AT WHAT COST?

VI - RAMADAN MUBARAK

There are things your elders can see sitting down that you, as a youth can't see even if you're stood up. My mom used to tell me that all the time when I asked her the reason for telling me no to something silly I'd requested.

I did not truly appreciate that adage until I woke up on this here Saturday morning. The first rays of daylight crept into the room, as I hadn't had an opportunity to close the curtains the night before. I was pretty high up, and had a decent view of the city.

The pains south of my belly button prevented me from appreciating it. I instead groaned, muttering to myself. For a split second, I'd forgotten last nights shenanigans, before it all came flooding back.

Goddamn. 

Part of me had been scared that he would be a bad lay. A rough, selfish and inconsiderate lover, who cared only about one thing. I went on to learn through first hand experience, that this couldn't be further from the truth. Memories of sights, sounds and flavours were at the forefront of my mind, being played for my perusal like a recap of last weeks episode of Euphoria. He was just on the right side of relentless, stamina unyielding.

I understood it now.

All the R&B songs of the last decade of last century, crooned by grown women professing their love for a man who didn't deserve it. The stories I heard from my hair clients of how they had committed property damage, ruined their credit or even took a charge for the man of their affections.

They were suspended in the bondage of good dick.

I remembered a particularly emphatic client of mine, who always had a tale of some exploit she'd been on between sets of ass-length box braids. She committed grievous bodily harm against others, lied to her pastor and even got wrote up for indecent exposure, all behind a bum-ass, no-good-ass nigga. And he wasn't even fine. I could see our most recent conversation in my mind's eye; with time, I learned to interject with appropriate reactions and otherwise keep it moving. I thought to myself that it could never be me. I was still convinced it couldn't, but her case became a lot more compelling overnight.

Having had enough of thinking about it, I got out of bed, or at least made an attempt to. I must have looked like Bambi on ice. Once I was finally able to stand upright, I quickly learned that I would not be able to do so for very long. I was bent over slightly at the waist, with my knees slightly bent as well. My hand were on my thighs, and all of this was in an effort to keep the tremor in my legs at bay. My pussy and surrounding areas were thumping. And not in the fun way.

By the sheer will of God, I made it to the bathroom, where my first priority was running a nice steaming bath. I caught sight of myself in the mirror and nearly wept. I looked like a rag doll, heavy on the rag. My hair was all over the place, with the parts closest to my scalp looking like they'd never even encountered a flat iron. Instead of spending time being angry at something I couldn't change, I utilised the waiting period to brush my teeth, before slipping to the sleek tub of the modern bathroom. As muscles soaked, I couldn't help about how last night had ended. Aftercare was not something I expected from him, he didn't strike me as the caring kind of guy. He didn't do much, but what he did do was appreciated.