the futility of monogamy for 20-somethings

Whenever someone calls me a slut (or any variation thereof), it’s a bit of a small victory for me. Firstly, anybody who calls me a slut is clearly a very unimaginative, boring person that hurls equally boring and ineffectual epithets, and it’s a good way for me to gauge the insulter’s lack of communication skills and social awkwardness. So I know that I don’t really need to engage with that person on an intellectual or social level because pretty much they’re just totally irrelevant. Secondly, anyboy who calls me a slut is clearly just intimidated by my sexual affluence and is butt hurt about the fact that I either a.) did not sleep with them, or b.) slept with them but then found something better to fuck, both of which scenarios arouse a not so subtle sense of jealousy and spite. Meh. 

Just because I’m fucking someone doesn’t automatically mean that I owe it to them to not fuck other people. It’s never a given that the mere act of copulation automatically implies that I should be holding this person up to a, “I think I can date him then marry him then have kids with him” lens. My M.O. in life is not to get married and have kids, so the social standards of seeking out a life partner with which to rear a family have been thrown out the window. When, really, all I’m seeking out from sex is unrepentant pleasure and the ego validation of my attractiveness. It’s not that I’m incapable of monogamy, it’s more that, given the caliber of people I sleep with, committing myself to monogamy is probably just going to be a waste of my time. Until, of course, it isn’t.