For a college girl in the prime of life and drug usage, there are few things that I care about more than where I'm going to buy my beer and whose hallway I woke up in this morning. One of those things is my slut factor. Everyone has one. You know those girls who walk out of a building and every penis within a 10-mile radius starts begging its respective owner to turn around? And then those girls who walk out and every penis within a 10-mile radius tucks itself and quivers in fear and shame? You might not know it, but that, ladies and gents, is the slut factor. A man's penis has an innate sense of who is slutty enough to try to get with, and it is important to me to know just how many penises (peni?) duck and cover when I enter a room.
Now, since I attend a crazy liberal arts school, not only do I have to worry about my penis rating, I also have to worry about where I rank on the vag ladder. Especially since I'm going to a crazy, mostly female liberal arts school. There is more vagina here than most gynecologists see in fifty years of practice, and the best part is, most of it wants to meet my vagina too. Now, I'm perfectly okay with that, but lesbians are bitches. Actually, straight girls are bitches too. Girls are bitches. Since my slut factor is controlled by the mouths of these bitches, I have to work extra hard to stay low enough on the radar that no one is repulsed, but high enough that I still get quality ass.
Looks like Paris Hilton could use a few tips. Then again, it's hard to factor something that doesn't exist anymore. Therein lies the problem: guys like sluts. Girls don't. How do I keep myself in good standing with the girlies? Generally, I treat the girls the way a guy would and the guys the way a girl would. That is to say, I am an asshole to anything that has a vagina, and the sweetest little sugar cookie to anything with a penis. It's the complete opposite of what either of them wants, and for some reason it works like a charm. I use the three day rule with my ladies, which is especially effective since I see a lot of them every day. If I walk by them, I look away, snuggle closer to whatever girl I've tricked into walking me to class, and pretend like I'm actually interested in what she is saying. Once three days go by, I call said ignored girl and tell her how much I wanted to talk to her but [flavor of the week] was having a really shitty day and needed my attention. Bingo. New girl is thinking, "Oh, she's sensitive, that's so sweet." Old girl is thinking, "Oh my god, she totes ignored that girl, she's really into me." And I'm thinking, "I'm sooo getting laid tonight."
Some people might think climbing the vag ladder is pretty simple—everyone knows that if you get a girl schwasted she automatically becomes bi. But most of those girls don't do bi when they're sober, and that's the time that counts. The key is to screw them up so much that they think they want you all the time. This is where the real skill comes in: straight-breaking. Use and knowledge of this skill has gotten me into lots of pants in lots of places.
Straight-breaking a girl is a delicate process that can take a couple of parties to accomplish. Usually I even get my friends involved—they introduce me to the girl I pick, say something along the lines of how much we'll like each other, and leave. Then I just ignore her. She starts thinking "Oh my god, Sara definitely said we would be like BFF! Why won't she like talk to me??" By the next party, she is determined to talk to me. I show a little interest, and under cover of being drunk I might even tell her she has a nice rack. She'll be disgusted but because she is a woman and we always want compliments—ALWAYS—she'll stick to me. When we sober up, I'll apologize for the rude things I said and then confess that I really am gay. Now she thinks I'm sensitive, and by that night I'll have banged her in her dorm room.
Because she is a straight girl, she'll be hesitant afterwards, and might even cry. I'll assure her that it's okay, it's natural, and that I won't tell anyone. Give it two days and all of her straight friends will know what a "genuine and wonderful" experience she had, and I'll have moved up a rung on the ladder.
This concept applies in reverse to the men-folk in my life. I stroke their egos a little (and maybe a few other things) and they're hooked, just like that. A few "oh my god, I can't believe I was into girls before you" and "wow, THIS is what it's supposed to be like?!" and suddenly all they care about is showing me how it's done. The bragging part is easy—they can't wait to tell their buddies they turned a gay chick, and in order to seem more like the big man on campus and less like a punk bitch who can't get a regular girl, they'll tell all their buddies about how amazing the sex was, even if it wasn't (which of course would be their fault, not mine; I rock in bed). Invariably, one will make a bet with another about how he could also bag me. I'll say yes to two out of every five that try, and a few keg stands later I've earned another star.
The kicker here is that guys don't listen to a damn word women say, so there's no chance of them hearing this sensitivity bullshit, and if they did, they wouldn't care—they just banged a hot gay chick. And ladies automatically assume that guys are arrogant, sex-crazed jerks, and since they are ALWAYS right, they just KNOW that there's no way he actually banged that one gay girl. I'm in the clear.
So how long can I keep this up? I'm not sure, but it works for now and that's all that matters. Since my priorities in life are pretty much sex, food for energy for sex, and sleep for energy for sex, I don't see a problem with my current system. Should I find any kinks in it (and hey, I like kinks sometimes), I will change and adapt, because that, folks, is my mission in life: to explore every possible method of saving my ass while getting some ass.