Period Pontification

There is nothing to watch on Television. My home is empty, the kids are gone. When you’re a parent and you have a kid-free house it’s easy to be both confused and excited; I’m unsure whether to sleep or party, ah, the choices.

I get a text message.

It’s a cool guy that I met a few months back, we connect when I can.

He invites me over for conversation and alcohol. I come over, knowing that I am about to fool him and he thinks he is about to fool me. We are playing a game here, you see.

I don’t want to have sex.

I’m incapable of having casual sex with a man that I like. I enjoy not being concerned about him and his whereabouts. If he was inside me, near my womb, I’d baby him. He’d become a responsibility. I like that I don’t have to set a new standard for him because that’s what I do to anyone who goes inside of my body, including my gynecologist, there’s a different level of expectation. I don’t want to be undervalued. I don’t want to worry about safety. I don’t want to worry about intentions. I don’t want the sex to be terrible. I don’t want to be vulnerable. I don’t want to have sex.

My brain on the other hand wants to engage. My body wants to laugh. I need male energy.

I don’t want to explain my reason for denying sex, the way I just have in the aforementioned, its corny, it’s a mood kill, its basic bitch behavior—I’m aware. I don’t want to say no and deal with his unyielding begging. I don’t want the tension, awkwardness. I hella want to side-step the questions about whether I’m using him because he always breaks bread on me, but we have yet to consummate our situationship. Keep the guilt trip, I don’t want that.

But I want him.

So, there I am, next to him, and he makes a move, the classic hand-on-thigh-eye-locking combo. He leans in for some of this loving.

I drop the bomb. The beautiful bomb that God gave every woman to use indefinitely. Our secret weapon.

“I’m on my period.” I lie. It seemed to echo, vibrating through his soul and down to his penis.

He looks at my crotch and back up at me as if scanning a truth radar. His nostrils flex as if he’s trying to smell the monthly explosion. He appears deflated, hurt even.

I smile, shrug, and lay peacefully in his arms.

2 thoughts

  1. Hahaha! I like period pontification but that hasn’t stopped any of my recent situationships from charging on… Always follows with, “I don’t care”.. lol.. turns out neither do I.. but oh that slippery slope into caring.

    Liked by 1 person

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