Address: 500daysofmegan.wordpress.com

Author: Megan Looney

From: Community

Blogging since: October 2011

Post Title: Circus Freak or Saint?

Post Date: April 9, 2012

Tease. Prude. The Virgin. Whore. Naive. Heart-breaker. The Good Girl. Serial Dater. Bible Thumper.

These are all things I have been called: by men, by friends, by family, by strangers.

I am saying this to show you how one’s sexuality can cause others to assume certain things that aren’t necessarily true.

If I make out with a guy that I met recently then I’m a whore. But if I flirt without putting out, I’m a tease. I don’t care about [or for] these false labels, but they exist.

REAL conversation I had with a man in a bar this week:

Norwegian: I think I’m in love with you

Me: I guarantee that you’re not

Norway: No, really I am

Me: What’s my name?

Norway: I don’t remember

Me: This isn’t a good start (I begin to walk away)

Norway: (He chases after me) Can I at least have a kiss good night?

Me: Definitely not, I just met you.

Norway: Pleeeease?

Me: No! Why would I kiss you?

Norway: Because I’m never gonna see you again

Me: That’s funny, because that’s my exact reasoning for NOT kissing you

Norway: You’re a bi*#h (he mumbles as he retreats)

My stance on purity has been quite a topic lately. Well, let’s be real, it’s been quite a topic my whole life…

At a party about five years ago I was approached by two men that I had never met before in my life. The first words out of Jackass #1’s mouth? “Are you the girl that’s a virgin?” Oh, hey! Yeah, nice to meet you too. I’d love to talk to you, a stranger, about my sexuality in the middle of a crowded room.

Obviously I am not ashamed of this, as I am posting it for the world to see. But it’d also be nice if people didn’t treat me like I was either a circus freak or a saint. I made this very personal and serious decision when I was 14 because, even at that age, I knew I wanted sex to be with my future husband and him only. I saw the destruction that sexual promiscuity can have. I saw the dangerous power of lust.

With that said, I am a very sexual person. I still have desires and wants and temptations. I can miss what I have never had.

To my future husband: you better be ready, because I have 26 years of pent-up sexual frustration.

It’s difficult when people tell me to “just get it over with.” You would think if anyone were going to be jumping up and down about my declaration, it’d be my father. But no, even he thinks it’s naive.

Post Title: Italian Men

Post Date: October 30, 2011

Like I’ve said before, the men here [in Italy] don’t even attempt to hide the stares, as they slowly look you up and down, or the muttered comments as you walk by.

Honestly, sometimes it’s flattering but most of the time I just want to slap off their smirking smiles. I’ve learned to ignore them for the most part. Until last night…

I was sitting on the couch, talking to Marco when out of NOWHERE Diablo says something in Italian, walks across the room and kisses me, and we’re not talking about a little peck here, people.

Soon after, Marco trotted off and left Diablo and me to our own dangerous devices. The language barrier made our make-out sesh exciting, animalistic, and entertaining. We were both communicating at a preschool level hoping the other person just might understand.

I’ve never had to work so hard in my life to try to explain to somebody in the heat of the moment that there would be nessun sesso. He did not hesitate to tell me he wanted to sleep with me. And I did not leave him guessing as to what the answer to his proposal would be. Perhaps he saw that as a challenge, but I’m done playing.

No sono una American tipica, I told him. But then I realized maybe I should walk the walk. Why was I hanging out with this type of guy that just wanted one thing in Firenze, when I would not be doing this in San Diego. I need to keep true to my morals, no matter my location.

[Posts edited for length.]

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