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  • dearabi

No Strings Attached

When I was in my early twenties, I aspired to be many things: An english teacher, a fashion designer, a wardrobe stylist, an MTv VJ … and sadly enough, even a “ho.” WTF right? And not that it makes it any better but I use the word “ho” loosely (no pun intended), because I didn’t necessarily mean a chick that gets gang-banged, has multiple booty-calls, or has more one-night stands than hot meals. I simply meant a female that was able to separate sex and emotions.

About “x” number of years ago I made my first attempt at having a booty-call. It was kinda perfect actually. I was single, horny as hell, knew the booty-call rules and regulations contract like the back of my hand, and had met a friend of a friend, who I was so attracted to that his name alone got me wet. After our first encounter I even planned on kicking the dude outta my house so that there would be no spooning and cuddling afterwards. I thought I had shit on lock.

Until he asked me to the movies.

That one simple gesture alone threw a monkey-wrench in the whole operation. U mean like the kind u see in the theaters? Out in public? In broad daylight? What the fuck for??? Needless to say, I got caught up. I didn’t like anything about this guys personality – he wasn’t even fucking funny and yall know how high humor is on my list – yet I got attached to the fact that he was simply there. I felt dirty. I felt naive. And even though I can still count my “How many guys have u slept with” list on one hand, at that moment – I felt like a “ho.” And not the kind I aspired to be. So bitches, be careful what u wish for.

An “x” amount of years passed after that, and the same man who I once paid 2 toll bridges for just to have sex with, dropped into town. And just like that it was the year “xxxx” again … only it was completely different.

He still picked me up in his flossy whip that looked like a space ship on the inside. He was still as fly as I can remember, only now he had a 6-pack. He still held my hand the entire car ride to the movie theater, brushed my cheek in complete silence, hugged me for no reason, stole kisses on the escalator, and did all the things that once made me catch feelings for him. Except now I felt absolutely nothing. And that “nothing” feeling, felt SO, SO GOOD. It felt liberating. So liberating that I had sex with him again that night. And unlike the first time where I got attached, this time – I felt completely detached.

Unfortunately, this didn’t feel any better. Because my my mind and heart was still attached to someone else. Matter fact I was so detached, that this dudes dick was inside of me – yet all I could think of was that “someone else.” It was the first time in my entire life that I had faked it. I WAS PISSED. Because this fine ass dude was on top of me, and was sooo much better than I remember. I should’ve been stuffing my mouth with his t-shirt to keep from screaming and writhing in ecstasy. But instead, I was wishing he’d hurry up and cum already so I could go cry in the bathroom. There he was, talking dirty to me and the only voice that responded was the one in my head that said, “ABI WHAT THE FUCK ARE U DOING? DID U REALLY THINK IT WAS GONNA BE THAT EASY? DO U REALLY THINK UR THAT GIRL?”

I don’t know how some of u guys make it look so easy. One of my friends said I shouldn’t be mad about it ‘cuz it only shows I got a big heart. Another said it was ‘cuz I had a heart period. Another said it was just too soon and had it been even 2 weeks later, it would’ve been on and poppin. My boy said it’s simply ‘cuz I’m a girl. But really, I’m just not THAT girl. No matter how many times I think I can be. Or how annoyed I am that I can’t be.

I’ve come to finally realize that I am a lot of things; stubborn, impatient, irrational, opinionated etc. etc. – but a ho just isn’t one of them. Darn. I’ve come to finally realize that there are things I just can’t do. And getting over someone by getting under someone else is one of those things. And it’s ok, ‘cuz at the very least I now have a clear grasp of who I am and know I ain’t frontin for nobody.

Maybe, in my early twenties I should’ve aspired to be a guy instead.

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