“Live, girl. Have some fun, girl, you’ll be fine.”
That’s what I kept telling myself till I found out I was pregnant.
I just wanted to live my life to the fullest, I wanted to be free to do whatever I wanted.
I thought being with any man at any time I wanted meant I had found that freedom I never had, after growing up in a strict home, being miss goody-two-shoes and marrying the first and only man I ever dated. I didn’t know what it felt like to be with anyone else besides him; I was curious.
One day I told him, “I wonder what sex with other people would be like.” And he said to me, “Don’t be silly my dear, sex with other people wouldn’t mean anything like it would with your husband. It’s not even worth it.”
I heard him, but my curiosity still lingered.
I heard him, but I doubted it. Surely sex with other people would be interesting, I thought.
Several months later, I began taking Spanish lessons at the School of Languages, which was not too far from my office. My class was in the evening right after I got off work so I didn’t have to go home first.
I thought I was getting the hang of it and having fun with the lessons till I saw the results of our first quiz; I flunked it!
I decided to go see my lecturer to find out if I could retake it, because I believed I was really good at it. That was when I noticed him.
At 6’3, he towered above me with dark eyes that seemed to bore into my soul. He was soft spoken and gentle, trying to explain to me where I went wrong and making sure I understood before giving me another quiz.
After that day, I’d always stare at him when he was lecturing, listening to the sound of his soft voice but not actually hearing his words.
He must have noticed me too, because his eyes would roam the room as he lectured, but would finally rest on me, making me feel flustered inside.
We started flirting, harmlessly at first and it was so exciting for me! He would walk through the class and stop by my side, looking right through me yet never missing a word of what he was saying.
I would intentionally leave a button or two on my shirt open and cross my legs when he was getting close.
I could feel the lust building up, he hadn’t even touched me yet but I knew how his hands would feel on my skin. I imagined it all the time.
After class, we’d sit and talk for a few minutes while I waited for my husband to pick me up. We flirted even heavier during those few minutes, looking into each other’s eyes and yearning for a touch at least, yet holding back for fear of being seen by anyone. We couldn’t risk it. He could lose his job and I, well, my marriage.
I knew for a fact that our first time together was going to be amazing, contrary to what my husband said. I wanted him as much as he wanted me and we had waited long enough so the anticipation was peak.
When we finally got together, there were no restrictions, no holding back; we lost ourselves in those moments.
We didn’t hold out on anything, we did it all till I thought we couldn’t anymore, then we did it again some more.
I was in over my head, I couldn’t get enough of the thrill. He would surprise me with little gifts almost every day after class and I would thank him in ways that made him want to lose control right there.
For a man in his late forties, he was pretty strong and that made me admire him even more.
I began to lose interest in my husband, sometimes I wouldn’t let him touch me at all and when he complained, I blamed it on the female hormones. If I did let him touch me, I’d just lay there like a log or imagine he was my lecturer. That always worked for me.
Like every love story, my fast paced, exciting new romance fizzled out really fast when my lecturer had to leave town due to a job offer he had been waiting on.
I was beyond devastated; my husband didn’t understand why I had become so moody and grumpy and as usual, the female hormones was a perfect cover. After all, it does give us hell sometimes, doesn’t it?
I soon lost interest in the class and decided to find something else to keep me occupied and take my mind off my lost lover.
What better way to relax and be at peace with yourself than yoga, right? So I joined a yoga class. Three days in the week I would be totally fine, the other days I wished for something exciting to happen to me again. And it did happen.
No, not with my yoga instructor but with the only male in my yoga class. I won’t get into the details of how it started, but let me just say he’s someone I can never forget.
He put my body into certain positions I never even knew existed. Boy, was he flexible!
He made my body do things I had no idea it was capable of; it was a miracle I never broke my neck or leg. I still had to put on a show for my husband, who I now considered to be very boring but I didn’t mind because I got my excitement from elsewhere. During that month, I must have miscalculated my cycle because my monthly visitor didn’t come as scheduled, it started at the very end of the month and entered into the following month. I thought it was normal because that happened to me sometimes. I didn’t even panic when it didn’t show this month, I thought I was sorted till I started finding it really hard to wake up very early in the mornings like I normally did. I always wanted to sleep, I felt heavier and there was this soreness in my breasts that won’t go away. I was eating more food than usual and I could hardly finish my morning cardio on the treadmill at home. I decided to go to my doctor for a checkup, hoping against hope that it wasn’t what I thought it was yet expecting the worst results. I was not at all prepared for what was coming. I was not only pregnant, but I had HIV too. Good Lord!
I’m sitting at home with my test results in my hands, reading it over and over again.
Worst of it all, I don’t know who the father of my unborn child is or who I got the HIV from.
I am finished.
“Live, girl. Have some fun, girl, you’ll be fine.”