DISCLAIMER: No marriage has been harmed in the making and telling of this story
I know I took you by surprise last week, I’m sorry. Showing up out of nowhere, talking about your husband. Yes, the same one you love ‘from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet’.
I figure I owe you conversations, conversations that you have not asked for, but that need to be had nonetheless. For my own selfish reasons, I’ll own that.
Speaking of selfish, I have heard on so many occasions when women like you speak of women like me that the word selfish gets thrown around. It’s always confused me greatly, you see that we, in this instance I, would be accused of this.
How am I the one that’s selfish, Shirley, when it was his head that led his feet into my life?
In any case, I need you to think about that, but I also need to carry on with my story. Of the things I learned from sleeping with your husband.
I told you how he arrived in my life moss, one gorgeous leg at a time?
Well, what I didn’t have time to tell you last week is that, after I met him that day, I literally never saw him again, until the 21st July of the following year.
Society wants it to be because I have no morals, no dignity and that I am a slut that we met again. But I think it was fate, how we met again, considering he didn’t even remember my name. How unsure of himself he was, when he said the first ‘hey’.
I hey’ed back, as one would.
‘Do you remember me?’
This fool I thought, who could forget him, but I texted back : ‘Of course I do.’
This is about a month before the 21st of July.
“I tried looking for you.’
Damn liar, I roll my eyes.
“But there was no one to ask and you were supposed to be dating that guy. I didn’t want to cause trouble.”
The chat quickly led to the night he arrived at my doorstep. After getting lost and lost, there was no send me location back then. It was tricky hooking up with someone for the first time. Had it been me driving and getting lost that night, I would have turned back. Not him, and now that I know him, I know that it is because your husband is a patient person.
Must be another reason why you love ‘from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet’.
This is probably the last thing you want to hear, but I have to tell you about that night, our very first time. I may have been selfish, a whore with no morals but I was also other things.
I was a nervous wreck. Your husband is good looking, you know that. When you lived through some of the experiences that I have been through, something tells you that you don’t deserve that kind of good looking.
When we were still virgins and in school, me and my friends’ biggest pre occupation was what an erect penis looked like. There was one particularly traumatic conversation where even when we were all laughing, we were all visibly shook and worried about the size of this thing. One of us, even though some may say it was me, I must state here that I have no recollection of this, asked what the size of an erect penis was. We went about trying to find objects we could use to visualise this thing and then someone, again if it was me I DO NOT remember, said “I heard it is the size of a packet of marie biscuits.”
Silence! Which was immediately followed by uncontrollable giggles. This example is one of collective trauma, the kind we could immediately unpack with squeals of laughter, together. There were other conversations around the dick and the erection, whose trauma I could not share with my friends. I have told this story a few times and sometimes when I do I still feel the shame creep up to greet me, wink at me. And suddenly I am back to being a sixteen year old, traumatised by the idea of never getting to witness an erect penis. I am overweight and unattractive, or so I was told, unworthy of erections.
Back in 2017 though, there are some erections I would be quiet happy to un-see. So if I did have the opportunity to talk to my sixteen year old self, I would go bearing gifts of the images of faces whose dicks were to be avoided, for various reasons. I am laughing as I write because I want to share the reasons these dicks need to be unseen, but I’m young and I would live to see more dicks without the owners worrying that I might write a blog about their dicks someday. So in the spirit of ‘let the dicks be seen’, yes I have totally just invented a new spirit, I will leave this issue here.
I have always been aware that I am not society’s ideal of beauty and desirable. But never has that realisation been as real and as present as it was when I was a pimpled overweight sixteen year old. I lived in a world without a single source of validation of whatever beauty I may possess.
Until your husband came into my life…
I had never been that scared, that nervous to be naked with a man. I held onto the wine glass I had in my hand so painfully that he had to ply my fingers off one by one.
When he started touching me, I remember feeling a lot of heat, especially here from my ears. It could have been the wine. But there was heat.
The more relaxed I got, the more pleased he seemed.
He leads my hands to the crotch of his jeans, a black Guess hustler cut but it may have been Levi’s 501s? It took me forever to undo those buttons my hands seemed to have a life of their own.
Besides I had questions; how was this beautiful man in my bed? How is it that my hands were on his crotch?
He eventually took the lead and I have been a happy follower for many years now.
I didn’t get the answer just then, but I would, eventually; by consistently seeing in his eyes, beautiful reflections, reflections of me. He was the mirror I never knew I needed.
I learned from lying in bed with your husband that I am beautiful, sexy and worthy of erections. I shouldn’t have needed him for me to believe it. But this is life and nothing happens quite the way we would like it to. I would have preferred to find a mirror in a man that was not your husband.
I am sorry but I have to go now Shirley, but we will talk again, don’t harden your heart, I have so much more I want to tell you.