Body count: man's pathetic attempt to quantify women's shame

I physically feel disgusted thinking about the depravity of having so many partners. How vile you have to be to sleep around with all those people while not committing to marriage. Sinking relationships with their low value. Who does Johnny Sins, Owen Gray, and Small Hands think they are? Who wants to be with them?

Hell, I’m reminded each time I look in the mirror how I finished Tinder back in Montreal 2013. You read that sentence right. I’m one of the few that saw the end credits of a dating app, but no one is going to give a ring to an old whore like me. Bodily autonomy? More like lesser intelligence and lack of any religious belief since we sabotaged our future romantic value through the desire of the flesh. Hold on, I just remembered this doesn’t apply to men. Can you imagine? Double standard? Crazy concept.

This article is going to breakdown the mind-numbing idea of body count while also taking a stroll down memory lane.

Let’s start by addressing the phrase itself

There was a time in the late 00’s and early 2010’s that it was the goal to openly sleep with as many women as possible in the name of masculinity. In today’s social climate, the idea of numerous partners has been more weaponized yet it’s always been performative to other men. Regardless of the number, women still suffered the brunt of men’s behaviour.

If you haven’t heard about body count or it being used in conversation online/offline, run away as fast as you can. Your heart is too pure and go frolic in a field because you truly are blessed. Free yourself from this cursed timeline we seem to be trapped in. As silly as it sounds, it’s worth speaking about, specifically to men, as I justify that sentence while vaguely gesturing at the world around me to imply things are on fire.

The term body count refers to how many people someone has slept with. Right off the bat, we’re setting the tone and announcing how men view intimacy. A body.

Are we speaking to a hunter? Is she a serial killer? Does she rank high in Call of Duty matches? It’s not romantic vocabulary.

Since this question is asked to women, men see other men and themselves as bags of meat. You’re telling on yourself with that question. Asking about it to put someone’s worth down regarding relationships, yet you’ve removed the humanity from intimacy since we’re a collection of organic matter. Not a person. Just mass to engage with. People really say chivalry is dead.

What it reveals about you

It’s a very revealing statement the same way when we hear men refer to women as “females” in conversation. One or two words, but we can tell what kind of person you are. There’s no other way to put it than dehumanizing and misogyny.

The other big reveal is that you care so much to the point you’d get upset that a woman has enjoyed herself with other partners. As if it impacts you profoundly and makes you lesser than for even entertaining the thought you could be attracted to her. Your history of partners doesn’t matter, but god forbid she’s had sex before. Weird.

What intimidates you about it? Is it her desire that’s makes you feel you aren’t enough or is it the men that, no pun intended, came before you?

To quote Lindy West:

“The sexualisation of women is only appealing if it’s non-consensual. Otherwise it’s “sluttiness,” and that slutiness is agency and agency is threatening.”

Her free will to act on her desires terrifies you. A slut who wants to be a slut sounds like a nightmare, right? An adult consciously picked her partners and that’s gross to men. It brings these male concepts to a very icky place which makes sense since they are all born there. Asking or stating she has a high body count is a bruised ego’s attempt to bring her down to that appalling level.

Sticking to this logic, if she’s slept with a lot of men and that reduces her “value” wouldn’t men be the problem? More men equal more negative points? If she’s been intimate with people who don’t identify as cis men, do we add it to the score board?

Is it a different row in the crappy behaviour Excel spread sheet? Men must reduce women autonomy and joy to something negative then which leads me to believe we have a guy problem. Get the pseudo-science out about how penises erode vaginas. Men reduce the value of women is what I’m understanding from this. I can hear the murmuring of bizarre back tracking to remind us that it’s her fault as always.

Testing over tallies

“You’re sex positive so you guys always talk about body count” To be honest, no. In my years of being included in this community along with having conversations with people of all walks of life and genders, this question doesn’t get asked. We talk about relationship dynamics in regards to what we enjoy and don’t. There’s a lot of listening and having open dialogue surrounding intimacy. Sure, we share fun stories and adventures, but no one says a number let alone fixates on it. As an artist who is a creator on Pornhub for years, I still haven’t heard this conversation with creators there.

