Written by B. Armstrong
My grandma once told me that the only boy worth crying over was a dead one and that the best way to get over someone old is to get into someone new. I was probably 15. But it was advice I came to live by. I became what an early 2000s relationship blog would call a serial monogamist.
So when my eight year relationship started to crumble and finally imploded under the weight of gaslighting, lies and side chicks, I vowed to do things differently. Plus, when I told my therapist about grandma’s advice, she said, respectfully, that is terrible advice. After the requisite amount of healing and reflection my therapist and I decided it was time for me to go back to the streets. My hot girl days might have been over but hot aunty summer was just beginning.
My therapist didn’t tell me to do this part but I decided this would also be my ho phase. I ripped the bandaid off by meeting up with a Nigerian engineer I’d been chatting with on hinge. He lived in South Africa and was in town on business. He was tall, had broad shoulders, nice legs, pretty white teeth, decent conversation and a few jokes. I built up my liquid courage and invited him back to my apartment to smoke a joint.
We ended up in bed where he insisted I ride him the whole time while he mumbled “so juicy” over and over again. A few minutes later he came, I didn’t and I found a way to politely kick him out.
I had lots of dates with men I couldn’t muster any sexual feelings for, and a few with men I woulda fucked had they feigned consistency or interest for five minutes. There was the guy on Hinge I kept around for way longer than I should have because he could have taught a class on multiple orgasms. Once in a moment of weakness I asked him how he was so damn good and he said “I just listen to your body and fuck you how your pussy tells me to” I almost melted. I’m sure he was slanging that line and that dick to multiple women in the DMV area, but I didn’t even care.
There was the recently divorced guy. On our first date he took me to a sold out concert that he just happened to have tickets to. The first time we had sex he covered his bed with plastic, warmed up some kinda oil, and gave me a tantric sex massage with his body. He said he learned the technique in Montreal. It was weird. But he planned great dates, and brought me dinner when I didn’t ask for it. When my homegirl invited me to go to Ghana for December I knew it was time to take this pussy on tour. Accra would be teeming with men from all over the world who had broad shoulders and pretty white teeth. This is where I needed to be. But it’s also where I slipped into my old habits and met Mr. Italia.
We met on Bumble. He was in Accra visiting his family for the holidays but lived in Italy. We hit it off and what started as a joke about me extending my trip so we could hang became a reality when he booked a hotel and I pushed my flight to lay up with him. I spent the week riding his face and by the end of it we were walking into Bloom Bar holding hands. Cue Andre 3000 Prototype. We decided to keep in touch and see where it goes. We talked everyday. Soon I was planning a spring birthday trip to Italy. We weren’t in a relationship but inadvertently, and against my therapist’s advice, I stopped swiping and only responded to the occasional texts from Mister Multiple Orgasms — I may be a serial monogamist but I know a good thing when I got it.
When my trip to Italy finally rolled around, it took a few days to find the chemistry we had in Accra but eventually he started to loosen up. We were fucking on his couch and in his kitchen in no time. I left thinking this was gone be my man…he had other ideas.
We continued to talk but less frequently. He then announced that he was moving to East Africa. I already had a trip planned to East Africa for a wedding and to visit a few friends. I thought it would be a perfect time for us to solidify our relationship and make some commitments. I floated this idea to him and after a few weeks of avoidance he told me he liked me but didn’t think a serious relationship would work because he didn’t want to do long distance. And there I was with no roster to turn to. But I was about to kick off the second leg of the pussy tour. I’d learned enough at this point to start swiping before I got to the country. So by the time I arrived I’d already been chatting with an American guy from the West Coast who’d moved to East Africa on a whim and decided to stay. And I’d matched a Kenyan photographer who my friend said looked like black Jesus.
On one of my first nights there the American guy accompanied me and my homegirl to a club, and on the 2nd night we accompanied him back to his apartment. In a hilarious series of miscommunications he thought we were gonna have a threesome. After I disabused him of that notion he settled for just me as a consolation prize. We fucked on his balcony as the sun came up and my friend slept on his couch. He then talked my ear off about how Kevin Samuels did have some good points as I thought…is this the price of dick out here? Obviously we didn’t hook up a second time.
It turned out to be a good thing because enter Black Jesus. He was tall and beautiful and patient and kind and thoughtful. He vibed with my friends. So much so that when I invited him to our airbnb with every intention of having sex, it took hours for me to get him alone. That night, eventually, he ate my pussy until I came twice and to my suprise picked me up as I wrapped my legs around his waist. Y’all already know how I feel about multiple orgasms.
I extended my stay a few days and we spent pretty much every minute of it together. I was staying with one of my best friend’s from home who just so happened to be housemates with a friend of his…the rom com writes itself.
A few days’ visit turned into a few weeks which turned into a couple months. Yes, for two months I spent everyday with a man I’d just met while I was supposedly on a ho world tour. It was the most serial monogamy’ist thing I’d ever done.
We explored the country together, talked about our lives and our families, ate street chicken, hung out with our friends, slept in a twin bed and fell in love. When I left to go back to the states we both cried. A month later I came back to visit him. And now I have a boyfriend. That’s how my ho phase ended. Thwarted by Kenyan Jesus.
