As we grapple with our new reality with the dawn of the social media and mobile money taxes, I am reminded of a past time when things were…less hard. I wrote this during that time. Enjoy this throw back post.
The bed shifts and my eyes open. My body feels lazy and strangely sated. I don’t want to leave this bed. I don’t ever want to wake up. What is this delicious feeling? Why is there a tingling between my legs? The last time I felt like this was four months ago and that was when……….. oh no, no, no, no. NOOOOOOO!
No no no no no no no no, oh no, I remove the covers to reveal that I am indeed naked and this means that last night, I had sex Craaaaaaap! Let the freak out begin.
Who did I sleep with? Why can’t I remember? Did I drink? What happened? Who’s the man?
And damn! I just signed that TRUE LOVE WAITS card like two weeks ago. What is the Man upstairs going to think of me? Wasn’t it just four months ago when the angels were rejoicing that a new child had come into the fold? Just four months when I got born again? I can’t even keep my own legs closed? I’m a slut bucket. I’m a bad Christian. Granted I’m still new to this whole Christian thing, but EH! Not cool, Di, not cool at all. I was so sure I would be able to wait until I was married before anyone else would see my goodies.
I’m pretty sure this omniscient God of ours is ashamed of me. I’m ashamed of me. My pastor would be ashamed of me.
I’m shaken out of my reverie by this deep voice.
“Babe, that was…”
I know this voice. This is a voice that is forever etched in my memory. A voice that sounds like chocolate and vanilla cake if chocolate and vanilla cake had a sound.
ZACK! AARGH! It had to be Zack! Why did it have to be Zack? And he’s standing there looking so…good, great, perfect, yummy, delectable…mere words fail to describe him. My mouth dries up. All moisture starts to gather elsewhere…Ah, damn this traitorous body of mine. Damn it to hell. I would not be here if it were not for this body.
The memory of what happened last night finally pushes through my brain and let’s just say if I were of a different skin color, I would be as red as an overly ripe tomato. Thank God for black, amirite?
But I can’t face him now. I mumble something about something and dash to the bathroom.
He wants to break down my door. What did my poor door do to this guy?
“Diana, open this door!” He yells while banging on my poor poor door. Can’t he take a hint, I can’t face him. I don’t want to face him now, I have a lot of guilt to deal with, I can’t deal with him.
“Please,” he adds for good measure, as if that will soften me up. I imagine him sighing with frustration at my big headedness.
I’ve been sitting on this toilet for what feels like hours but could really be just a few minutes butt-naked, cold, waiting for him to just leave. Real mature, I know.
Avoidance is better than confrontation in this case. I don’t want to see him. I’m afraid of what I may… er, my body might do.
“Diana, please we need to talk about this.”
He sounds defeated. My heart goes out to him…but I still can’t face him. Instead of crumbling, my resolve strengthens, the embarrassment I feel can suck it. I will not face my ex boyfriend today. I hide my face in my hands and wait him out.
I know he’s saying things, but I refuse to listen.
Finally, the assault on my bathroom door ends. And my headache brought on by the pounding of the door eases.
I hear my bedroom door open and close. He’s finally gone. I breathe a sigh of relief. Now I can just relax……wait, no, no relaxing for me, I have to dress up and go find the nearest church, pray and confess and………….but why do I feel so guilty? I feel like I killed a puppy or something……I need to go all Nigerian prayer style with this issue. Scream and shout until I feel less guilty.
Finished with the showering. And I’m inexplicably sad that I had to wash his scent away. He smells soooo good. As only Zack would.
I have to keep reminding myself why we broke up in the first place. Last night cannot happen again. He’s not my ‘one’. He’s not saved. And the Bible said something about being unequally yoked. Argh!
I’m dressed like a woman going to a funeral. It feels like I’m heading to my funeral anyway. How do I start confessing to Pastor Okafor that I had sex with my ex last night and I enjoyed it? Argh! This whole Christianity thing sucks. It sucks bal— argh! I’m not even supposed to swear like that. Fu- Damn! Crap!
I need to get a move on. I need to get my face out of my hands. I need to stand up from this bed that still smells like Zack. I need to go. One foot in front of the other Di, you can do it.
I finally reach the door, the bedroom door that is. I lean heavily against it. The guilt is killing me. I still love the bastard and that just sucks. I have to keep chanting, unequally yoked, unequally yoked, unequally yoked.…..I take a deep breath, raise my chin up and square my shoulders…..unequally yoked…..I open the door.
“Di, we really need to talk”
Argh! This is not my friggin day!