I used to be a romantic. A true believer of good intentions. I used to make sacrifices. I used to worry when he is late and would just lay there waiting, knowing that without him the rice will be tasteless. I already knew how many kids I wanted with him. I had seen their faces. I had speculated on their possible names. But then, the difference between better beastly beauty and bitter betrayal is just a moment of temptation. He was tempted by a waitress, who wrote him a note saying she loved him. And just like that, his steady legs wobbled, his straight face bent. They flirted filthy fast words and ended up meeting. Then the meetings turned into dreadful dates. By the time I found out, they had exchanged contacts, exchanged looks and exchanged body fluids.
I remember how much I cried. I threw my phone against the wall, slapped myself like a hundred times for trusting him and found nothing good in humanity. The third significant event had happened. First, the day you are born, the day you lose your innocence and third the day you lose your naivety. I promised myself I will never lose myself in the feeling of love, security or creative imagination I had been in. So, I started to avoid men. All male contacts, gone!! You will only be my friend if you are either female, feminine or are capable of child birth. Otherwise, if you so much as breath like a man, walk like one or talk like one; I have nothing to say to you. And just like that Maureen and I became besties. She would occasionally console me during my dark times when my hands would shake so much I couldn’t hold onto a torch to illuminate my way forward. And then one day we kissed. And kissed again. It wasn’t the same, but she was softer, far tender and less rigid.
Officially, I was lesbian. Unofficially, it was a distraction to the real issue. But I didn’t care, for I had someone to look forward to seeing; just like the good old days. Then out of the blue, Hillary came into my life like a hurricane, sweeping me unexpectedly off my feet. Despite looking nowhere near as feminine, I was comfortable with him. I couldn’t understand the sudden change of heart. As it turned out, months later after I was pregnant, he confessed to Maureen to have used spells from a traditional herbalist called Dr mugwenu from Vihiga county. Through him was he only able to lift my hatred for men and allow him in. I had nothing to complain about for he was handsome, caring and rich. I abandoned the lesbian side, finally acknowledging that females can hug each other, date each other or do all kinds of stuff together but cannot make each other pregnant. And I wanted kids, three of them.
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