Reflections After Adding Number 10 To My Body Count: Am I A Hoe?
“How many were before me?”
5…no, he’s 7th! Or is he? My heart beat fast as I took inventory of my sexual partners. He’s number 6? But wait, I left out that one night stand with the Colombian man in Spain. Good, he’s 7th. No, I’d conveniently forgotten the four pitiful minutes with one guy I dated briefly. That shouldn’t even count.
For the first time, it’d felt like catching flies with my bare hands trying to remember the men. Does that make me a hoe now? I wondered.
“Seven,” I said semi-confident, still fighting back insecure thoughts of why was it so hard to remember? And you need to slow down.
I gave a nervous smile. Was that number too high? Was Number 8 judging me?
Later, I moved on and made Number 9 wait a month before I gave up the goods. It was blissful while it lasted. Then, our three months of memories turned me into lemon.
By the time I was ready to delete Number 9’s super sweet voicemail, my vagina, longing the regularity of consistent sex, told me it was time to get it in again.
The question was with who? I was one away from 10, double digits. . . Who could I go back to instead of gaining another body?
I went through The List, this time with more mental acuity, and angrily realized none of them were worth another “roll in the hay.” I was jealous of men who didn’t have to ask themselves questions like that. It was either suffer in horniness or add another body.
“Why don’t girls just go back to their exes if they’re so worried about body count?” Number 2, my first love, wondered via text.
“Most do,” I typed back, “But sometimes it’s just not worth it because they’re either crazy (Number 1), underserving (Numbers 2 and 9), or it’d just be too much drama (Number 8). They’re better off hooking up with someone new they actually like, even if it is an ‘extra body.’”
That was the problem. Like. I didn’t want to like someone and risk getting hurt again. I saw a friends-with-benefits situation as ideal.
But didn’t that attitude classify me as a hoe?
Do a quick search on Twitter and you’ll find many different parameters for what’s considered a “hoe.” You’re a hoe if you have a body count over 5. Or over 10. You’re a hoe if you’ve slept with someone who you weren’t dating seriously. You’re a hoe if you’ve slept with someone’s boyfriend. You’re a hoe if you cheat on your cheating boyfriend. You’re a hoe if you only want sex. You’re a hoe if you dress provocatively, whether you’ve slept with 2 or 20 men.
As varied as “hoe definitions” were, I always noticed a commonality: they came mostly from men. Men told women what consisted of hoe behavior. Men judged women.
[Tweet "Being a hoe had one commonality: men told women what was hoe behavior. Men judged women."]
“You have to stop counting.” I remembered my 25-year-old, uber-confident friend telling me this as we rode the metro in Madrid. We were on the way to a party and I’d opened up to her about how my number had already gone up by two since I’d been overseas. I was horny, but I couldn’t afford yet another body.
“No,” she shook her head. “You have to live your life. Don’t worry about that. Promise me you’ll stop counting?”
I tried to summon the strength of her words in an argument with Number 2 a year later. You have to stop counting.
He’d paused my venting about Number 9: “Wait…how long were you talking to this guy?”
“Three months?”
“. . .And you had sex with him?”
“Yeah…” And?
“. . .Wow, you’ve changed,” he said. “You used to be so cautious. You moved so slow. Now…” I heard what was unspoken: Now you’re giving it up after only a month.
“So? A month is plenty of time? Are we living in the 1950s or…?” But he was right. I was a virgin when we first met in college. I moved slowly. Back then, a one night stand wouldn’t have even crossed my mind. I also didn’t know how damned good sex was.
I stopped counting. Just like my friend had told me to, but the accusation in his voice felt like he was punishing me for it. I tried to defend myself, but I didn’t have nowhere near her amount of confidence.
“What are you trying to say?” It felt like he was seconds away from lobbing that three-letter word at me. I knew he wouldn’t dare, but…
“Are you calling me a hoe?” I laughed with this.
I tried to channel the Amber Roses and Blac Chynas, women who’d unabashedly embraced the “hoe” and “slut” label. I’d even championed them for doing this very thing, but that was back when most hoe-definitions didn’t apply to me.
I wouldn’t be a hoe if I were still with you. Wasn’t that the idea? Go to college. Find your husband. Get married. Settle down with your 5 and under bodies. That was the idea, but dating was a bit more complicated than that nowadays. People were settling down later in life, spending more time single and dating than ever before. Most men didn’t even think about marriage before 25. Neither did most women for that matter.