As I’ve been writing this article, I tried to give a shit about body count. Truly made the effort to be in the shoes of these men who become as obsessed with this magical number. I can’t bring myself to care. I’m sitting here now imagining scenarios where someone would tell me they slept with 100 people, 500 people, 1000 people, etc and I can’t make myself angry or feel bad about it. Where do you guys get the energy to invest in this along with such an explosive emotional reaction? The only thing that comes up as important is we’re all get tested regularly. We’re having fun and being responsible. What else is there?

Even when men try to weaponize a normal sexual health practice to invoke shame, it’s still goofy to me. To the fellas out there who just get nonstop pussy, when’s the last time you got tested, big dog? Nothing wrong in going to see a doctor and knowing what’s happening with your body.

If you want to fuck like a porn star, it also means getting tested like one. That would imply you actually care about your wellbeing and the people you’re intimate with.

Misogyny in my time: it was there, it just looked different

We didn’t have the manosphere or red pill content in mainstream media at the same level as we do today. You had to go find it in dodgy forums, but it’s not like misogyny just appeared overnight. Club culture was the thing in music and reality shows along with the idolization of figures like Barney Stinson from How I Met Your Mother resulted in this wave of pick up artists.

Social media wasn’t as loud as it is now dissecting problematic characters and trends, so we had this era of over the top “charmers” and nights that had to end with someone in your bed.

I vividly remember seeing The Playbook and The Game being best sellers in book stores. It’s kind of like getting relationship advice by reading The Art of War. These were tactics marketed as romance to convince women to sleep with you. In the 2010s, “Follow these steps and you’ll get laid. Guaranteed” was the overall theme.

Montreal 2011-2013: where my story starts

So, let’s turn back the clock and set the scene for my story. We’re looking at the years 2011-2013 back in my hometown of Montreal. Cocktails were under 5$, just moved out to live on my own, making leaps in my art during university, and I recently became single after my first big relationship. A whole lot of feelings running through me as I felt heartbreak at the start of my early 20’s.

As a man in his 30’s, I understand what went wrong and the reasons why the relationship ended along with how we were eventually going to split. That’s hindsight and maturing thanks to working on myself. At the time, I was a mess and didn’t understand it all causing me to spiral out of control and find confidence in unhealthy ways.

Here I was being shaped very quickly by this landscape and naturally hit the ground running when I became single. Seeing all this happen in all the pop culture I consumed, I believed whole heartedly the only way to get over one of the most depressing moments of my life was to just sleep with as many people as possible. That’s what a man does, right? Emotions and working through things? Clearly not on the list of priorities.

There wasn’t any online streamer or algorithmic catalyst that pushed me in this direction. I began approaching people and flirting. Truth was I was scared at first and had an existential crisis the first time I slept with someone who wasn’t my ex. I hid the fact I had only been with one person along with avoiding deeper conversations about ourselves, what we wanted in bed, or intimacy in general. We hooked up and I remember feeling confused on the bus ride home in the morning.

All these emotions from a new experience flooded my mind as I waited to see my street corner approach in the distance to ring the bell and get off the bus. Is this hook up culture? Do we talk again? Is it a one and done or should I go on a date? It must mean I’m never getting back with my ex since I’ve officially slept with someone else, right? Does that make me a bad person? Will this get better? Is this what it’s like with everyone I’m going to be with from now on?

The funny thing is I never spoke about what was happening inside nor did I have anyone or a community to guide me through this fresh chapter of my life in a healthy way. Most of my inner reflections were balanced out with a sense of excitement, but it was a tug of war inside of me. Instead of opening up to someone, I just kept going thinking I was going to get used to it.

My best friend at the time went through his heartbreak alongside mine. We grew closer and we spent more time together to the point it evolved into our routine. Compared to men online complaining about women, dating, etc we were always hanging out in person making each other smile.

Him and I never insulted our former flames or bash potential partners nor did we grovel in our sadness and push that responsibility on women as a whole. Every Saturday we’d go to the market together and pick up ingredients for dinner because we were teaching ourselves how to cook. It was true quality time and we felt we had each other.

We’d laugh, vent our feelings, and pregame by going on Xbox Live to play some NHL before we hit the bars.

