Before you continue to read this myTake, yes, I am going to talk about my sex life and, no, I’m not looking for anyone to tell me to get over it. It’s pretty explicit…and I’m not sure if it will be removed. If it is, so be it. But I write this experience not for anyone’s sexual fantasies. No…I write this only because I can’t hold it in anymore. I can’t keep replaying the events over and over again in my head without anyone knowing. I write this any man who is doing this to his girl and for any girl who is allowing this to be done to them so that they may learn from my mistake. Hopefully, they won’t repeat it.
As some of you already know, my boyfriend of one year ghosted me the last Friday in April. I remember it like it was yesterday. Cliché, but true…
I woke up. 7:34a.m. I looked to my right and saw my boyfriend laying next to me. My tan skin next to his white skin was the first thing I noticed. My little beagle was sitting at the end of the bed on his side. He rolled over…wanted to have sex. Again.
The previous night came to mind. 10:52p.m. I remembered it vividly. I remember lying on my bed, not making any noises. I remember him cupping my breasts and kissing my neck and feeling nothing. I remember him telling me to give him head. I told him I didn’t want to. He didn’t care. I asked if he would do it back to me. He said no. He said he didn’t want to.
Then I remember him entering me. In and out. I felt nothing. His eyes were closed. He was sweating. I was not. I roll over onto my knees and let him have at it from the back. It seemed like an eternity. I stared at my headboard, waiting for it to finally end, praying God would still love me even though I wasn’t doing the right thing. I heard him gasp loudly and knew he finished. He rolled off, threw the condom on the floor, and asked when I was getting back on birth control. I looked at my phone. 12:17a.m.
No…I didn’t want to. I didn’t want sex. He couldn’t understand why. I told him because in the year that we were together, I never met his family. He never took me on a date. He never introduced me to his friends. He hardly called me, rarely texted me, and could go days without hearing my voice. He still had his dating profile he created around Christmas that he promised he’d take down over and over again. He didn’t even tell his co-workers that I was black. He must have been ashamed of me. He just wanted sex.
Of course, he swore up and down I was being ridiculous, and that he was done with that argument. It wasn’t the first time I said it. This same conversation has come up at least twice a week since Halloween. We’d have sex two, maybe three times a week, but that wasn’t enough for him. He still thirsted for more. He needed more. Five. Six. Seven, if possible. If he didn't get it, he would tell me to get out. He wouldn't call me. He wouldn't see me. He'd leave in the middle of the night. He even called me a stupid fucking bitch.
I couldn’t do it… But I wanted to. I wanted to please him. I wanted to make him happy. He needed to be happy. If I couldn’t make him happy because maybe, just maybe, if I could finally do it, he’d smile at me. Call me beautiful for the first time. Tell me he loved me. Hold a conversation with me that was about something I was interested in.
However, it wasn’t to play out that way. He told me I was ridiculous. I told him not everyone needs sex and he told me my answer was uneducated. This man of twenty-seven years who graduated high school by the skin of his teeth told me, a twenty-six year old bachelor degree wielding professional, that my views had no educational basis. He’s a man, he told me. He needs sex.
That’s when I remembered a few weeks earlier before he left on another out of town work trip. He traveled for his job every weekend. I remember checking his okCupid profile to see often he logged in a day. The most I counted was four. And I remember on that day, he showed me a girl on Tinder that messaged him, saying she was cute, telling me he was going to meet her.
Then I’m back in my room. He was putting his jeans on. He told me he was hanging out with some friends tonight so he wouldn’t see me. I wasn’t invited. He asked if I had sent him his resume that I wrote for him. He needed me to do it, he said. I’m an English teacher, albeit, an uneducated one.
I said yes. He put his shoes on, grabbed his things, and left.
I never saw him again. I texted him a few times over the weekend, and no response. I looked up his okCupid profile, and saw that he added three new pictures and completely updated his ‘About Me’ section.
It took me a while to realize what he did and when it finally hit, I was mad. I was angry. I was hurt. I threw things. I pulled my hair out. I banged my head against the wall, causing the drywall to crumble to the floor. I tore my apartment to pieces. My dog hid under my bed. What did I do wrong? I didn’t give him sex, I told myself. It’s just sex. Who cares if you never had an orgasm? He didn’t. In fact, he told me that he never tried to give me one. He told me he didn’t care because most women don’t get them.
I looked at the floor, my black hair strands scattered across the beige carpeting. I peered into my T.V.’s screen. My cheeks were red, my eyes puffy, my hair a mess...
Weeks have gone. The sun bowed to the moon over and over again and yet, every time I gaze at the stars through my window, I still find myself asking why. I just want to know why. Why what, you ask? Why wasn’t I good enough? Why was I so embarrassing? Why was he with me? But mostly…
Why didn’t I at least deserve a goodbye?
I don’t have the answer to this question, and I probably never will. And as I stated before, no, I didn’t share this in an effort to throw a pity party nor do I need anyone to tell me to move on.
I just want everyone to know. I just need people to understand the way you treat someone, especially someone who loves you, can possibly shape their view on others and the world. I wasn’t strong enough to leave. I wasn’t brave enough to demand better. Now I’m not secure enough to be with a man.
I’m living in hell. I want love but can’t accept it. I crave a man’s touch yet gag at the very thought of one even giving me a hug. I yearn for the presence of another and do my best to make sure that other side of my bed is empty.
But I can't. I let my boyfriend ruin my sex life. I allowed him to take and take and take and take from me every night without so much as a peep. I gave him permission to use my body as he saw fit. Now I don't know if I'll ever let another man in.
Don’t make my mistake. Be stronger than me. Treat each other right.
Please.
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