Sex is the icing on the cake. The last Champagne to be popped. The ultimate test of love. The secret last weapon. The final bow. Young women, who have not encountered it, hold on to their virginity tight, as if it can be blown away any minute they look aside. It is their source of consolation, that they haven’t been swallowed by devious worldly ways. It is their proof of physical chastity. Well, it is debatable. Maybe they watch porn, but there is no physical evidence. Like they say, being a virgin does not mean you are pure, but really, don’t we all find them pure? And not being a virgin does not either mean that you are immoral. And sex gives a woman absolute power over a man. Thus, men are enslaved by this act.
Mothers portray sex as if it is the most dangerous thing you can touch or even think about. We went to college fully armored with enough advice, threats and attitude. We would look at the girls talking about sex and freeze. We would wonder if their mothers were aware they were doing it. Yet in the silence of the night, alone in the small bed, we would secretly be jealous of their courage of taking the sexual step.
Then puppy love happened. First love. A first love makes you see things on a whole different level. You kiss in the rain, in the sand, in the fields. You do what young lovers do and get absorbed in loving him desperately, purely. When he tries reaching the down there sometimes, you snap back to reality as if his touch will rob your purity. So you say no. The game of “yes-no” goes on for months on end until your young restless lover starts questioning. He wonders isn’t sex the epitome of love? The last bullet in a war? The last piece of pizza? Don’t you love him enough to let him in? Sex is the ultimate stamp of commitment, which ushers you to an endless world of passions. But this doesn’t not make any sense unless you try. So you decided to surrender. No. Not really surrendering, but wicked luring. He touches so smoothly and your brain abandons its position and decides to go take a walk.
The deflowering day.
They say the hardest part about sex is starting and once you do, you keep going, going, going… On that fateful day, probably on a Wednesday night, the devil paid a visit to your relationship and decided it was about time some sexual sins were committed. The devil was hovering, like a dark cloud, lurking and waiting for the opportune moment to strike. He was watching, gnashing his teeth with malice. Before you knew it, your boyfriend was possessed, stripping your clothes dangerously and before you got hold of yourself, you were like Eve in the Garden of Eden. Stripped off your power. Naked. You were very shy. You had just gotten stark-naked before a man. It felt awkward that your tiny breasts stared at him with shock. More awkward was the naked man, probably still in socks. Dear wonderful men, we appreciate the nakedness, but please, will you start by removing socks, before any other thing, please? It is a horrifying sight and you look like a specimen that escaped from a scientific lab.
The man, this time, more determined than ever, gets down to business. He descends on you and when he tries crashing in, you jerk and he pins you down, breathing fire. He does everything possible to subdue you. Aren’t men supposed to tame us, after all? The pain is too much and you wince. You scream as he tries to kiss you. It is bitter sweet. You are confused and lost. The pain, the pleasure comes in equal measures. It is this sharp stinking pain like a razor ripping through your thin membrane.
And before you actually realize you are “doing bad manners”, the bubble has been burst, virginity has vanished in three seconds of nothing but pain and blood is staring at you, an ugly and condemnatory stare, a judgmental eye as if saying, so you actually did it, just like that. Happy now? The man, besides himself with joy of being the first to venture into the unconquered territories, feels accomplished. On the other hand, you feel crushed, literally. Yaani was this all I have been waiting for? So this was ceiling? You thought it was just like what you have seen and read. But alas! The pain… the guilt. The shock. The regret. Breakfast in bed, negative, compliments, negative. And guilt is the worst thing to carry around.
The worst moment is the morning after. You sit at the edge of the bed and cry for God’s mercies. Nobody raped you so you can’t file a case. Well, at 22, is it rape really? You felt good, didn’t you? And pain too. You feel you have let down the world including your mother, Mekatilili Wa Menza, Nelson Mandela, Beyonce and the sub chief. You are afraid to leave the fornication room, because you think everyone will notice your legs are strangely parting.
Why do movies exaggerate sexual encounters? Why do young lovers kiss lovingly and the man asks her if she is sure? If she’s okay. The young woman nods her head, closes her eyes and surrenders to the passion. They kiss slowly, the temperatures rise and strength is lost. He carries her to bed and we see them moaning, groaning and smile, holding tight afterwards. All these are lies! Nobody asked us if we are sure. After the act, nobody held you tight. It just happened and ended with sighs. And it ended as abruptly as it had started. No ceremony, just a careless moment.
Today, on a Wednesday, boys and gentlemen, please just spoon her and let her get ready on her own. Or better still, wait for marriage.