Most of my friends are in Lekki partying hard tonight. I really did want to go but…here I am, writing. This note is one of from my pronoun series where I don't mention any real names but I write about and from my experiences, readings, thoughts, discussions and other abstractions from reality. In this post, I talk about at least three babes I've met over the past few years.
The love of my life. I honestly am confused about how we met. It's all her fault though, I think its one way, she thinks its another. But it doesn't really matter and I'm really not going to talk about it. I don't want her knowing I'm talking about her…**tongue out**
The funny thing is, I didn’t see her sexually. I just liked her a hell of a lot. Because despite the fact that she was beautiful and had that wonderfully happy grin even when she was flustered and tired, she was not really a sexy girl at first glance. Or I was too inexperienced to notice coz when people started seeing us together and started teasing and questioning, they always mentioned how sexy she was. I was really just still very innocent and had a clean mind.
Over time, we became really close and we talked about any and everything and she became the love of my life. There was this one time when I had to travel down to my village. Though we left the house around 7 in the morning, I ended up spending 7 hours in traffic. It was horrible and I was tired and I wanted to talk to her about it. We had our first fight that night. She was not as sympathetic as I expected her to be and that sooooo didn’t go down well with me.
She was obviously watching E! while I narrated my ordeal…shit! I hate that thing mehn! Not only was she not paying attention, she was watching E! I got mad and hung up on her. We refused to call or text each other but when I got back in town and saw her two days later, we absolutely made up. That was when I realized that I could forgive her everything when I was with her and forgive her nothing when I was away from her.
As time went on, she was all that was ever really on my mind. I literally never even saw another woman. And it wasn't enough just to see her to get sexually excited. I'd kiss her and touch her legs and her breasts at every opportunity Once, when she protested laughingly, I told her about the polar bears. About how a male polar bear could react only to the scent of one particular female polar bear and sometimes had to wander over a thousand square miles of Arctic ice before he could fuck her. And that was why there were so few polar bears. She was surprised at that, and then she caught on that I was kidding and punched me. But I told her really that was the effect she had on me. That it was not love or that she was so great-looking and smart and everything that I had ever dreamed about in a woman since I was a kid. It was not that at all. I was not vulnerable to that corny bullshit of love and soul mates and all that. It was quite simply that she had the right smell; her body gave off the right odor for me. It was simple and nothing to brag about.
Well, we were more complicated than polar bears. And the catch in my fairy tale, which I didn’t point out to my love, was that the female polar bear did not have the same problem as the male.
And then, of course, I pulled the usual shitty things that people in love do. I slyly asked around about her. You would never do it with a guy you liked. There you always trusted your own judgment, your own gut feeling. With women you were always mistrustful. There is something really shitty about being in love.
And if I had gotten some real dirt on her, I wouldn’t have fallen in love. How is that for a shitty romanticism? My only excuse was that I had been a writing hermit so many years and not smart about women to begin with. And then I couldn’t get any scandal on her. She didn’t go out to parties. In short, she was the girl of a square hermit’s dream. She even liked to read. What more could I want? I had come to the point now that lovers always come to. They are so happy they can’t believe they deserve it. And so they start thinking that maybe it’s all a fake. So with me jealousy and suspicion haunted the ecstasies of our relationship.
There came a time soon after this when I loved her as a person. That is, it wasn’t that I just wanted to fuck her brains out; or look into her dark brown eyes and faint; or eat up her pink mouth. And all the rest of it, the staying up all night telling her stories, Jesus, telling her my whole life, and her telling me all her life. In short, there came a time when I realized it was her sole function to make me happy, to make me delight in her. I saw that it was my job to make her a little happier than she was and not to get pissed off when she didn’t make me happy. And I don’t mean I learned to make her happy by giving her a gift, that was my pleasure. Or to cheer her when she was down, which was just clearing obstacles out of the way so that she could get on with the job of making me happy.
But all this was only for that short time. Nothing lasts. Nothing ever will. And so we deliberately shorten it, make the end come faster. Things started to fall apart. And what had led to all this was that I never lied. And she wanted me to lie. There comes a point in every love affair when, so it seems, the woman gets pissed off at her lover’s being too happy. Sure she knows it’s her making him happy. Sure she knows that it’s her pleasure, even her job. But finally she comes to the conclusion that in some way, the son of a bitch is getting away with murder. I had had plenty of warnings, plenty of hints.
As I pointed out earlier, I asked slyly about her and I checked her out. And I did catch her, but not in the way I thought. There was this one time when I went to see her at her house and when she came to get the door, she was walking very slowly, very reluctantly. She wore a long gray skirt and a white blouse, and her long dark hair was pinned up around her head. At that moment I had almost a sense of pity for her. She looked so reluctant, as if she were a child going to a party her parents had made her go to. On the other side of town, I had been an hour early for all my appointments. I had rushed through meetings and stuff to meet her. I was dying to see her, but she, obviously, was not dying to see me. As I was thinking this, she lifted her head and saw me and her face became radiant and then she was hugging and kissing me and I forgot what I had seen.
I heard that tick of the second card being dealt. I still had so much pleasure in her company, with her body, in just looking at her face. I still loved the expression that went across her eyes and mouth. I loved her eyes. They could get such a hurt look and yet be so gay. I thought her mouth the most beautiful in the world. Hell, I was really still a kid. It didn’t matter that I knew she was deceiving me. She really hated to lie and did it badly. In a funny kind of way she told you she was lying. Even that was a fake-out. And it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter. When she lied to me, it was to keep from hurting me. And when she told me the truth, it was partly to hurt me but also because she was terrified I’d learn the truth in a way that would hurt me more.
And of course, as time went on, I had to understand that she led a hurtful life in many ways. A complicated life. As who indeed does not. So finally all the falseness and illusion had gone out of our relationship. We were true friends and I loved her as a person. I admired her courage, her indestructibility with all the disappointments of her life as a student, all the treacheries of her personal life. I understood it all. I was for her all the way. Then why the hell didn’t we have those deliriously good times we had before?
I suffered, sure, but it was still a good bargain.
Yet as time went on, I enjoyed her less and she made me suffer more.
In a way it’s interesting being crazy about somebody who’s no longer crazy about you. You go sort of blind and deaf. Or choose to. We gradually began to talk and see each other a lot less than we used to. And even when she did, we always fought about why we hadn't seen or spoken to each other and it seemed we were lying to each other. They always say that every relationship is built around communication and now, we no longer talked. Those long nights when we told each other stories were now long gone. We still definitely had loving feelings for each other but…..iono…there was just too much wrong with us.
And now, there is just too much wrong with us.
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