The notion of not letting ourselves be isolated by being there for each other probably was a saving grace from transforming into the vile sexist unhealed men you find in comment sections under any post concerning feminism.

The male loneliness epidemic was never a thing. We literally made last minute road trips to other towns because there were so many women and so little time.

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How we turned sex into a scorecard

We weren’t perfect and this is a version of me that had long ways to go in order to become the man he is today. After following a brand-new recipe and seeing who was better in 1v1 Call of Duty, we were ready to go pick up girls at the club. Yelling “Gym-Tan-Laundry!” and “Cabs are here!” from Jersey Shore before we strutted down Crescent Street for the night.

As much as we got lucky every weekend, the only body count we could care about was our own. “A notch on the old belt” was what we’d say. It was directly objectifying the women I’d been with. Not a single person or relationship that could be cherished no matter the duration, but a single point to soothe our bruised egos.

Couldn’t care less if she’d been with other people even friends of mine, but I also couldn’t care about anything more than us sleeping together. +1 point for Armando. The act of seduction was a game to me. A band aid to hide my insecurity. That number I was trying to get up every chance I could was only to impress other men.

Hanging out with other guys, friends or new acquaintances, we’d ask each other’s numbers like it was normal. I remember referring to it as “sharing our stats” like we were all in the running to be drafted into the sex Olympics.

If I had the chance to print sports cards of myself, I would have.

Late night at a party in NDG, I remember a friend bringing me in his room to show me his world map on the wall. Coloured pins in multiple countries and cities as he stood proud next to it. His eyes wide as they looked over the world before he asked me “You play the flag game?” to which I looked at him confused.

He carried on to explain that he was trying to sleep with as many women from different countries as possible. “It’s like Risk but instead of war it’s pussy” Each pin began to mean something to me as he kept talking about how he always asks what their origins are. I remember asking him if he’s worried this would turn off the women he’d bring back home and he swiftly replied “I just tell them I travel”.

So I wasn’t special turning intimacy into some sort of game or method to show off my accomplishments in bed to other men. Unfortunately, it didn’t come off as a red flag or gross to me in the moment. I thought it was eccentric and felt he added a new dimension to hooking up with people.

None of us pushed back or made negative remarks. Fetishizing cultures and race wasn’t even thought to any of us. No one disrupted this fertile ground for the wave of toxic masculinity that we see today. I believe the word for this is “enabling” We didn’t think it was too far, but rather we weren’t going far enough in our own escapades. This is where men were at in 2012.

As time went on, the rush of going home for the night with someone wasn’t distracting me from my unchecked pain. I wasn’t cherishing being intimate with women let alone giving anyone any space to grow a connection with.

Rather than seeing these women as potential long-term partners outside of sex, I was looking at the whole thing as sport to get my numbers up. Purely performative.

Going home with someone from the club was fine, but my mind said we need to take it up a notch so it began to shift into challenges. I was going for “perfect weekends” meaning a different partner for each day. That eventually changed into “perfect week” Using the hockey term “hat trick” for 3 people in one day. All in the name of being the top dog rather than truly enjoying who I was sharing my bed with.

Today I don’t feel there’s anything wrong with multiple partners, but when it comes to making it into a game that they don’t know they’re part of, it’s unfair.

Flirting is a game for everyone involved. Playful and fun where we all win at the end of the day. I’d say it’s about being honest with an air of silliness making it a euphoric exchange despite where it leads to. 10 years ago that wasn’t my view nor was it reflected in my actions.

I was reading the journals of Cassanova on seduction and I tried to emulate the 18th century Italian “adventurer”. It even got me the nickname “Cabbanova” at university since everyone was well aware of my escapades. Fuck Clavicular. I was hiding parts of myself from others and focused on being whoever she wanted me in order to end the night together. Deflecting with arrogance while sticking to some loose script in my head.

“I wasn’t Mr. Right, but I was Mr. right now” was my motto. How could I expect to have a genuine connection and live that moment together to the fullest if I wasn’t being honest? They knew I was full shit let’s be real.

I hold remorse for not being a good partner while denying myself anything beyond a surface level roll around in bed.

Confidence is easy to fake when you’re ignorant. All this for numbers that might get me a high five and sparkled eye looks from the boys.

