Dear Future Husband
Last week started with the reassuring sex I had with an old acquaintance. The thing is I needed to prove to myself that I am still sexy, an attractive and fierce power bottom – some sort of revalidation, if you may. Why would I want to do that? Well, okay, let’s rewind. When I signed up on Grindr, I was on the lookout for someone who shares my dream of good life, a relationship and is ready for some serious intimated fun, travel, dinner, laughter, bedding, pillow fights, cuddles and the various chills of life. This was around the time I was in Lagos to speak on the social media week at the British Council; I’d made a promise to myself that it was time to move on from my last relationship and shake away the priority I’d placed in work as a way to deal with the breakup.
So, during this time in Lagos, I’d use my tea break to log on Grindr, to see if there was anyone out there who might be a match. On the second day, I met you – or so I thought. Bernard, he introduced himself as. 5ft 11, judging by the pictures he sent; dark skinned, humorous and a great listener. Between Bernard and I, it was almost as if we’d known each other for a long time. We teased each other, laughed a lot, and talked about life. The last of a family of four, he was rounding off his degree in Systems Engineering from Ulla and was visiting with his parents in Abuja. Those first few days were just happy times. The chemistry was just right. We didn’t get serious with our intentions then though; we were both sizing up each other’s moves and possibilities. He got me. He could tell what I wanted to say even without my saying it; and then, he’d tease me into saying it. He was sweet like that. He made me open with him.
However, there was a problem. He was leaving for New York that day we met online. So all the magic we had going on between us was online, from Grindr to WhatsApp. Then it began to seem serious. We were clearly into each other, and before I knew it, we had started dating online.
About two weeks into our online dating, we had our first fight. The strain of the distance had begun to tell on us, and he was worried about my faithfulness. I understood; it was distance and lessened communication that derailed my last relationship. I was worried about getting bored. You see, I don’t like to be bored. Boredom drives me crazy. I am a Capricorn man, a dreamer and a dream chaser. I believe in fairy tales, love and romance. I love cultured minds around me. I revel in the company of sophisticated people. I have made traveling and having the luxuries of life my culture. Life for me is about family, career and finding true love. I don’t have a lot of friends and I’m not always in a rush to make new ones. I believe in seizing opportunities that will benefit my life agenda.
All this makes for a person who hates to be bored. And this thing with Bernard was looking like a risk. The kind of risk that wouldn’t get me the early morning sex and breakfast in bed I prefer in my relationships. But I was willing to follow through with this. With him.
Then the troubles became more frequent, the fights more exhausting. If he wasn’t moaning about the distance, he was acting suspicious about what I’d been up to. We had a summer vacation planned, and he began acting like he wasn’t sure he wanted that to happen. Frankly, Bernard began to seem like a handful. And it was for this person that I’d chosen to stay celibate. I was working at my commitment to him by shunning sex with any other guy. I’d also deactivated my hook-up accounts. But with all this drama about him not sharing my dream of a civil union, his lack of communication, and when he did communicate, it was to heckle me over something we’d initially have laughed over – it all began to kill a part of us, a small piece after another. I do not know how to micromanage relationships; with me, it’s either we are all in or we are not. I don’t know any middle grounds. And Bernard was doing a good job of shaking up my convictions.
By the time the vacation we’d planned was moved from early May to November, we were basically over and my emotions had gotten so overawed that I started losing sleep. My friends began to worry and intervene, trying to get me to get my groove back on. Their intervention worked. I snapped out of the blues, determined to revalidate my existence.
Before now, I’d met this other guy who came visiting from another town. He had deep piercing eyes, a coarse voice that was baritone-ish, and great abs. but the sex was horrible. There was no foreplay. In as much as he had the kind of dick that I could sit on all night long, my enthusiasm vanished the moment we started getting it on. I mean, he needed to see porn to get his john up, for chrissakes! We were both in the room, and I’d never felt more alone and bored before. I couldn’t wait to say goodbye to him the next morning. Now that I think about him, even after re-hooking up with him, I can’t recall his name. I’m not worried about that, Dear Hubby, and neither should you. A name only sticks if I have a great time, and both times weren’t memorable with him.
So we met again, around this time I was seeking sexual revalidation. We chatted a bit and the next thing I knew, he was on me, kissing me passionately. That was a surprise. We were off to a great start when, oh my, his uncut 9 inches stretched out to say hello. And then that was it. The foreplay didn’t last a minute before he was gunning for my hole. *sigh* I don’t understand people who wish to board a plane without getting to the airport. He was supposed to spend two days during this hookup, but the sex was just so bad (Yea, apparently I needed a reminder) that I sent him on his way the next morning. Plus his thrusting was just so terrible. See eh, I love my honey pot. It’s in fact insured (don’t ask). So that means, no bruises, no tears, and no poor lubrication, especially when you want to go digging into me like you’re mining for gold. Mbanu! No way!
By the weekend, I am leaving town. My friends are taking me on a road trip. I have a feeling there’s more to this weekend gateway. There’s been too much whispering and no one is letting me in on the plan. But that’s by the way.
When I think of the whole episode with Bernard, I still can’t figure out how we crashed even when I was ready. Dear Future Husband, please may you not be like him.
Still waiting with all my love,