Introduction

I've always wondered if I've got what it takes to be a stinking slut. I mean, surely it doesn't require much? You just go home with a bunch of different random guys, put it about a bit... and hey presto! Instant Slut - just add lube! Sounds simple enough. Nice and easy, so to speak.

And it's not as if I've got my work cut out for me; I've got all the necessary hallmarks of a classic shameless slag:

1. Good looking. Check.

2. Decent body. Check.

3. Raging libido. Check.

4. Nagging self-doubt and crippling neuroses. Double check.

Oh yes, and not to forget the all imporant:

5. I'm gay. Check.

The latter point should ensure me a lifetime of brazen sluttiness. After all, as a young, single gay man it's not only accepatble for me to be promiscuous - it's practically mandatory. But then of course there are several obstacles blocking my path to a delightfully sinful town called Shamesless Man-Wench:

1. There's the infamous Catholic Guilt (a legacy from my Irish grandparents on my mother's side, as well as a potentially cliched alcohol problem and sticky-out ears).

2. A built-in sense of moral decency.

3. Incurable shyness (at least around hot men).

4. And, crucially, I've never really felt the need to sleep around.

But now, as I 'look forward' to my impending 26th birthday - as well as the rumoured Sex and the City movie - I am experiencing a sudden sexual awakening. These days, I inexplicably find myself thinking: I want to reinvent myself as a shameless male slag (the assumption being that the word 'slag' is normally reserved for women).

The problem is...can I actually go through with it?



The Muse

My best friend Cassie - whose legs are open more often than my local Spar - is the muse for my seedy project. She's stunning, witty, funny and supremely comfortable in her own skin, so she defies the unfair stereoptype of the typical promiscuous girl: the lonely, attention-starved, insecure wreck who just wants to be loved. In fact, she is a confident woman who thrives on being single and uses sex for pleasure, not to fill a gaping void in her existence.

She is my inspiration. As best friends go, she is up there with the best of them. If you ring her crying at 4 a.m., she will come running in the pouring rain with a box of Milk Tray and a copy of Dirty Dancing, even if she has to be up for work at 6. She was the first person that I went to when I started to contemplate my new slutty alter-ego and, naturally, she was full of enthusiasm.

"It's about time you started to be more adventurous," was her diplomtic response, when clearly she was actually thinking: "Thank fuck! It's about time you stopped this repressed, virginal bullshit and got laid so you can stop being so fucking miserable all the time. Not that you'll actually go through with it."

So, with her as my sexual svengali, I decided to use her experiences as a benchmark for my sluttiness. Her dubious catalogue of depraved promiscuity has now become the template for my mission, so her dodgy exploits now comprise my list of challanges:


1. Have sex with more than one stranger in one night.

2. Have sex with a friend's boyfriend.

3. Have sex with a prostitute.

4. Have sex with someone in the workplace.

5. Have a threesome. (She actually recommended a fivesome, but I couldn't quite bring myself
to add this to my list).

6. Have sex with a gay guy. (Being a gay guy myself, I could already tick this one off - but I have had to amend this to 'Have sex with a straight guy'.)

7. Shag someone of the same sex. (Again, being gay, this one wasn't much of a problem. But I have had to change it to - shudder - 'Shag a woman.'


She assures me that this is just the beginning of the list, but she refuses to divulge her other exploits for fear of judgement. Only once I have lowered myself to an acceptably dirty level of seediness will I be entrusted with the rest of her naughty secrets. I can't wait.



Genetics

Most people would wonder why, as a single gay man, I am not already a self-styled ho. I mean, it's almost a prerequisite. Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately - I'm not quite sure yet) I don't seem to have the traditional promiscuous gene that most gay men seem to possess. I was granted with most of the other typical charactistics - an obsession with Kylie, a keen interest in fashion and a tendancy to attract fag-hags - but the need to sleep around (as well as an unnatural fondness of the gym) seem to be missing from my genetic make-up.

It seems rather unfair that I have been denied these stereotpyical traits. As a result, my sex life is tragic and my six-pack is non-existent.

But as I pursue my goal to be a brazen male slag, I aim to change all of this. Hopefully, I will resurrect my ailing sex life.

And maybe I'll even get round to renewing that gym membership