Sex and Pussy; A Journey Through the Decades Part 4

The next stage of my journey would begin after I left Ron.  He never knew about Mike, but he suspected something.  He actually accused me of having an affair with someone else named Mike in the plaza, someone everyone has strong suspicions was gay, although he had a constant entourage of women following him at all times.  I found it amusing.  The next phase of my education was about to begin, and it would be with someone I met in the Battered Women's Shelter.  She would be my best friend for years to come, and we remain friends to this day.   

We arrived at the shelter on the same day.  She had just come from a wedding with her three daughters in tow, and I had my two daughters.  We became fast friends, and had an inexplicable bond from the start.  She was much wiser to the world than I was, more streetwise, she knew more about men, and she knew a lot more about sex and wasn't afraid to share what she knew.  She never pushed me into anything, but rather told me of her experiences, her thoughts and perspective on the matter.  I was extremely conservative, which is a nice way to say I was a prude.  Between abstinence only class and Sunday School, I was ruined.  I truly believed morality depended upon the restraint of my sexuality, accepting the consequences of a man exerting his sexual rights and keeping sex inside of a committed relationship.  I didn't believe sex had to wait until I had a golden band on my finger, but I still had to be in a relationship.  I had already soiled myself with Mike.  The mistake I made was in thinking this was morality.  I was to learn through the years what morality really means to the people who proclaim to espouse it; morality is the ability to keep a secret. I would come to find out most people were having sex, many of them outside of their marital vows, and many women had more than a handful of sexual partners, whether or not they admitted it.  Morality was an mirror image which shattered when the lies were reflected back.  It had nothing to do with God, or anything, really.   

Divorce was freedom!  For the first time in my life, I got to date a variety of men.  I went to dinner with all kinds of men, and there was rarely a weekend I didn't have at least one date.  What I didn't understand is the reputation I soon got from friends and family.  Apparently, I wasn't allowed to go out with more than one man at a time without getting the dreaded "slut" added to my name.  I asked them "Do you think I sleep with anyone I have dinner with?  I thought it was a date, not prostitution."  They all had the same reply.  I owed a man something for taking me out to a restaurant not of my choosing, for eating food and drinking wine he purchased (and sometimes I didn't have the luxury of choosing that, either) and maybe seeing a movie or going clubbing afterwards. If that were the case, I'd rather have the money.  I had bills to pay and was living on a thread rapidly fraying.  I couldn't consider prostitution, but in hindsight, I certainly would have made more money.  Dating was not a good business move for my future, but at least my soul and morals would remain intact.   

Never having really dated, I didn’t know that allowing a man to come into the house after a date meant sex.  I really thought it meant he wanted to spend more time with me, because after all, I was just that fabulous to be around.  I spent the afternoon one day at a Christmas Show downtown, full of crafters selling what they had made.  The entire day consisted of how he wanted a woman just like his mother and asked such very important questions like "Can I knit?"  I spent the entire day assuring him I was nothing like his mother.  What a waste of time.  I can't remember if I said he could come in when he brought me home, but he came in.  I really doubt I would have asked him after such a terrible day.  He wanted to neck, and I suppose because I "owed" him I went along.  When he tried to clumsily reach up my skirt, I told him a very firm "no" and pulled it back down.  He had me pinned down.  I tried to get him off of me, but he was too big.   He dry humped my over our clothing.  Clearly, he wasn't very good at this because it was over before I could mount a decent protest.  He left a spot on my skirt and left.  I was disgusted.  Fortunately for me, that was as close as I ever came to being date raped.  I didn't know such a thing existed. I thought rape was something that happened with a stranger.   

Amber was giving me the benefit of her advice, but very soon after leaving the shelter she found a boyfriend and he quickly moved in with her.  Dating wasn't something she wanted to do.  She reaffirmed I was not the slut people seemed to think I was.  I knew that, but it was nice to hear her say it, to support it. Dating was harder than I thought it would be.  There were a lot of expectations I knew nothing about.  I thought a date was going out and getting to know one another, not a series of steps with the end goal of sex.  I was learning that's not what men expected.  I loved getting dressed up to see what the night brought me.  What I was finding out was that since I was getting a divorce with two young children, I wasn't seen as a woman, a human being.  I was seen as someone looking for a baby daddy and until some fool took me up on it, I was to be used.  I was married, I had done what I thought was right and protected my precious pussy and I still ended up being the dirty tissue they warned me about.  I was used goods and though a lot of men wanted me, none of them seemed to want to keep me.  I finally understood why the girls in high school were popular with the boys.   

Amber was trying diligently to show me my pussy was neither golden nor precious, but I refused to listen.  What worked for her was fine.  I was in awe of her knowledge and attitude, but attitudes like mine don't change overnight, and they don't change easily.  It would take a long time before I was to wipe the gold plating off my pussy and actually enjoy being a woman, but I was on my way.  Dating would not last long until I met my next relationship, and the next, and the next.  It was serial monogamy, but it would allow me to hold onto the illusion that my pussy was golden, special and that no other woman on the face of this earth had one just like it for a little while yet.  Yes, I really thought like that.  That's what abstinence only and church teaches women.  I was going to hold on to whatever dignity my pussy had left in it, whatever promises it had left in it and offer it up to the next man who would come to rescue me from the shame of being a divorced woman.