R.B. Winters
R.B. Winters
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There’s a fine line between a slut and a whore. Sometimes it can be as simple as a number. The number of sexual partners (quiver with me) is either very good, or terribly bad.
I’ve been spending a lot of time with Newbie as of late. I do have to give the boy points: Over the past week I’ve been raging like a pregnant woman that was just told she looked fat. Why? It’s either that time of the month, or I’m at my boiling point. Long work hours, no sleep, little play, and stress are pushing me over the edge. Through it all, Newbie, has managed to survive.
We were talking a few days back about sexual partners and I asked his number. He wasn’t quick to give it up, not that anyone ever is. I figured he as either adding, or subtracting, to sound better. 15 was his magic number. To be honest I was shocked by how low the number was. I haven’t met a gay in New York that had been with less than half of Chelsea. I mean, even The Devil admitted his number was in the hundreds. 
To no surprise, Newbie, wanted to know my number. I managed to change the subject in such a way that we wouldn’t come back around to me. Now, I have thought long and hard about the number of people I’ve been with. I say people because, though you may not believe, there is at least one girl in the mix. Which just goes to show I may be a lesbian after all. I can name, or nickname, everyone I’ve been with. (Sometimes I use the nicknames for so long that the real names fade away) From one-nighters, to the guys I’ve dated, I can remember (to a certain degree) everyone who’s been in my manties. 
You’re probably wondering if I’ll actually reveal my number. Not yet. I don’t think that I have so many notches in my bedpost that I need to get a new one, but I’ve had my fair share of bone. When you consider the average number of partners a gay guy in NYC has in a year, I’m practically the Virgin Harry.
So, when I say that I’ve managed to climb under the sheets with 50 guys, I don’t feel it’s that many. Well, not just under the sheets. There’s also the back seat of cars, taxis, couches, showers, the floor, a park, and a few other less interesting places. From the time I first gave it up, until Newbie, averages me out to about ten guys a year. Which puts me at just less than one a month. Saying it like that makes it sound as if I have no sex life compared to most of the guys around me. Candy Mountain told me that he could beat off twice a day and still have sex every night. If I’m only trying to get it every five weeks, isn’t that on the low end?
Back to Newbie. If I’m at 50 and he’s at 15, does that make me a tramp? It certainly does mathematically. Originally, I was thinking he would be near 100. We met in a bar, I know now, but at the time I didn’t know if that was common for him. Most gays that hit the bars are hooking up 4+ times a week; just ask some of the guys I’ve gone home with. To add insult to injury, I’m so worn out that I’m not even slightly interested in bumping bits with Newbie. He’s cute and I like him, but work has overpowered my penis. I’m sure at some point he’ll see this, leaving us both to ask: Why at 50 guys, am I stuck in a sexual stump?  Or am I stuck in a slump because I’m at 50 guys?
One part of my brain says I’m tired, while the other side is worried that I may actually be a whore. When people mistake you for a hooker when you’re out, or tell you that ‘you just have a slut look’ it’s hard to not think you might be a little slutty. Do I want my potential boyfriend to think I’m a slut that’s had 3x as many penis waved at me? Not so much. We’ll see if Newbie still views this Wanted as being a potential Loved after finding out about my whittled bedpost.

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