Promiscuous Couple
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Austin, TX
Brooklyn, NY
Chicago, IL
Denver, CO
Houston, TX
Los Angeles, CA
New York, NY
Portland, OR
San Diego, CA
San Francisco, CA
Seattle, WA
Washington, DC
Mental Health
Addiction
Anxiety
ADHD
Asperger's
Autism
Bipolar Disorder
Chronic Pain
Depression
Eating Disorders
Personality
Passive Aggression
Personality
Shyness
Personal Growth
Goal Setting
Happiness
Positive Psychology
Stopping Smoking
Relationships
Low Sexual Desire
Relationships
Sex
Family Life
Child Development
Parenting
Talk to Someone
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Find a Treatment Center
Find a Psychiatrist
Find a Support Group
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Trending Topics
Coronavirus Disease 2019
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Neuroscience
There are many temptations to organize our life around the experience of earlier trauma. But that may short-change the future—which starts by our envisioning something better.
Posted February 13, 2013
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Reviewed by Devon Frye
“Promiscuous” is a term that is almost always used when speaking about a woman; it is most often pejorative. It refers to a woman—usually a young woman—who has sex frequently and casually. This behavior is usually considered by the people who label it "promiscuous" as reprehensible and evidence of an emotional failing of some sort.
Young men who engage in similar behaviors are not thought of quite the same way. A “womanizer” is a man who actively pursues women sexually, but this term is used almost always in a context where the man has been betraying someone with whom he is in a committed relationship. A single young man who sleeps readily with a number of women would probably not have any label attached to his behavior. The more recently popularized term, “ sexual addict,” refers to compulsive sexual behavior, usually on the part of a man.
Promiscuity—that is, casual sexual behavior, usually in women—is no longer viewed quite as negatively as it used to be. I think the principal reason for this change in attitude is the much longer period of time women date before settling down and marrying. There is more time for more sexual involvements. I cannot remember the last time some man expressed reservations to me about a particular woman he was interested in because she had been “promiscuous.” Some men have an inordinate interest in their girlfriend’s previous sexual relationships, but most do not. Those who do are likely to feel insecure, and jealous. Exaggerated jealousy is not rare, unfortunately; but it has nothing to do with the woman’s previous sexual behavior. In fact, it has very little to do with love. It reflects a proprietary feeling towards the woman, a suspicion of being fooled and taken advantage of. It occurs only when the man has reason to feel the woman ”belongs” to him.
In fact, most of the time I hear of someone being "promiscuous," it is the woman herself who describes her behavior to me that way. And she is always referring to a particular time in her life. No one is promiscuous over the course of a lifetime. Usually, the woman has a ready explanation for why over that particular time she engaged in such behavior.
During high school and college years, “I felt insecure” is the usual reason. “I felt better when I realized that men were interested in me.” She felt more desirable and better about herself despite the general opprobrium for this kind of behavior.
But being insecure is not uncommon for many, particularly young women. Why does someone engage in sex to reassure herself when others do not resort to this device? I think it is fair to say that the particular girls and women who ascribe this motive to their sexual behavior have fewer emotional resources to rely on when coping with the very common feelings of inadequacy that probably everyone feels from time to time growing up. A few of these women, in my experience, had families who were notably not caring and not supportive.
For some of these women, there is an element of defiance when they speak of these matters. They will decide for themselves, they seem to be saying, how they will live, no matter what others think.
During particular periods of self-doubt, i t appears as if it's not uncommon for women to engage in sex frequently—for example, I've had women who reported engaging in indiscriminate sex following a divorce. “I needed to be reassured that I was still attractive to men,” they said to me. I can think of two women where this self-doubt was magnified by special circumstances.
One woman was disfigured by an accident and an operation that removed her bladder. She had multiple scars on her legs and abdomen, and required a bag attached to an opening in her abdomen to collect urine. After her divorce she was convinced that no man would be willing to make love to her. I told her that was not so. By the time a couple undresses, men have developed a head-long interest that is not deterred by physical defects of this sort. She slept with the next half-dozen men who came along before she was convinced that I was right.
A second woman was strongly affected by a bizarre experience that occurred to her. She was thirty-five years old and was also recently divorced . She was having sexual intercourse with a man whom she had been dating for a few months. Suddenly, without warning—in the middle of the sexual act—he got up, exclaiming, “I can’t take this anymore!” and left without a further word. Although she had good reason to think she was attractive to men, she was shaken by this encounter and, like the other woman described above, slept promptly with the next number of men who came along.
Although some "promiscuous" women are reckless, becoming pregnant or catching a venereal disease, most of the women I describe above were not. They took proper precautions against these eventualities and were not deterred by the thought of them. Neither were they deterred by what others might think. They felt that they were morally justified in doing whatever they wanted to do sexually. Although they said they did not care if other people disapproved of them, they all stopped after a few months—or sometimes years—of sleeping indiscriminately with anyone they felt momentarily attracted to. When I asked them why, they usually shrugged.
“It just got old,” someone said. “I lost interest,” someone else said. Knowing them though, I thought they were bothered by the fact that these men, whom they were treating carelessly, treated them carelessly in turn. They were annoyed, even when they would not admit it, by a man not calling them the next day after having slept with them. They were more affected by these social expectations than they liked to admit. Using men, they came after a time to feel used by them. The disappointments and disrespect that was part of their experiences with men began to outweigh whatever psychological advantages that they had obtained, and they stopped.
