Why Not Hoe?

When I think about my early to mid-twenties, all I can recall are tequila shots and penises.

Not even faces or names…just penises.

My memory is shot about those I did in my 20s. It’s as if my brain decided to permanently delete the useless. True story, this guy approached me earlier this year and was like, “don’t I know you?” Nah. After some attempts by him to jog my memory, it turned out he was one of those random penises of my 20s.

*shrugs* I’ve had a lot of D in my day.

I was like Goldilocks. I was gon’ try each one until I found the one I liked.

You can call it being sexually liberated. Lemme call it what it was: a hoe phase.

And darlings, I enjoyed my hoe phase.

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My hoe phase coincided with my foray into adulthood, my time at law school, and my first job. It was my first time completely away from everyone I knew, a life without their small-town judgments and Baptist church morals. I was finally solely responsible for myself with the freedom to do whatever I wanted. So I decided to do whomever I wanted. (There was a break in my phase because I found myself in a relationship, but I found my way back.)

As I joked with a friend this weekend, I was living the Tinder life before Tinder was Tinder. I’d meet men on the subway, in the market, online, out at the clubs. Maybe we’d have an official date. Maybe we didn’t. I wasn’t trying to date anyone. My Crim Law kicked my ass today; I need to cum. Could he get me there? Some did; most did not. The guy I mentioned earlier? He did not. I didn’t give second chances. I moved onto the next.

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There were thick ones, average ones, a really small one. One had this curve to it that was just beautiful. I really wished I could remember his name. I’d stalk his ass on social media right now. Most were young and black. But there’s a couple of white ones, a Latino, even an Indian. That Indian was talented, too! I kept him around for awhile. Until he showed up at my apartment one night crying about his arranged marriage. That ain’t what I signed up for. Rahul had to go. (No, that was not his name. I have no idea what it was.)

My hoe phase gave me the freedom to learn who I was. Not the person my parents raised me to be to not shame them. Not who society tells me I need to be to not upset the status quo. Not the type of woman men demand I be to earn their hand. But who I really was underneath all of the other bullshit I’d been forced to carry.

My hoe phase was about choice.

I chose who I wanted. Maybe I’ll fuck you. Or maybe I’ll fuck him. Maybe I’ll just take my ass home and go to sleep. What mood am I in today? I chose what I liked. If I want my wrists bound to my ankles, who gon’ tell me good girls don’t do that? I chose why. Because I fucking wanted to.

Most importantly, my hoe phase was about learning to not give a fuck. Fuck his judgment. Fuck their judgment. Fuck your judgment if you’re judging me as you’re reading this.

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Look here. Go out. Be a hoe. Pop a penis in your mouth. Pop two if that’s how you swing. You don’t want to fuck? Cool. Go grind up on a man Friday night, put your best Beyonce moves to work, and then go home. Finesse some free meals out of a ninja you don’t want at all. Or that man you do want? Text his ass in the middle of your morning meeting and ask him when is he going to let you ride that face?

Shake off society’s expectations, men’s bullshit, your own fear. “Hoe phase” is just a term. It does not define any woman. Hell, it’s not even a phase. I’m in a different place in my 30s than I was in my 20s. I’m after something different. I want a relationship, a connection, ties to another person. However, if I’m moved to hop on a random dick, I will. But I don’t because that’s my choice. And that’s my point. YOU CHOOSE.  Men choose to do whatever the hell they want everyday without ever thinking they won’t be marriage material. So why the hell should we burden ourselves with that ridiculous notion?

Enjoy life. Enjoy sex. Enjoy being a woman. Hoe it up! Do You! Then do him.

I swear Ima be in my rocking chair telling my grandchildren “There was this D back in ’07? Ooh, chile! Yo granny almost lost an ovary it was so big.”

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Today’s Soundtrack: Melanie Fiona – Give It To Me Right

 

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