I am, right now, dating one man, occasionally fucking another, and enjoying intense sexting with a couple others whom I may or may not meet. It hardly matters. They give good words, and I careen through the day with a hot, wet, clamoring little knot in my cunt. I could not be happier. I owe it all—this sexual renaissance, this renewed slutification of me, this rebirth of delighted promiscuity—to a $4326 lingerie shopping spree and an epiphany.