Being a Pro Slut
And the unspoken hope of love
by Corey Saucier
It’s 8:30 in the evening and my phone texts: “Hey.”
The number isn’t a contact in my phone but I know who it is. It’s one of my regulars.
Paramours, I call them.
“Hey,” I respond.
“Sure am.” Smiley face.
“Can I come over?” He spells come with a U and no E.
“What are we gonna do?” I ask, all coy.
“You know what I want.” Eggplant emoji and splashes of water.
“Oh, you want to pet my kitty cat,” I text.
“You know it!” He texts back.
“She’ll be ready for you in 30 minutes.” I jump in the shower.
“I’m on my way.” Kitty cat emoji, eggplant, peach emoji, chocolate donut emoji, splashes of water, splashes of water, splashes of water, Kitty cat emoji, fried eggs, and carousel emoji.
I don’t have a cat.
And I don’t know what all the other emojis are for.
I think when I meet people for the first time I come across as very pro slut. Which I’m not quite sure I understand. In person I try to be very demure. I wear pearls and classic pieces from Tiffany’s Picasso Collection; have the diction and verbatude of a graduate student in the theology department; and only flash the “Bottom” tattoo (on the highest part of my thigh) on the hottest of hot summer days… I don’t get it.
I can be chastely sketching in my sketch pad——out doing figure drawings in the Rodin exhibit in the Los Angeles Museum of Art dressed conservatively in beige chinos and a muted cardigan——my eyebrows seriously furrowed in concentration; and in the corner, there will be a burly bearded bear in tight jeans (and a greasy faux-hawk) groping his crotch and giving me suggestive eyes as if I was the whoriest whore of whores.
Which I totally am!
Because the future belongs to the whores!
I’ve been HIV-positive for years now, so what is there to lose?
And Undetectable=Untransmittable now, so what is there to lose?
And PrEP and PEP are real now, so what is there to lose…?
And BuzzFeed says monogamy is so 2012: They say it’s over, unnecessary, and unnatural. Plus everyone knows that if you invite strangers to your home at half-past 2 a.m. (when the trolls and gargoyles start to stir) and you keep the lights out and refrain from exchanging names; you are guaranteed to come to no harm. (Fairy tales, make-believe, and the power of denial are the most powerful prophylaxes)
meaningful, everlasting love…
A hundred million years ago (last year) my therapist asked me to write a list of things that I want in a primary partner (see my October 2018 column entitled ”Whore Into A Housewife”). I still haven’t written the list. “Lists are for losers!”
Besides. I don’t necessarily believe in linear time or sequential causality.
But…I do believe in blessings, magic, and vision boards. So instead of placing a simple list of attributes in a notebook like a normal person, I have a four foot long (and just as wide) rainbow-colored poster board taped to my wall with a million motley bits of papers, pictures, and philosophical quotes pasted to it! It’s beautiful and ridiculous and green, and orange, and purple and pink, like a kaleidoscope of hope! It’s so garish and intimately personal that when people come into my room and see it, they instantly turn away, and don’t even mention it.
People usually think I am sexy, but they are always completely surprised by my crazy.
I’m RightNowThisVerySecond realizing that my bedroom looks like one of those scary scenes in horror movies, where the mumbling killer has images and diagrams painted all over his bloody walls…
That’s not good.
But if I were to translate, to decipher the homoerotic images, cartoon scribbles, and religious iconography it would say:
I want him to be adventurous, generous, and eager to travel.
I want him to call me Wife, Hun, Princess and Good Girl.
I want him smart enough to have an opinion, but wise enough to know it’s just an opinion.
I want him to have faith.
I want him to be a proud loud woke unflinching queer!
I would like him to have as much melanin as possible.
I want him to be silly, and geeky, and strange but not nervous or high-strung.
I want him confident and never threatened by who I find beautiful. (Because I find everyone beautiful.)
“And I want him to never use slut as a bad word.”
Love and Light.
Corey Saucier is an artist and writer living in Los Angeles. He is a Lambda Literary Fellow in Fiction and Non-Fiction and is currently looking for a publisher for his first novel. His musings and wanderings on Love, Life, and Nonsense can be found at www.justwords.tumblr.com.