Dear Sluts,

I could actually title this, “Dear former twenty-year-old self, ‘Keep a dime between your knees unless he pays one-hundred (I mean one-hundred-million)’.” At some point I would venture to say that most women think, “Fuck it, this is the year I am going to be a stripper” or “I should start being paid for sex.” “There is no reason for me to give this away for free.” But, then there are the sluts.

Sluts give it all away for free. They are the sexual version of a drive-through that is giving out samples.

Sluts have cornered the market on low self-esteem. Being a slut is like Ford Motors in 1919—an assembly line cranking out the same product. The perpetual search for validation through giving up the pussy is how the whole vicious cycle of chronic low self-esteem continues. It’s like the little train that couldn’t get her shit together.

I get it. I did it.

And traditionally, men are lazy. Blame it on the idiot molecule—testosterone. I’ve heard it said that testosterone blocks short-term memory. So, the small brain—or penis—is backup. It has only one mission—hot pocket.

And I get that without a shit-ton of alcohol, peer-pressure, and drugs most women wouldn’t choose to slut-out as her first option. But, affection has become a commodity synonymous with penetration. The lazy-dick-male whose brain is being washed in the idiot molecule acts on instinct. One instinct begets another and poof—two sluts are formed.

Being a slut is not owning your sexuality by the way. It’s being an emotionally irresponsible retard.

Women, you are born with the gate to heaven between your legs. And not everyone gets into heaven. In fact, if you let everyone knock or knock-up heaven’s door, there will be hell to pay.

We literally have to train the penis to ignite the big brain into action. The first step is to make sure the man is buying his stairway to heaven—with time, not money.

Men are not dumb. They know how to take action. It is the primary characteristic of masculine energy—charge ahead and think about it later. So, the price of admission includes the initiation of a sequence I like to call “Have some balls.”

Somewhere on the internet exists a gentleman’s code. One of the dictates reads, “A gentleman can wait for a lady.” Sluts don’t wait and this is ruining romance. Plus, now everyone has some form of an STD but sluts don’t talk about it. This is also fucking things up.

So, dear slut—please wait. I know that our bodies freak out when we are young and that some slutting will have to be done. But, once you are done with slutting around—your late twenties—lock up the goods. Hopefully, your first divorce will be behind you if you got married “way too early.” Your string of bad decisions will be the Instagram account you delete and then start a new one.

And you get to start over. It’s called evolution. At some point, you will feel like a bad-ass because you got an education, landed a great job or started your own company, traveled, struggled and overcame, and upped your self-esteem to “unfuckable with.”

Of course, you are totally still fuckable. Duh.

So, everyone, stop the train-wreck that is hooking-up. Let’s be the generation that ushers romance back in. We can all champion seduction, which is a slow and deliberate process.

Sip cocktails rather than guzzle Miller High-Life. Be picked up for a date—because we have already done a background check via some light Facebook recon. We can call more and text less. We can find time to invest in learning to play with each other instead of dumping the worn out script of holding the other person responsible for our happiness onto one another.

In fact, we can invent our version of romance.

I know this for sure, it does not involve being a slut. So, stop already.

Thank you,

This reformed slut.