My Valentine Story (II): Motivational Broken Heartedness – By Manasseh Azure Awuni
I had just accepted Kofi’s proposal, but I still had my hymen intact so their talk was just like those inapplicable theories we learnt to pass our end of semester exams and forget afterwards. But I later realised Kofi was extra-ordinary in love making.
He never forgot to plant a firm and gentle kiss on my lips before sliding out of me. It was that kiss which usually woke me up from my deep sleep of pleasure. It was usually at that point that I realized how tightly I held on to him, each time wishing he thrust deeper and deeper until he touched my very heart, the delicate heart which belonged to him.
“Are you satisfied?” he would sometimes ask, smiling.
“Pleasure is insatiable, you know. At least, not the kind you give.” I would remind him in a whisper.
“Well, then next is your turn.”
“My turn to do what?”
“To mount of course. What men can do, women can do better. Or are you now ready to concede the obvious?”
“I will never exchange the birth right of women for pleasure. I only acknowledge your superiority in this because some things are natural gifts. Who knows, sex might well be your gift of the Holy Spirit.”
At this point he would give my naked body a gently slap.
“You’ve hit me, Kofi,” I would wince, feigning pain and anger. Then he would have to placate me. It was fun and each time was as unique as a first encounter.
So as I lay in bed that night I imagined Selina in my place, taking what belonged to me. But that was not the main source of my heartache. I had vowed in my life never to meet my husband deflowered. I had told myself that I would either marry still a virgin or marry man who would tear my hymen.
Virginity is the dignity of womanhood. And we lose it once in a lifetime. It is our trust, and we often want the man to whom we lose it reciprocate that trust. Unfortunately men don’t know the value of our hymen. So even after the text message of finality, I still did everything I could to win back Kofi.
I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. I had sold my trust to him. I did not want to marry with those unasked questions in my man’s head: So who broke your virginity? How many men have you met before me? How were they? Better or worse in love making? Uglier? More handsome? Richer? Men are greedy and selfish by nature, always pretending to uncompromising saints.
A story was told of a lady who had deceived his suitor to-be that he was her first guy. When they went to bed for the first time and the man started complimenting her about how agile she was in bed she forgot about everything.
“Ei! So is this thing really true?” she asked rhetorically.
“What is true?” the man enquired.
“That I’m good in love making. All the men I have slept with have told me the same thing.” The man said nothing but that was the end of their relationship.
There was another story of a Christian brother who had dated a Sister-in-Christ, thinking that she was a virgin. On the night of their wedding, he asked her how many men she had slept with after realising that she wasn’t what he had thought of her after all. For a long time, the woman lay staring vacantly at the ceiling of their hotel where they were enjoying their honeymoon.
“Why, are you upset by this simple question?” he asked.
“I’m not upset, my dear. I’m still counting,” the bride said. And that was the end of their honeymoon and everything between them. Men are greedy. Ask your man the number of ladies he has dated before meeting you and you’ll have to apologise. He’ll get upset even if he doesn’t show it openly.
But I realised there was nothing I could do to win Kofi back so I decided to stick to the text message I sent him that afternoon. “You can dump me like a rag, but you’ll one day chase me for my autograph!” I didn’t mean an autograph. I meant revenge. The only revenge you can give to a man who dumps you like a “pure water rubber” is to let him regret ever leaving you. Was it my fault that my father wasn’t a minister and my mother a lecturer? Was it my fault that I did not drive a brand new Mercedes Benz? Or does dating the daughter of a minister makes you a minister? Kofi was a fool and I would make him regret. I would not fail in life. That would justify his action.
Selina was not any better than I in looks, brains or anything that I knew of. But she was a lady any guy would be proud to date. Her father was the finance minister at the time and her mother was the head of the Business School of our university. She went about campus in the latest Mercedes Benz, the car in which I first spotted Kofi and her.
