By Tomika Glenn
I really enjoy great sex. It’s one of the things I love in this world, but sometimes it’s good to deny yourself of something you love as not to become a slave to it.
Or can you?
Picture it. Cleveland, Ohio, January 1, 2009. That was the date of my last official relationship. I say “official” because we claimed each other and exchanged I-love-you’s frequently while cohabitating. We’d met each other’s families and spent holidays and family cookouts together. My kids liked him, a lot.
(SN: I’ve never had a mate’s mom who didn’t love me)
When I met him two and a half years earlier I didn’t like him. At all. I didn’t find him attractive and he was super drunk, which for me is a complete turn off. We had a mutual friend who he kept asking to hook us up. She obliged and I eventually gave him a chance. By now, I had been through the gambit of fuckery. As far as fuck niggas go, I’d had them all. I had experienced every category of fuck shit you can think of, so I was a little jaded about relationships. In lieu of this, and against every bad feeling I had about it I gave in and got a boyfriend.
At the time I was already in a situationship with a guy who was eight years younger. We had a mutual understanding and–although I wanted more–it was just sex. I may have only wanted more because of the sex (which by the way, was amazing). I explained to him that I am built for relationships. I do not fare well with casual, no strings, cut buddy scenarios.
It’s because of this silly heart of mine that invites herself in whenever there’s a man involved. She gets jealous of the attention and pleasure my body is receiving and wants to feel something too. She has helped me make some of the worst decisions of my adult dating life. This time was no different.
I told the youngster that I had met someone, so we couldn’t have sex anymore. In spite of the fact that our relationship was just sexual, he wasn’t happy about it. His exact words were, “you didn’t have to go get a boyfriend.” Looking back, he was right. (The youngster’s actually still around, we’ve kept in contact over the years). I’ll talk more about him later in this series.
The day I broke up with him I ran into a guy I had met about six months prior, who had it in his mind that he was going to have me. On our initial meeting he gave me his number and I never called. Mainly because I was still aboard this sinking ship of a relationship baling water over the sides in a desperate attempt to save it. Needless to say he was not pleased that I never called.
I explained my situation.
I gave him my number because he refused to allow me to take his and just “get back to him.”
That was the worst month and a half of selfish dick and Black hypermasculinity on steroids (that says black women are only for my pleasure and they only deserve what I give them) of my life. I don’t know about other women, but I don’t have time for selfish dick. Selfish sex is immature. A man in his late 30’s who does not give head is a waste of time and oxygen.
I could call that experience my “relationship rock bottom”.
This man was an asshole. I should have declined his advances and headed for the hills. The signage was posted plainly. GIRL RUN! HE’S A BAD IDEA! However, my naïveté wouldn’t allow me to heed the warnings.
The way he made me feel forced me to examine my failed relationships, my role as common denominator and my make some hard choices. I came to some sobering revelations. The hardest decision–which ended up being the best decision I ever made–was deciding to be celibate.
I decided to become celibate so I could figure out why all of my relationships crashed and burned. Why all the men I had ever trusted enough to give my heart handled it carelessly and chose to break it. Why I would clumsily reassemble the pieces and dive back into a cesspool of bottom-feeders before I had completely healed from the previous destruction.
The first six months of celibacy are a bitch! But if you can make it through those first six, the rest is a breeze. You’ll be like Neo when he became The One and stood stone still, save the movement of one arm (and the other behind his back) with which he effortlessly fought off agent Smith inside the Matrix.
My first journey into celibacy made me more self-aware and decreased my tolerance for bullshit immensely. It was an important journey that I needed to take then and I find myself seeking its comforts once more. I will update this series every 3-6 months with progress and Tales From the Crypt: Dating Version.