I almost wanted him to say the word so I could affirm it. If I heard it out loud, maybe I could accept it.
Could I live with it? I looked back through my list and realized they weren’t numbers, but Experiences. They were my first love and my first fling. They were multiple heartbreaks. They were lessons on what I wanted in a man and lessons on how I needed to be pleased, treated, and loved. They taught me what my attitudes on sex were and how I saw myself as a sexual being.
Could I look myself in the mirror? I hadn’t slept with a married man or a friend’s boyfriend. I didn’t lie or cheat. I was honest in my situationships and relationships. Morally, I felt okay.
I had lots of fun. I traveled and met new people. I fell in and out of love. I grew.
Was I willing to trade all of that for an imaginary 2 bodies, a boring, white picket fence with Experience 2, and most importantly, total immunity from ever being called a hoe?
Experience 2 couldn’t recognize me not because my body count was no longer 2, but because I had grown and matured, and so had my views on sex. I couldn’t say the same for him.
“Of course not,” he said. “Just. . .”
“It’s okay. Let it go,” I laughed and this time it was true laughter.
Little did he know, I had a lot more hoein’ to do.
Layla A. Reeves is a 20-something freelance writer, copy editor, and ESL teacher who's still trying to figure this life thing out, never mind adulting. She's lived overseas in Spain, but only mentions that when she wants to feel better about not knowing what she's doing. Read more of her musings on her blog.
ItGirl 100 Honors Black Women Who Create Culture & Put On For Their Cities
As they say, create the change you want to see in this world, besties. That’s why xoNecole linked up with Hyundai for the inaugural ItGirl 100 List, a celebration of 100 Genzennial women who aren’t afraid to pull up their own seats to the table. Across regions and industries, these women embody the essence of discovering self-value through purpose, honey! They're fierce, they’re ultra-creative, and we know they make their cities proud.
VIEW THE FULL ITGIRL 100 LIST HERE.
Don’t forget to also check out the ItGirl Directory, featuring 50 Black-woman-owned marketing and branding agencies, photographers and videographers, publicists, and more.
THE ITGIRL MEMO
I. An ItGirl puts on for her city and masters her self-worth through purpose.
II. An ItGirl celebrates all the things that make her unique.
III. An ItGirl empowers others to become the best versions of themselves.
IV. An ItGirl leads by example, inspiring others through her actions and integrity.
V. An ItGirl paves the way for authenticity and diversity in all aspects of life.
VI. An ItGirl uses the power of her voice to advocate for positive change in the world.
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Rihanna Talks Shedding Expectations And Finding Balance As A Mother
Since becoming a mother in 2022, Rihanna has defined parenthood by her terms and hopes to pass that sense of autonomy on to her children.
For Vogue China’s April cover story, Rihanna shared her perspective on raising her two sons with A$AP Rocky, and how she hopes to preserve her children’s uniqueness, devoid of societal expectations.
"The most beautiful thing...is that [children] come into the world with their own individuality and sincerity, without any logic or conformity,” she told the publication. “Which usually makes you feel that you must fit into a certain group."
The “Work” artist, known for her trendsetting style and captivating persona, expressed her desire to support children in fully embracing their individuality and encouraging them to be whoever they want to be. "It's really beautiful to see and I want to continue to help them navigate that and make sure that they know they can be whoever they want to be,” she says.
She continues, “They should embrace it completely, because it's beautiful, and it's unique. I love them just that way."
From shattering music charts to shaking up the beauty industry, Rihanna has forged a path that has since created the “dream” life we see today. One that she says has made her parents proud of.
“I’m living my dream,” she continued. “My parents were very proud of that because they just wanted me to be happy and successful. So, I think the key thing is to find some kind of balance. Yes, balance is important. Do this and you get the best of both worlds. You can write your own life the way you want, and it will be beautiful. Sometimes, you just need to let go of everyone’s expectations and start living your own story.”
Rihanna, who shares sons, RZA, 23 months, and Riot, 8 months, with rapper A$AP Rocky, recently shared her vision for expanding her family in the future in Interview Magazine.
When stylist Mel Ottenberg asked about the number of additional children she hoped to have, Rihanna replied, "As many as God wants me to have.”
"I don't know what God wants, but I would go for more than two. I would try for my girl,” she adds. “But of course, if it's another boy, it's another boy."
Featured image by Neil MockfordWireImage