The first thing that comes to mind is Ghostbusters, its 2016 and Jordan’s is rubbing on my thigh. Candy keeps falling into his lap and I leave it there. It’s the summer when I only wore red. We didn’t speak instead we found ourselves making out inside a Barnes and noble. We were covered by the aisle of books. I couldn’t tongue kiss at the time but wanted to. I was an expert at pecking. It was months before another guy would stick his tongue in my mouth and teach me.
Jordan was full of sexual energy; a magazine cutout kind of man and I knew I was bound to fuck it up. Somehow. My urgency to be with someone was astronomically high. The need to be in love and loved on for the first time.
He had a foot fetish. A fetish I humored by giving him the idea that I’d lend him my feet. While we dated, I let him choose the nail polish color and sent pictures of my feet and embellished them with ankle bracelets. It was a compelling kind of dirty. A dirty act that didn’t require to send nudes to build sexual tension. I just had to agree over text to the things he wanted to do to my feet. I wore sandals on every date it was exhilarating. I managed to date him for three months without him actually touching them. At the time I still had a contradicting feeling about sex. I was nineteen and holding onto my virginity. Waiting for “the” one or a sign from Jesus himself to toss my panties aside. No way was I going to give it to Jordan, a guy whose idea of romance was grabbing my ass under the moonlight.
Nevertheless, when I did have sex it was with a guy named Cree. I trusted him. Cree’s idea of romance was getting married, watching muted movies, and paying me so that he could get his green card. I was only dating Jordan to get away from Cree. Cree was a married man and revealed the news after I developed feelings. He told me he wanted to start seeing me.
I dated Jordan until October, it ended with him posting a video on social media of him and another girl in times square. I sat up all night, furious listening to Brandy’s song “Truthfully” on repeat.
The devil was busy working hard that year because Cree called me that same month to tell me his wife filed for divorce. I met him, and we spoke about the horrors in our romantic lives. The moon was taking up most of the sky when he told me he needed me. I had just been dumped and the man I wanted to be with was getting a divorce. I thought it was a sign from god. He secretly wooed me and thanked me for my support. I allowed myself to fall for him on October 24th. We sat in his car and he buried his face in my breast and apologized. I remember his tongue and how wrong it felt. I remember his hands and how right it felt when he caressed my face.
I thought we were fated until I became the woman who had to sneak into his apartment because he didn’t want his neighbors to see me and tell his pastor. I was forbidden to make noise during sex to avoid his roommate from knowing I was there. It was fate until he asked me to marry him before his divorce was final. I thought it was love until he offered me five thousand dollars to give him my youth. I thought God sent Cree to me to ease my loneliness. I was going to help him with his worries about being an immigrant. Until he told me to lie to my parents and move in with him. I rejected the proposal and the relationship ended through email. I told him I couldn’t marry him and hoped he meets someone who could give him the life he wanted. I wanted to go back to a time where my only problem was dating a guy who wanted to kiss my feet.
I honestly believe I was looking for chaos. There are moments where I chased him and begged for attention because it was easier than putting up with myself. I was a young girl looking for someone to deliver me from my life at home. Cree was appealing because he was older and was offering me a way out. He also would validate me and that bolstered my self-esteem. Until it became a tactic to make me believe he actually had feelings for me.
Cree and Jordan both were unavailable. Which made me feel like the heroine in a trashy romance novel facing the tragedy of unrequited love. Today I am still ashamed that I ignored every warning. I was reckless and behaved in a manner that did not protect myself. Being with Cree was painful. It felt as if he was leeching on me, but I’ve since realized I was doing the exact same thing to him.
For months after it was over, I wanted closure, the rollercoaster, and to be in something that had no attachments. I didn’t want to focus on healing. All I desired was the thrill of pleasure when things were good between us. I wanted my gut to be wrong and not to fall in love with someone else. I don’t know where the need to be recklessly in love with him came from. Or why I thought he was the devil. Even as I write this, I am still surprised by the passion that is left over. How it spills whenever I think of the raw material inside of me. Cree was a band-aid, the kind that falls off easily.
I’m thinking of him as I write this, and I do wish that he is living the American dream. Even if it is without me. This by no means is a love letter but the end of holding on to the emotional baggage. With this essay, I’m letting go of a piece of the girl in me. Coming to terms with the fact that I don’t need Cree to validate if the love I had for him was real. This is a tale to warn others about the man who takes your virginity and how he will try to haunt your memories.