Tags
eyefucking, fashion, feminism, flirting, Jane Austen, male gaze, sex, sex object, street harassment, street style
In not-so-slutty mode, I seem to invite the most unwanted attention.
Yes, dress like the slut that you really are, and the catcalling jerks will be silenced. Sounds counter-intuitive, right?
But trust me. I know — not just because I’m a self-proclaimed slut but because I’ve done several controlled scientific experiments out on the street. In my professional-career-girl look, I provoke far more lewd comments and aggressive behavior than when wearing something short and snug and oh-so-revealing.
Maybe it’s something about a navy blue pencil skirt and matching jacket, with demure white blouse, that awakens the primitive urge in some men to defile and conquer? The more seemingly unattainable the sex object, the more desirable she becomes? Or since she doesn’t even look like a sex object, the macho male’s job is to unleash the sexpot lurking beneath the virginal, ruffled blouse and opaque hosiery?
But when self-consciously clad in the wildest, sexiest, even sluttiest outfits, I find most men that I pass on the street fall suddenly, dumbly silent. (This is not to say the eye-fucking doesn’t persist!)
Is this because men are intimidated by confident, assertive women, which is the required attitude to pull off the sluttiest of looks? You’re so slutty, you make them not only drool but also tongue-tied!
Maybe, as Jane Austen might have said, it’s a truth universally acknowledged that the guys with the loudest, biggest mouths have the tiniest, least effectual penises. Here “tiniest” is a figure of speech only, for it is another truth universally acknowledged that size does not matter. By tiny, I simply mean fearful and unsure of how to translate their offensive words into action.
Oh…and I almost forgot to say…it’s best to always pair your slutty look with fashionable dark glasses, so you can safely eyefuck back!
The Scholarly Slut 
Awwww Joy, so coy and delicious, please don’t tell me this is something you have never sussed. isn’t it obvious that for most men, the everyday look is accessible to them and part of a somewhat sexist cultural inheritance.
whereas when a woman outwardly shows promise of their wildest fantasies – SOME men are yes, likely to be a little more afraid of such overt bold women, but are MORE likely to be afraid of THEMSELVES and where their desires would lead them in public exhibition, should they act on them.
this is a powerful phenomena and some women are acutely aware of this power. but to contemplate the reality would lead us somewhere closer to Sodom. this isn’t constrained by gender considerations either, but as a man who is told often I am handsome – i have not the slightest clue of the effect i have on women and what they wish when they look at me. i wish i did as they could have it – they needn’t even ask.
but as for me – when faced with sluttiness or a conservatively dressed form – i am gobsmacked by beauty every time and have an almost religious sense of condemnation to never be worthy of being able to fulfil its desires. in practice i am more than confident in my abilities and qualities, but this doesn’t figure in the immediate dynamics of such a confrontation. i am a patient and self-controlled person anyway and prefer to give someone their space and let them come to me if they prefer. so glad i fit your assessment of a quiet man. but i adore sluts – they floor me. or i wish they would xx
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Thats not “falling dumbly silent” thats “holy shit fuck ass shoobity doo wop how fast can I get a ring and propose”.
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Just be yourself and let those who can’t handle it cry
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So, it’s like this–I’ll say it, the leggings are a little hot, and wouldn’t scare me off. A hint of desperation is like chum in the water, while the nicely dressed young lady probably has a boyfriend, who probably has a BMW and wears suits to work and goes to the gym. I’m not afraid of the sexbomb because, really, what are my chances? It’s like throwing that damned softball at the milk jugs at the fair–I’m not going to win a chartreuse elephant plush, but maybe I’ll get lucky. The thing to do, from that point, is to walk right up to her and talk to her like she’s wearing mom jeans and a Penguins jersey, like you had no damned idea she was in her long johns. It only goes three ways from there–she thinks you’re bold and commanding, or she thinks a worthy charitable cause, or she thinks: eeeeewwwww!
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I like your style.
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Well, I object! As size doesn’t matter, you should have said the limpist, most ineffectual!, proving that even huge guys can be the ones who could never satisfy a gorgeous hot slut like and can only cry seeing you with the look!
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