs, I participated quite often in mutual and single masturbation, and once I got that cherry popped, I really enjoyed sex. I mean I really, really enjoyed sex! Of course I was safe. I'm not stupid. No slut really truly is. But some of that changed when I was in college.
Lots of young men--and a few young women, too--rather enjoyed my company, as well as my body. Quite a few of the young men also ruined any sort of "good" reputation I had.
Then something truly hideous happened. I was gang-raped.
At that time, there was a phrase that I had never been exposed to before I went to college: "You can't rape the willing."
Really? I wasn't willing to be dragged into a dorm room. I wasn't willing to be humiliated, literally shat and pissed upon (those of you who are down with water sports, anal and scat--more power to ya, but this is part of why I don't dig it. I'm not judging those who are down, but this is part of why I'm not). When you've had what little power you're tapping into ripped from you by force and humiliation, it's a helluva long way back to get your confidence, groove, and sanity back. I was known as a train girl, and I didn't even know what the fuck a train girl was. Irony, indeed--my grandfather worked for the railroad. Would he have done to me what these young me did? Hell no! Would he have stopped it if he could? You better believe it!
Anyways--Easton and Hardy's work make me want to reclaim the moniker of slut. They make me want to celebrate my body, my sexuality, my weirdness. They make me want to travel back in time to slap a Victorian man.
Please excuse me, Dear Readers, while I embrace and get back in touch with my inner Wildness.