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SEX ON THURSDAY | Reflecting on My Slut Period

Whilst I attempt to keep away from the dreaded senior spring waves of self-reflection, no interval of my faculty life has stood out to me greater than my self-proclaimed slut period. The web discourse surrounding “slut eras” highlights their intentionality: the selection to lean into an aura of sluttiness and an inflow of informal intercourse. My very own slut period started, as many do, after a breakup. Getting back from winter break and the tip of my high-school-turned-long-distance relationship, my exploration of the borders of singleness would outline my sophomore spring semester. I embraced my first foray into enjoyable, meaningless intercourse head-on. There have been a bunch of characters: a Swedish MBA scholar, a person in Ithaca for a convention, a man visiting his good friend at Cornell, two sons of professors, a boy who came to visit an hour after my Covid quarantine ended and my Excellent Match. 

A notes app checklist from that semester jogs my memory of a few of their quirks: I outsourced recollections to my telephone as a substitute of the loops of my overthinking mind. That is the purpose of a slut period, I feel — to take what you want and transfer on. The hookups are tales for a wet day, remnants of one other time. 

A few of my slut period intercourse was dangerous, and a few was nice. Most fell someplace within the center. The standard of the intercourse didn’t outline the period, nonetheless. What did was the best way that my sexual spontaneity bled into my on a regular basis posture. I felt extra enjoyable, extra relaxed and extra assured. It’s exhausting to inform whether or not that was as a result of I felt like I used to be undertaking some basic faculty trope or if the slut-era mindset was shifting my entire psychological state.