Remember how I mentioned I finished Tinder? I did. There were a lot of messages from people on Instagram explaining how they deleted the app and can relate. Truth is I never deleted it. All the matches and potential partners were either swiped left on or we went out.

I finished it like it was a book to the point in the early days of this app they asked me to stay tuned for future projects since I was “done. I was maxed out with no more matches in a 75km radius. Let’s not forget I was also using other dating platforms including answering anonymous hook ups on Craigslist.

My second relationship

As this unhealed boy slut train kept running, it stopped when I met someone who’d be my second long term partner. Huge spoiler alert: I was a dog shit boyfriend. Given my mentality during this period, it was sadly destined to fail. You know it’s off to a bad start when getting in a serious relationship with someone felt like being benched.

Part of me feels I was longing for a genuine connection, but I lacked the maturity and effort to help myself be capable of providing that to someone. I was rough. I was closed off. I was the reason our love burned down. I was the problem.

One night that this mentality rattled my head was when we were all with friends having a drink discussing our winter break plans. Her friend explained how he was going to the mountains to snowboard. I remember him saying “I’ll finally pass the 150 mark” when it came to sleeping with women. It was openly said. As I mentioned, a single man talking about this casually was not absurd for the time period.

There were a lot of laughs when he said it, but I hid my jealousy under a chuckle. My mind focused on that and where I was at with my score. Completely disregarding my partner or even thinking I was happy and this fuckboy nonsense doesn’t mean anything. I fixated on it due to my own insecurity. How shitty of a boyfriend was I? Our relationship was rocky to put it lightly and naturally ended thanks to me, myself, and I.

I was alone again, this time filled with painfully true remarks about who I was as a person from my ex: “Maybe you’ll be a man in 11 years from now, but until then why bother asking if you are?” rang over and over inside my mind. She was right. Guess what I did? The same crap I did before when I got my heart broken the first time around.

I was back at the bar speaking to anything that moved while relying heavier on alcohol. It was a crappy sequel hoping to strike lightning twice or it was going to be even better than the first time around. Calling old numbers thinking I Peaches by fucking the pain away. It began to crumble so it could change for the good.

This part of the saga played out like a third act in a drama. Lovers rolling over and getting dressed while I sat there with my head in my hands. The kind yet disappointing obligatory words of “Hope whatever you’re going through works out. Call me then” before they slammed the front door closed.

What was once framed as a fun normal weekend became depressing. My emotions caught up with me and this wasn’t sustainable anymore.

When I stopped lying

The party came to an end one specific night at some random spot west end of town. I was with my friends racing through drinks until one of my partners came in with her friends. The way she swung that door open signaled she wasn’t here because she wanted to spend time with me.

She marched up to me and asked me flat out if I was sleeping with a specific person while we were together. I saw her waiting for me to weave some sort of story or attempt to calm everything down. My eyes locked on to hers and I simply said “yes”. There was no defending myself or bending the truth to soften the blow.

Her teeth locked together visibly with her mouth closed before I had my drink thrown in my face. I got a last, “fuck you!” before watching her leave with her friends as everyone around me was shocked. “Bro, why didn’t you just say no?” the guys said in disbelief. I felt the cream of my white Russian slowly dripping through my beard as I said “Because it’s not right”.

So began what I refer to as the apology tour. I held myself accountable and began speaking with everyone I could one on one to say sorry for what I did.

Regardless of how well I can put into context my values and behaviour being shaped by negative influences and habits, I still hurt people’s feelings and I owed them an apology. It was scary since I thought I was going to be torn to shreds, but the truth is an uncomfortable conversation will never outweigh doing the right thing.

There’s no point in sugar coating the fact I was selfish at the time. To my surprise after doing this, it bolstered my friendships with the majority of my partners. It felt like a block was lifted. Sure, there were some who accepted what I had to say and I listened to everything they had to tell me before we decided to go our separate ways, but there was peace between us in the end.

Moral of the story was I had to change. I also felt I was on the right path and I was even supported by people around me who are still here to this day. I don’t know what stars I was born under or just how lucky I was to meet these wonderful people who not only encouraged me to be better, but actively stood by me in the process.