In general, when I speak to patients, I tell them that as long as they do not behave in a way that is likely to hurt others, they are entitled to do what they like; but I point out that in my clinical experience, almost everyone finds promiscuous behavior unsatisfactory in the long run.
Of course, sexual behavior is complicated and expressive, sometimes, of complicated feelings. Sex workers, for instance, sometimes talk of the feeling of power they experience when they are with men. They are talking about a feeling of control when engaged in sexual acts. They, too, often eventually feel the disadvantages of that particular way of life.
When I think of this subject, I always remember a particular middle-aged woman who seemed to regard her sleeping around as a weapon she could use against her husband. But even in those terms, what she did made no sense to me. When her husband treated her badly, she would go to a bar in a bad part of town and pick up the ugliest, most disgusting man she could find and sleep with him. She would not report these incidents to her husband.
I asked, “Putting aside the fact that you are injuring yourself by engaging in behavior loathsome to you, how, exactly, are you revenging yourself on your husband if he doesn’t know what you are doing?”
“But I know,” she said, inscrutably.
Follow Dr. Neuman's blog at fredricneumanmd.com/blog
Fredric Neuman, M.D., is the Director of the Anxiety and Phobia Center at White Plains Hospital.
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There are many temptations to organize our life around the experience of earlier trauma. But that may short-change the future—which starts by our envisioning something better.
CyrusTemmy
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Irritated because the youth of this day do not possess an ounce of style, nor do they posses cojones in their genetic makeup.
At the office, I am uninterested in everybody and everyone regards me venerably. They see me, they spy my stilettos, my fitted skirts, and my nose in the air manner, and they think, ” boss bitch “.
Exactly, kids, I am boss, bitch!
My typical day starts off when I wake beside the man I have chosen to spend my life with. His full lips are apart and there is drool dribbling down the sides. It is predawn and everywhere outside is still dark. The best time to beat the early morning traffic, it is.
I, typically, have a satin robe concealing my best features and if I notice that Ahmed, the man I have chosen to spend my life with, has a hard on, morning wood, I ignore.
Ahmed can take his prurience to the jar of cream in the wardrobe and I have no compunction about thinking this way.
If a man wants to have me, he must own me, simple.
Everyday I tease the man, Ahmed, but if he wants me to initiate sex with him, he must be more stupid than I have always believed.
I want a man who can be cocky, even draconian, a boss! Not some whelp crying to have my swollen tits carefully placed in his mouth.
If you can’t take me, you can’t have me.
Simple as fuck.
Ahmed would expect that I place a kiss on his lips before going to work, and I do this to remind him that I still consider his existence worthwhile.
I do it to remind him of all he is missing, you see.
When he attempts to go further, I pull away and I hurry downstairs to the garage, to my car, to work. He never follows me down. Never pursues.
Follow. Wait. Pounce. Everybody knows that these are the true qualities of a good hunter.
A prey would never present itself to the slaughter.
But my poor Ahmed, a very witless hunter he is. From the moment I step out of bed in the morning I know his eyes are on me. I know that he can see my naked bum jiggle about through the robe I wear. When I bend over to rub my foot, I pray that he would lunge at me like a proper man would.
I rub my feet till I start to get dizzy, yet, Ahmed never makes a move. I hear him snore, and it is an effort for me to cudgel my emotions not to feel disgust at him. I cluck my tongue in disappointment and then I take my shower.
My work at the office is strenuous but I handle affairs without ever breaking a sweat. The partners whisper about how I am a wolf in sheep’s clothing. I smile. I am amused because, you see, even they don’t know.
A true wolf would never wear a disguise.
I am a wolf in wolf’s clothing, end of.
When I go through slides on the screen in the conference room, I see how fresh faced interns smirk at me. I see their lascivious stares, the male, and even one or two female amongst them. Everybody wants a piece of Ope pussy.
Everybody except of course, Ahmed.
I have eyes for no one at the office. Nobody moves me to this extent. They see me, they say hi, I nod my head in their direction and I breeze past.
I don’t know anything about catwalks, and if my hip sways about when I move, then it is more innate, a character I have no control over.
There is a boy that cleans the office. He wipes the marble floors from top to bottom, and what he is paid monthly cannot afford the lipstick I use.
But there is something I see in his eyes anytime that I walk past him. There is this raw, primal hunger I have a weakness for.
” Hey you”, I say one time, ” What is your name? “
” Austin “, he replies.
” Have you cleaned my office “, I ask. I look him eyeball to eyeball and he doesn’t fidget. Doesn’t get all clumsy. His chin is up, bold, and he stares me down.
” I have cleaned it “, he says.
I look away, for a second, and I know that this tall, dark, and bearded man has finally done what these bureaucrats about can’t. He has defeated me.
” Go upstairs and clean it again “, I manage to say. Then I hurry off, to lunch, gently swaying my hips about, putting as much effort into it as I can.
That night, I fuck Ahmed good. No use waiting for a sapling to grow some balls. I attack him with all the veracity I can muster, and when I am satisfied, I roll over and collapse into sleep.
At night, I know that he still makes effort to press his limp dick into my twat but I wriggle away, gently, so that his ego is not bruised. Ahmed is big, and strong but he is no Austin. I let my fantasies sleep with me, and when dawn comes, I know what I must do.
I take a pair of my best underwear, and I sniff it to make sure it smells good before I put it on. It smells like how I would normally smell after sex and I have no
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