It was always the same story. She would want him as much as he wanted her. She would moan and arch her back as she danced to the rhythm of their foreplay. Heaven… Oh sweet, blissful heaven! If only it would go all the way…
As the seconds counted down, fear would grow in her heart. She knew that dreaded moment would eventually come. He would penetrate her, and he would feel so big inside her. He would create a rhythm, in and out, in and out… Slow at first, but with time it would gain momentum.
She would not be turned on. She would be disgusted. Suddenly, his hands on her body would start to feel gross. She would feel violated because the loudest voice in her head would be screaming, ‘You’re a woman! WoMAN… You came out of MAN. So, you can never be equal to man, and that’s why you have a vagina and I have a penis.’
‘What has genitals got to do with anything?’ She would recall her own voice challenging the man seated beside her in class.
She would remember that afternoon vividly. How the lecturer had been running late, and she had seen it as an opportune time to bring up the issue of double standards when it came to matters of sex and sexuality, with one of her very good friends. Hopefully, he would give her the answer she wanted to hear. After all, he had been quite a gentleman in her eyes. He opened doors and pulled chairs for ladies. Hers had been a simple question, ‘Why are men being applauded for being sexual beings, and yet women are shamed for the same?’
After that incident, she shunned him like a plague. She just could not stand being near his misogynistic ass anymore. His words, however, stayed with her, digging deep trenches of dread and distrust of the penis in her heart. Over the years, she grew to see the penis as only one thing – a weapon by which men ‘invaded’ women’s spaces under the guise of love and companionship, just so they could remind them that they were woMEN and not MEN. She knew it was not exactly true, but a part of her still blatantly refused to acknowledge the truth.
She lived, picked a few lessons along the way and fell in love with both men and women. There was only one guy she ever allowed into her pants. She told herself that her love for him would surpass her fear for the penis – Someday.
As the thrusting got faster and faster, she would clench her teeth harder, and forgetting that she was supposed to fight back her tears, she would let them flow. Silently. All the while, she would be thinking of just how bad a feminist she was. At that moment, no traces of the strong, opinionated and empowered woman everyone thought she was lingered. She was afraid – Afraid that if she spoke up, her words would be misunderstood and her message distorted. She was afraid that she would hurt his ego and he would never forgive her.
‘That was epic!’ he would gasp as he fell on the bed beside her. She would force her lips into a smile. Either he would not notice the dried tear trails on her face, or he would assume that the sex had been just so damn ‘epic’ that she could not help but cry.
She would reach out and take his face in her hands. She would drink in his beauty – his angular facial structure, clear eyes and tempting lips – but instead of admiration, she would feel pity for him. He did not deserve being lied to, just as she did not deserve to lie to herself that things would get better by themselves. If anything, they were only getting worse. Every time she slept with him, he became more repulsive to her. She knew if it went on, she would grow to hate him.
‘I don’t love you any less. I just don’t love the person that I am when I am with you, and now that it has come down to me and you, I realize that I love me more.’ Those were her last words before she walked out of the door.
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