The Confusing Musings of My Sexual Liberation

I’m fortunate enough to know several, strongly opinionated women, some of whom identify as feminists and some who don’t. But the one thing that they all have in common, is the mere fact that they all believe that women everywhere should have the right to do whatever they want and that right certainly extends to their vaginas. This might be a feminist rant or it might be an enjoyable commentary on what sexual liberation means to the modern woman, or it just might be bullshit. Either way, you’re gonna hear my thoughts. Some of which will make sense, and the rest just might be filler (yeah, I know…but in my defense, writing ain’t easy). We’ve all seen the “Hoe is life” hashtag everywhere in the last few years. Women are living their best hoe life while yelling from the rooftops that it’s no longer a man’s prerogative to fuck everything that breathes. I know part of this statement might be a reductive way to describe men, but this isn’t a space centered around them so FUCK’EM! But what does sexual liberation actually mean? How did we get from marital virgin to hoe is life in 3 generations?

I’m not gonna lie and tell you that I don’t subscribe to the “hoe is life” mantra. Hoeing has been life since I was 19… I think. But I’ve always been made to feel ashamed of the fact that my sexual liberation involves multiple orgasms with as many partners as I can fit in my imaginary sex bag (it might be real…). To me, sexual liberation meant that I could be a player (yes, I said player) and could treat men like absolute garbage (still kinda do but I’m working on it). I didn’t have to explain myself to the people I slept with because we both agreed that I was a hoe and that the only thing I really wanted was sex. What I didn’t realize was how warped my idea of that liberation was. It wasn’t based on what I actually thought of myself, but more about how others perceived me. If I was gonna be a hoe, then I was gonna be ruthless one. Just like the many men I’ve grown up with and watched play countless women like they were nothing more than rag dolls for their own pleasure. I was gonna exact my revenge on these unsuspecting men and give them not just a taste but a mouthful of their own medicine.

My idea of sexual liberation was pure dumpster fire trash. It became so much part of my personality that I based a lot of my ideals on the fact that I considered myself free from the patriarchal judgment of society regarding my vagina. LIES! I think I was too scared to admit to myself that I was playing a role. Fashioning myself into what I thought would bring me closer to what I wanted; whether sex or affection. But that’s more slavery than liberation, trapped in a role that I didn’t necessarily want but thought I needed, again to make myself more appealing to potential partners. Oh, the place you’ll go with that low self-esteem…

Sexual liberation is the virgin and the hoe. The definition for me has now changed. To be liberated is to be free from conventional, societal expectations. In order to be liberated, one doesn’t have to prove how good or bad she can be, but she has to be at peace with whatever side of the coin she picks. The expectation placed on her are hers and hers alone. She doesn’t need to prove her virginity or defend her body count, she simply has to live her sexual life to her satisfaction, regardless of what others might try to say to convince her otherwise. To be free is to not have to defend your choice just because they don’t fit within a certain description. I mean, just because she’s virgin, doesn’t mean she’s not a hoe. And just because she’s hoe doesn’t mean she doesn’t have standards. My sexual liberation has become my sexual evolution.