Men walk using their dicks and women walk using their hips.
This is a man’s world; the tall erect buildings around us resemble the beating masculinity that man owns – the piece that is wrapped beneath the material that is delicately designed and crafted, originally, by woman. Without woman, man could not make this world strive.
Man releases the epicentre of his built-up desires through the body owned by woman. Homosexuality crosses a different path.
Woman is acknowledged at an early age that she must supply for her man, the man, any man.
Man fails to fulfill woman emotionally, and woman struggles to fulfill man physically.
I didn’t want him to secure himself in my life. I only wished for him to love me the way he loved all the others. We only had sex twice – at his house, in his room - and both times I walked away feeling used, betrayed, and a whore. It wasn’t the type of passion that bought on baby after baby; life after life. It wasn’t any type of passion. I was his object; I knew this from the beginning, but I still had hope that he’d love me the way I wanted him to. At times I believed that he shared a flicker of care but in the end I was proven wrong.
We studied at the same college; we were in the same ‘year group’. He was popular and I wasn’t. I never spoke to him in lessons, I didn’t dare to. We were worlds apart, and circumstances have shown that we still are. It was August 2005 when he sent me the first email. I didn’t respond. He tried again and again, so I gave in. I remember thinking, ‘if I message him back once he may leave me alone.’ He didn’t. As we continued talking I grew to enjoy our conversations and the way his words put a beaming smile on my face.
In September 2005 I started a new job. He worked, also. I never asked about his job because I wasn’t much interested. We started to become closer the more we exchanged text messages – yes, by now I had been foolish enough to give him my mobile phone number. That was a mistake, but not the biggest.
I’ll spare you the boring details from then until May 2006. On May 21st 2006 I slept with him. I desperately wish I could turn time back and change it, but I can’t. It was a mistake, a dreadful mistake, one of the worst I have ever allowed myself to make! Stupid woman! It was one of the worst sexual encounters I have ever had. He treated me with little dignity and absolutely no concern. I forgot to mention that he had a girlfriend. She didn’t love him; she didn’t love him the way I loved him. I know, I was wrong to have sex with a man who was already taken, but he should have abdicated all the thoughts of stripping my body away from its clothing! He should not have let it happen! Men are the domineering body in the bedroom, and without their manhood there is no sex; sex doesn’t exist when there is no penis present! He could have stopped it and I could have said NO. It was the most unpleasant feeling to fuck a taken man in a dark room when one knows it’s not right. I felt no pleasure, not physically nor emotionally.
On arriving home I cried as many tears as my eyes would allow. Home wasn’t far from his house. I had done wrong; I had subjected my body to his uncaring, demeaning, and disgusting grasp. I was a sex object – he had used my womanly body to release his dirty desires. It was wrong; he shouldn’t have used my innocent body in foul ways for such naturally humane energies to be dispensed!
He continued to stay in touch with me and treat the situation as though nothing had happened. He didn’t rape me; he wasn’t a rapist! He continued his life with his girlfriend and left me to rethink through the same old-same old each night. The thoughts of him thrusting into me hard filled my mind night after night. I hated them.
During the rethinking of our regretful night of sex I retold myself that it appeared not to be a problem for me to evoke interest in his trousers – he was either full of sexual tension or he genuinely felt feelings for me. It’s an answer I don’t wish to find the answer to, not now, not ever...
