“I don’t trust you with my vagina.”
Those seven words were my actual response yesterday to a man asking if we were ever going to have sex. And I meant each word. It wasn’t a joke as he’d immediately thought. It wasn’t a challenge as there was nothing more he could do to be granted an opportunity. We’d been on a few dates and had many phone conversations. He’d even invited me on a few trips. Eh. Those words were also not a call to arms as getting me naked isn’t a battle. It’s a choice I make, and I don’t make it often. And I wasn’t making it for him. He incredulously repeated my words back to me and offered a plea about being trustworthy. I didn’t waver, and when he called again a few hours later, I didn’t answer.
When I was in college, there was a saying that boys of my generation utilized when a girl wouldn’t put out: “You’re putting the pussy on a pedestal.” Ha. This was no more than a misogynistic effort to persuade a woman to devalue herself, to make her think she was tripping. And it worked more than it should have because sex was so plentiful. If she didn’t give in, another woman would.
But college and my 20s were a long time ago. And listen. I like my vagina. I love my yoni. I find her so remarkable that more should experience her. She is life-changing.
But I just…she just…I…sighs…she refuses to like most of these muhfuggas out here.
This isn’t a defense of my non-participation in casual sex. And it definitely is not a judgment of those who choose to do so (Admittedly, I’ve explored it). This isn’t even a step by step guide on how to earn the trust of my aforementioned vagina.
I enjoy sex, but I don’t crave it. I crave a person. Sorry. I crave THE person. Sex is meaningless to me without an emotional and spiritual connection, and what I receive from meaningless sex can be achieved in a few minutes from my toy with a guarantee of arrival and less hassle. Sex should be an affirmation of what one already feels inside for the other. It isn’t a Hail Mary, a throw-something-against-the-wall-and-see-if-it-sticks. It’s those moments immediately following sex when you cuddle close and your heartbeats align and security envelops you. Its’s when you’re wrapped in so much warmth physically, emotionally, spiritually, that pieces of your thug start to disintegrate. The other person becomes a segment of your nightly prayers, the reason for your smile each day.
And when I feel that for a person, I become possessive. I get attached. When I find a Yes amidst a sea of Noes, I hone in because who knows how long before another Yes crosses my path.
You can’t have that with everyone. That just isn’t how you were designed. If I give you me, I need to trust that your grip is strong enough to hold on when life throws twists and turns. If I allow you to enter my body, I must know that no other person is receiving these strokes. If I say yes, I better believe that you will earn a trip to Red Lobster.
If I let you in, I must know that I’m covered. It might seem sacrilegious to some to bring scripture into such a vulgar post, but I disagree. I think making love is an expression of God’s glory. Society and our peers have distorted what is a beautiful celebration of life and the creation of into a dirty and cheap act. However, 1 Corinthians 6:20 teaches us “You were bought at a price; therefore glorify God in your body and in your spirit, which are God’s.” Why should I offer you a discount? Why would I be casual with what my Father has paid for?
My vagina isn’t part of or a bonus to a friendship. It isn’t the reward of a successful night out. It’s a commitment between he and I. Having sex with me is a responsibility. Most simply are not up to that task. And one can’t be trusted with what they do not properly value.
Today’s Soundtrack – Jill Scott’s Rolling Hills