I had gone to Kofi’s hall after all attempts to reach her on phone had failed. I was still on the balcony of the second floor when I saw Selina’s Benz screech to a halt and after what seemed a long time, Kofi stepped out, his face animated with that sheepish look of vain pride. His hall mates cheered and he acknowledged it. Most of those who cheered knew about my relationship with him so to avoid utter embarrassment, I quickly descended the stairs and moved towards the hall’s annex before he and his noisy lot entered his room.
When I later asked him about Selina his immediate reaction was to get angry and did not deem it fit to deny. He stopped calling and would pick my call only after many days of failed attempts. On any holiday or occasion when we were on campus, it was Kofi who suggested a place we should spend the day but the Val’s Day was less than 12 hours away but I hadn’t heard anything from him. After trying in vain to get him on phone, I made it to room and found him reading. We both had our last end of semester exams to write the following day, and I thought there would not be any better time to end the semester than chill out on Val’s Day after many turbulent days and sleepless nights of learning.
But to my dismay, he said he would not go out the following day. When he went out to take his bath, I did what I had never done. I sneaked into the “sent items” on his phone and it was then that I realised he was planning to go out with Selina on Val’s Day. The more I read some of the messages they had exchanged the more I wish I hadn’t read them. All I could do was to send a text message to Selina after I had returned to my room, pleading with her to leave Kofi for me. And the price of what I did was the call just before my paper.
When I was too young to understand the reasoning of the heart, I thought it was foolish to cry over a man. I thought it was stupidity in its highest degree to commit suicide or to go mad due to broken-heartedness. But I realised I was thinking way the Holy Bible puts it – like a child. I went without food for many days and it was a miracle I didn’t jump onto the streets naked. Broken-heartedness has no cure. It only takes the intervention of time to heal and mend the broken pieces together. And in my case, it wasn’t different. I spent more time thinking about my revenge. To excel. To ride in a better car than Selina’s. O’ yes, Efua Nyarkoa Owusu, as I later changed my meaningless foreign names to those with meanings, would not allow that direct grandson of the devil to gloat over her failure.
So I lost my head in my studies. I became more intimate with God. And Kofi was awed when I met him later.
As I had promised, we met after our encounter at the car park. Not much of him had changed and I realised he had practically nothing to boast about apart from the first degree he took a year before I graduated. He still boarded trotro vehicles to work. Selina had left him long ago and he had failed so many times to keep a steady relationship. I felt pity for him. And because of that I left a lot of details and some of my sterling achievements when it was my turn to talk. But there were those I could not leave out, which he perhaps might have heard about.
I told him how I had secured a scholarship to pursue my MBA and proceeded to do my PhD in Harvard University, that my business plan had won the first position in a competition and Microsoft was ready to pay anything for that business plan, that the Time Magazine ranked me third in its Under 30 Global Achievers, that my book sold two million copies the first month after publishing and…. and how every organisation of repute invited me to speak at seminars of at staff durbars. It was such an activity that took me to the bank he worked.
He apologised and was pleased to learn that I had forgiven him long ago. He felt confident and did what every man in his shoes would do – initiate a fresh start, a comeback. I was still single and unattached. And he knew it.
But I shook my head. And he understood it. There was no way I would so cheaply betray womanhood. Besides, we Africans believe in reincarnation. If Kofi Pra came back in his next world with six-inch mini cobra between his thighs, he would learn to respect the dignity of women.
When I later met Agbemo, I sent Kofi an invitation to our wedding but he did not come. After bouts of more stimulating pleasure from the man of my life, I picked up my phone which I had put on silent mode to avoid intrusion into our indescribable joy. It was then I saw Kofi’s text message.
“My absence was not out of ill-will. I could not just afford to be present. Until I had you, left you and met you again, I had always underrated the power of a determined-woman.”
The tickling sensation my well-groomed groom was giving me was so inviting and I could not keep fidgeting with my phone for long. That was my first love affair after I parted company with Kofi. And it was only then I realised there was pleasure and there was pleasure. But before I put the phone down and turned to respond to his invitation, I quickly sent a reply to Kofi.
“I wish you better luck in your next relationship. But remember to spread the message, the message of what a determined woman can do, and that they are not meant to be used and dumped like rags.”