I Am Not Your Whore!

This is a rant of some sorts. It seems as if there are some people who think that people do not have the capacity to change. People can change if they have desire and patience to do so. I would like to think that I am proof of that. And it’s hard as hell.

Do I crave sex? Yes, all the time. Do I want to give in? Yes, all the time. Do I think a romp in the hay will make me feel better? Yes, all the time but the thrill is only temporary. And I will curl up in my bed all alone yet again while he’s with the one he truly loves.

But people want to literally hold my past against me at gunpoint, cock it, and squeeze out all the bullets. There have been two dudes, “The One Who Is a Bug a Boo” and “The One Who Loves to Text”, working my last nerves as of late.

The One Who is a Bug a Boo

Bug a Boo is a sexy Jamaican that I met in my apartment complex. The One Who Didn’t Feel the Same and I had fallout in early ’08 and I needed series of distractions to ease the pain. Bug was a great kisser and knew how to work it. That motion of the ocean notion was quite correct! Rare but correct. He also gave me passion when we had sex—something that I craved. We messed around for a few months but I eventually grew tired of him. He became a pest. Every time I saw him, he wanted to come over. It got very irritating. And honestly, I had a hard time getting over Same and nothing or no one made me forget him. But that didn’t stop me from trying. I had to find a bigger distraction.

Lately, for some reason, he has been trying to get my attention. He tries to flag me down. He looks up at my apartment when he passes by. He’s even waved at me while I am inside my apartment. Who does that? And he gives that look whenever I see him. You know the look ladies and gentlemen—the “I want to beat that brakes off that pussy” look.  I wave and pass him by as fast as I can because I already know the words that are going to come out of his mouth. “What’s up sexy? When can I come over? With your sweet self.” His accent is as smooth as silk and I try my best not to listen to it. He knows that I’m celibate. I had to drill it in his head for months but he’s fully aware. So why does he magically think that I’ve changed my mind? “Bitch. Boo. Bye.” (That’s a B. Scott reference for those who don’t know.)

The One Who Loves to Text

Earlier last week, Text wanted to know when he could see me again. We haven’t seen each other since last winter. I asked why and reiterated that nothing sexual could happen between us ever again. I also said our lick and suck fest was a mistake. He complied that our encounter would be platonic this time around. We made plans to see each other after he pleaded and I felt kind of bad for jumping down his throat about his intentions initially.

He asked me for a “favor”. He requested pictures of my “nappy dugout”. WTF? He wanted a pic of my fat nappy? My va jay jay? My peaches ‘n cream? Oh no sweetheart! Are you serious?

That really unsettled me. I cancelled the meetup. I also told him that I wasn’t his whore or a source for his arousal. He said that he didn’t see me as a whore and that I should calm down. But damn it, I wasn’t calm! Was I wrong for not being cool and breezy about the situation? Was I wrong for feeling disrespected? He has a chick. He needs to go take a pic of her “nappy dugout” and call it a day. This calls for another, “Bitch. Boo. Bye.” He sent me a message the next day. I ignored it. He texted me yesterday to see if I still wanted to see him Tuesday. Duh? The answer is still no!

Maybe if I become a bitch, these dudes will leave me alone. Evidently, it isn’t enough to say that I’m celibate and that I want to reframe from sexual situations. I know it was nice when we were having our fun but there comes a time and place in which you must put it behind you. I have. I’m not checking for you boo. Please don’t check for me. I am not the only woman out here.

I am not your whore! I am not your dirty little secret! I am not your late night creep! I am not your red light special! I know that I have carried myself in an unflattering and loose fashion in the past. I am well aware. I am a work in progress. I am trying to change and it’s very hard. And stuff like this leaves me frustrated and makes me want to throw in the towel sometimes but I cannot afford to. I have nothing to prove to these dudes. I have to do this for myself and learn how to love myself again.

If you’re not supportive or respectful of my journey and wishes, you can go play in traffic  leave me alone!

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