Label Me, pt III

Click here for part I & part II

The term quean is defined as “an impudent or badly behaved girl or woman; a prostitute.” The term cuckquean is defined as “a wife with an adulterous husband.” The term cuckhold is defined as “a man whose wife is sexually unfaithful, often regarded as an object of derision.”

Even the term for a woman with an adulterous husband can be broken down to mean, essentially, whore. And since the origin of the term cuck describes a “weak or servile man,” the term cuckquean seems to, in short, mean “a weak or servile whore.”

Oh the joy of language.

But beyond the semantics, beyond the oppression of languageand those bad ass women who are reclaiming terminology that had been composed (or bastardized) to keep us down – I am proud to call myself a cuckquean. Ya, so I guess I’m one of that army.

Being a cuckquean is not about being weak or servile; in fact, this literal self-entitlement is a blunt calling out of my own sexuality.

Take that society! I like watching my man fuck other women. What are you going to do about it?

I think my cuckqueaning days began in ninth grade. I had no label for it; in fact, I was hardly aware of it. Just quick flashes of curiosity swirled inside of me before, almost simultaneously, imploding into nothing. I never got too curious because, as I’ve mentioned in the past, the previous relationships I was in never made the proper space for that kind of self-exploration.
The first time I remember feeling a tinge of, “ooh, she’s cute, I wonder if he (then boyfriend) likes her,” was outside of geography class in my first high school. The students had lined up outside the door waiting for the teacher to arrive. My then boyfriend and I stood side-by-side when this beautiful girl walked by. I hadn’t even realized I said, “well, she was hot,” aloud, until my boyfriend turned to the other male students, boasting, “my girlfriend is awesome!”

I’ve always found that memory a bit funny (and a bit sad), as I relate it to that scene in Friends when Ross finds out his wife is a lesbian. When asked if he ever thought it was possible, he responded with (something like), “no,I just thought I had a really coo
l wife!” Now, I know I’m not a lesbian; however, I did cheat on that guy with my best girlfriend, so I imagine he could have had similar feelings…

The second most blatant memory I have of feeling a bit cickquean-y, was during the first year of my last relationship (you know, before it got toxic af!). My parents own a cottage up north, and it became mine and…let’s call him Tony…it became mine and Tony’s tradition to go up for May 2-4 weekends (Queen Victoria Day Weekend for you non-alcoholics out there). We would literally spend three and a half days getting drunk on the beach, building camp fires, and eating sausages.

One afternoon when we felt like splurging a bit, we walked to the local arcade, and ordered some kind of smoothie drink. The bartender, this gorgeous Scandinavian-looking chick, brought our pink, flower shaped cocktail glasses to the table, nearly knocking Tony off his seat in embarrassment. His cheeks flushed, which made the bartender giggle, and for a brief moment I was smitten.

As we got buzzed off our flowery delight, I began joking with Tony about whether he thought I could pick up the bartender. He laughed and smiled, and looked uncomfortable, all the while saying there’s no way, there’s no way… So, I accepted the challenge. From his seat, Tony anxiously watched as I introduced myself, and invited the bombshell to the cottage later for a drink. She went as pink as the glasses she served us, and gently declined. It wasn’t until that moment I really thought, “shit, what if she’d said yes?” I guess, although I’d had the confidence to approach her, the idea that she’d actually accept wasn’t a part of my plan.

So, I went back and sat with Tony, who was stunned into silence, and we carried on our day as if nothing had happened. Of course, I thought about her. Perhaps he did too. We never spoke about it again – no questions asked, as sex was not in our bank of discussions. Our heterosexual, monogamous relationship carried on into it’s slow and painful demise, without a second thought about what my sudden urge to pick-up this beautiful woman was signaling to…

I was asked the other day by a client how I discovered the cuckquean lifestyle – was I introduced to it by someone? My answer was long and simple. I’d had those few experiences that turned a dim light onto the fact that, yes, some part of me somewhere was actually interested in women; however, it wasn’t until my current relationship that I gave myself permission to fully explore it.

As someone who had literally thrown her health out the window in order to reach the expectations of an undeserving partner, I will be the first to say this: you are responsible for your own happiness, and someone’s control over you is an illusion that they’ve imposed to keep you from recognizing that you’re better without them. Essentially, it’s abuse. Coming out of that, I was fragile and afraid, and had all kinds of guards up.

When I met Master J, I had my red-flag goggles on. I was waiting for anything to pop up so I could run. Of course, that wasn’t the healthiest mind set to start a relationship in; however, with all the baggage I’d been carrying and having just been put into remission from an eating disorder, I thought it was fair to tread lightly.

I knew I didn’t want a replay. I wanted something new, vibrant, exciting, full of love and respect. I didn’t want to change anyone, and hell, I didn’t want anyone to change me. I was ready to go all in with someone who would accept what that meant. Never in a million years did Master J or I imagine “all in” meant “fuck other people.” But I can only say this in so many ways…

As much as you have control over your own happiness, I understand that the partner you choose subconsciously has bearing on how much of yourself you give, compromise or explore. I was just lucky enough that the person I ended up with is a very low-maintenance, open minded, liberal human. That kind of personality creates infinite space for the other person to just feel themselves out. There was never shame, only these two words, “trust yourself.”

Like. Holy shit.

So, I started to do just that!

The answer to how I “discovered” the cuckqueaning lifestyle…

The truth is, I simply discovered myself, and the term cuckquean just happened to be the best description for what I found. Master J asks me often, “if you hadn’t met me, do you believe you would have eventually tapped into this part of yourself?”

My answer is this: I don’t know. I hope so. Or at least, I hope I would have found peace in whatever sexuality suited that hypothetical partnership. What I do know is this: I was done sacrificing my happiness for someone else. Erotic
compatibility is as critical as any other compatibility. Of course, as humans, we change and grow; we wax and wane…but compromise and sacrifice are two very different things. I’ve done enough sacrificing for one life time, so if I had never met Master J, I can say confidently that I wouldn’t have let myself go unfulfilled. Does that mean I would have become the cuckquean I am today? Maybe not.

But, I’ll never know, will I?

So, tell me, what areas in your relationship or sexuality do you feel most fulfilled? What can you do to create more fulfillment and happiness for yourself?

Until next time,

Fuck-well friends!

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