I can go on about that entire saga and my move to Europe starting with an honest mindset towards intimacy, but we’d be here for another few thousand words. Maybe I’ll write a “Cabbanova” memoir about it later in on life.

Body count means nothing. Here’s what actually does

Body count means nothing.

My pursuit in wanting to be the MVP with an all-time high score didn’t bring me happiness. That number never saved me from myself. Sex wasn’t the problem. It was my attitude. My escapades didn’t cure my grief and boost self-confidence because I was doing this all for the wrong reasons. More importantly I wasn’t being honest.

The amount of people someone sleeps with doesn’t reflect their morality. What counts is how you navigate your own relationships, whether it’s a few or plenty.

On the subject of pure sex, why would I want to be with someone who doesn’t have experience? If I want to spend time doing an activity, I want to be with the person who knows the most about it.

The virgin fantasy never landed with me. Why the hell would I want to learn about skydiving with someone who’s never been on a plane before?

I’m certainly not an sex expert and there’s always room to grow when you allow yourself to be vulnerable with others.

It’s okay to feel intimidated by sex especially men who feel the pressure of being macho when it doesn’t align with their feelings. That’s not an excuse to put others down and shame them because you’re insecure.

Sex is fun and holding on to that punishing mindset towards women who enjoy themselves isn’t going to make anyone invite you to join.

My message to the men reading this

My days weren’t this unapologetically hateful; we understood to not verbally attack others to fill the emptiness inside ourselves while simultaneously hoping to get laid with the victims.

Maybe it’s a couple sentences or a paragraph, hell even a chapter or two. Make the story fun for everyone involved. Sex with someone doesn’t equate to immediate marriage and kids. That’s my honest advice to the men reading this.

Stop praising and giving attention to the heads of the Manosphere. I’ve watched their streams when they go to clubs and I’ve never in my life have wanted to climb into a hole so badly from second hand embarrassment and existential dread. They’re setting you up to fail and profit off your ignorance through coaching and e-books worth jack shit. She slept with more than 10 people, but you’re paying hundreds of dollars to a shirtless man on a zoom call teaching you how to be an asshole.

“She looks too easy” That was good thing when I was a younger man because it meant she wanted to have fun too. We’re there for the same reasons. How is she supposed to look like?

“She looks like a whore“ As a whore I love whores. Why are you upset about going on a boat with a sailor? [/pullquote]

A chef isn’t allowed to cook a meal? How dare a singer perform a song? “It’s better when she’s hard to get” Weird thought process, bro.

I’m going to admit that it’s hard to stick the landing on this article because we’re on shaky ground.

Between all the vile comments sent to women online, there’s one thing in common with the senders. They’re wounded. That doesn’t excuse them, but it’s worth noting.

I’d be scared being in my early 20’s today because of how easy boys are being manipulated into digging their own graves when it comes to intimacy.

A big part of me opening up to you is to see you put the shovel down. You are pushing everyone away. Oh, is it having “rizz” or are you just being misogynistic in public wearing overpriced cologne? Livestreaming women rejecting you for being impolite and cold isn’t proving the point you think it’s proving.

You pull back complimenting people, but you don’t pull your punches when you beat yourself up at home. Just because you can puff your chest out doesn’t mean you aren’t broken. Just because you’re broken doesn’t mean you can’t heal.

You know who actually holds all the answers and what truly makes you a remarkable lover? Listening to women. Listening to your queer friends. Listening to people who have lived experience. I love the boys but the boys can be just as lost as you.

It was the women in my life that made me a better person overall. A better partner simply by hearing them speak.

Every shred of advice I have given out has originally come from women. You’re just listening to a burly guy with a beard repeat it.

Accepting vulnerability and my shortcomings made me not only stronger in my communication, but happier. I grew from ignorant boy-slut to wholesome man-whore.

Be curious about what they like and who they are. Watch how they light up when they talk and how they hold the moments when your words are spoken with tenderness. I finally saw who I wanted to be in the reflective glimmers of their eyes. You can’t fake a feeling. That number you’re obsessing over means nothing.

After telling you my story, you might curious to know my body count. Truth is I stopped counting when I got comfortable in my own skin. Each number has a name and that name belongs to a person who has a rich life you were lucky to be a part of. Real sluts don’t count. We do it for the love of the game.