I was the baddest bitch because I was twenty years old and had only ever been with one person.
Status’s would sporadically appear in my Facebook news feed of men asking women to, ”Like my status if your not a hoe” or ”Like my status if you only ben with one man for the year of ____”.
Yes, I know I misspelled ”you’re” and ”been”. Those type of status’s are misspelled 99.99% of the time though.
Despite this fact, I, in my ignorant glory, would snicker to myself and smile smugly. I took pride in the fact that I could truthfully like the status. I never would actually like the status though because ,at the time, I had a man and felt it was inappropriate to let another man inquire about my sex life, rather it was directly or indirectly.
I was 100% ”on lock” for my boo, even though we were technically broken up at the time and he was busy playing the field for the past six weeks since our ”break up”. I knew he would be back though. We were just taking a break from all the arguing. Like always.
Fast forward. Fast forward. Fast forward. Fast forward. Fast forward. Fast forward.
I was dumb as hell.
Absolutely positively supercalifragilisticexpialadociously dumb as hell.
Some where in my development from girl to young lady, I had bit into the hype of the body count. I equated my worth as a woman to the amount of men I had been with.
It didn’t matter that I was so impatient with cooking I would burn eggs. It didn’t matter that I hated cleaning and would avoid doing the dishes until my mom yelled at me. It didn’t matter that I dreaded grocery shopping and other things that society considered to be ”homely”. It didn’t matter that I had a bratty ass attitude and felt entitled to everything. None of that mattered. I was the baddest bitch and the dream woman of every man because I was exclusive. I wasn’t easy. No one, besides my man, could say that they had me. At the end of the day, while he sat and ate those burnt eggs, at least my man could find solace in the fact that his woman had only ever been his.
I moved to Los Angeles, away from home, and our relationship stayed up and down for a few months.
We broke up again.
After being in the city independently for a few months, my mind was beginning to shift.
I was realizing the unparalleled commitment in our union. I was no longer wearing the favorable rose colored glasses that close friends of ours would buy me each time they told me, ”Girl he’s just young. You just have to be patient and teach a man, that’s all. He’ll grow up one of these days”. Instead, I was surrounded by people who had no biased opinions and snatched off my pretty glasses, handing me some big ugly bifocals instead.
Why are you with him?
He’s my first love.
And…so that means he’s my one and only. I’ve only ever bee-
That’s not what I asked you. You’re crying. You had your brother hack into his Facebook account so you could check his messages. What are you doing?
Do some unpacking.
Unpacking? What’s that? I’ve never heard that term prior to coming to Los Angeles.
It means, smell your shit girl. Why are you settling for broken promises and half ass attempts? Where is the fight in you for what you want and deserve?
Oh..errr…well, see the thing is..it’s not that I’m settling. I just…look you don’t understand. I know him. I know what I’m dealing with.
And? What does that mean? Are you happy?
Yeah..I mean…sometimes..you know..
Look I don’t have time to be starting over and starting over with people, taking chances with my body.
Don’t you mean taking chances with your heart? Or taking chances with your time? Patriana, you are NOT your body. That is not the epitome of your identity. You are a person. A PERSON. Not a thing that can be sold or bought or gambled. You can’t be price tagged.
I’m not a hoe.
Huh? What..the ..fuck? What are you talking about? What does that even mean?
Well..you know..I mean…okay for instance… let’s say I leave this relationship and get into another relationship and then we sleep together and then it doesn’t work out. Then what ? Just do it again and again, racking up ? No I don’t think so. I am not a hoe like that. I don’t have time to be just giving myself-
Whoa. Hold on. Calm down, calm down. A failed relationship does not make you a hoe Patriana. You cannot control the future. Not even people who get married with the intentions of forever can predict the future. Sometimes people outgrow one another. Sometimes people are not healthy or beneficial for one another. Sometimes people fall for potential that never manifests. You cannot stifle your growth out of fear for failure or judgement. Moving on from a relationship that is hurting you does not make you a bad person or less than a woman.
I’m just not a promiscuous person.
No one said you are or have to be. Sleeping around isn’t for everyone. But you can’t be afraid to open up to someone new because you’re afraid it will fail with them. Or you’re afraid someone will judge you for it. Do what’s best for you. Do what’s comfortable for you. What feels natural to you. You are in charge of what will and will not happen. But regardless of what you choose to do, the only bad thing you can ever do is live for the approval of other people.
How does one know if what they want is really what they want and not what they’ve been taught to want?
By trusting themselves. By questioning everything they’ve been taught, their values and morals. By learning yourself. By thinking before you speak. Meditating before you move. Feeling the beat before you dance. Forget your memory, Harness your instinct.
Huh? You’re speaking in riddles here.
Perhaps. But, you’ll learn. Slowly but surely. If you let yourself.
I’m just really confused. This is….foreign waters to me
What? Thinking for yourself?
Err..yeah…exactly..thinking for myself.
As much as I would love to, I cannot move forward in this story without first going back to when I first met my first love at 15. It would be impossible to explain my logic and reasoning of sex and sexuality and relationships without explaining our passionate struggle love. So with that being said, Join me next week ?