Maybe I should’ve titled this story “An Affair Not to Remember” rather than the simple one I chose. The title I chose will make sense later in the story. Because honestly, all I want to do is forget it ever happened, but somehow I just can’t. You see, I think of this as a life experience worth sharing even if someone else thinks I should keep to myself for myself.
It happened when my husband (my then boyfriend) and I were dating; we had an argument one night. When he dropped me home after spending the day together that ended in a heated argument, I was going inside my house when I saw my ex-boyfriend. An ex who had left me for another girl while we were dating but who I hadn’t seen for almost a year.
Thinking back on it now, the argument with my husband wasn’t that big of a deal to do what I did and to be quite frank, what I did was unjustifiable. So, on my way to unlocking my door, I saw my ex-boyfriend and he called me over to him. So, even though my mind was telling me not to go, my heart said to see what he wanted.
I went over because I did miss him even though what he’d done to me was rotten. I wanted to see if he could probably explain to me why he did it even if it was self-explanatory. I wanted to see if we could rekindle what we had or if he wanted me the way I wanted him. I’ll never forget the day I was confronted with seeing him with her.
It caught me by surprise to be quite frank. We, he and I, had been together for almost a year, ten months to be exact and his birthday was coming up. We had met earlier that summer and hit it off right from the start. He was five years older than me, I was seventeen and he was twenty-one, I was his first young girlfriend and he was my second older guy. I was on my way to the store and he was on the sidewalk in front of our apartment complex, joking around with his brother and some buddies while drinking a beer. I overheard his conversation and made a funny remark. He made a joke in response. I laughed it off, but stared at him till I was out of sight to the store. From that moment on, we were inseparable. We had made the whole neighborhood jealous of us, I had his name (declaring myself as his) everywhere in sight or where we were, I was friends with his sisters, I hung with his friends, he knew my siblings, he made me laugh, we were enthused by one another’s energy, and we bought out the best in one another.
The day I saw him with her was the day he broke my heart. He was coming around less frequently, he wasn’t in Our Spot (a court in the middle of the apartment complex where we all hung around to talk until the wee hours of the night), I had to ask where he was from his sisters, when I did see him he seemed to be dodging me. The dodging me should have given him away and he was always hanging to the back of our neighborhood. I thought nothing of it until …
One night when I was hanging in Our Spot with his sisters, no one would tell me where he was. No one recognized my presence and they even ignored me as if they knew what was coming and I was the oddball out. But I waited up for him and he came along with another female. My blood boiled, I was getting more angry and jealous by the minute. I called his name to get him to come to me, he had no problem coming to me before, but he showed his ass with this female by ignoring me and my call.
As he sat on the big generator, he called this female over to him to whisper something in her ear. I knew what he’d whispered to her because he’d whispered it to me countless times in our relationship. That’s when I called the female over to confirm my suspicion. She denied it, of course but that made me and her even more madder. She claimed I was blowing her “high” both literally and figuratively. So now, she wanted to fight. I let her get in her heated, pissed moment but I ignored her altogether as I walked away from him, her, and the whole situation. Even though I was mad and wanted to fight too, I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. I wasn’t going to fight over a man, especially someone like him.
Even after I walked out and walked away, I felt like he’d ripped my soul apart. Broken me down, so much that I could no longer feel. I had nothing in me, no happiness, no sadness, no anger, I had nothing to give. I felt numb or like I didn’t have a soul left. I was awoken again when my little brother came to me and said don’t let him take way who you are and what you bring to this world.
This time, I went over and he asked me about my new boyfriend, but I didn’t give him too much information on him and I asked about his girlfriend and he played coy, too. I just told him we had an argument, more of a disagreement on a subject. After the conversation got boring, he kissed me and led me into his friend’s house where he was staying for the night.
We made out at his friend’s house in a spare bedroom and he enticed me enough to get me to sleep with him although not completely. Sort of hard to explain what I mean by “not completely.” But I’ll try. We made out and kissed passionately, yes, but we didn’t go through with intercourse. Yes, he was inside of me but it didn’t turn me on and it didn’t turn him on enough to climax so in the middle of it all, I left him there with a hard-on. No, I wasn’t thinking of this as payback for what he did to me, but it wasn’t right. I knew this even as we went through the motions.
He later let me know that I still couldn’t kiss. I, in my own way, let him know that he still couldn’t please me even if he tried. It seemed that we had something to prove to one another and it seemed that we didn’t know what it was but there it was clear as day. I wanted to prove to him that I still loved him even if he was with someone else but after he’d told me that I still didn’t know how to kiss, it turned me off of him. After he still couldn’t turn me on, it made me feel even less attracted to him.
One good thing did come out of all of this: I have a man who I am honest with about this story. A man who knows where my truth lies, a man who trusts me, a man who thinks I can kiss … still after six years, a man who knows how to satisfy me … still after six years, and a man who doesn’t take me for granted … still.