A celibate lady's muse
How it started
“I know what time I have to be there.” But I had to be here.
“Well, why the fuck you not here.” Mylo yelled in the phone. But she would not understand. No one understood but the women in this room.
“Listen the ceremony is tomorrow; I’ll be at rehearsal in an hour. Leave me the fuck alone. I gotta go.” I did not want to be rude while the meeting was going on. The lady next to me stood up with a nervous look on her face. We were a room full of strangers here for the same reasons.
“Hey y’all.” Her country accent betrayed the Soccer mom outfit she here. I could not believe she was here. “My name is Re-.” She stopped, maybe in shame. It must have been her first meeting. This is how I felt the first time i attended.
“It’s ok you can use whatever name makes you comfortable.” The instructor comforted her from the other side of the room. Her warm smile relaxed our nerves,
“Thank you, I’m Becca and I’m a freak.”
“A freak or a sex addict? Because there is a difference.”
“Cause I’m not a freak.” A lightskin older woman rolled her eyes. “I just have a hyper kitty.” The room laughed in agreement. Nobody wanted to be a freak, but we were here for one reason.
“I’m a sex addict.” She blew out hot air.
“And I love it.” She looked at the floor embarrassed but relieved she could be honest. We were a bunch of horny women looking for understanding, acceptance, and answers.
“Sex or being an addict?” The instructor stepped in again.
“Sex. I love sex. Being an addict is ruining my marriage.”
“Shit mines too. My husband can’t keep up and my side piece can’t control his feelings.” A black lady shared her testimony. Normal people would say our hyper kitty was the problem. Only an addict would place the blame elsewhere.
“Alright ladies. Let’s finish our introductions and we’ll get back to you Becca.” Becca sat down and eyes were on me. Ready to hear how much of a slut I liked being.
“My name is Tatum and I’m just here to learn control.” I stood up and sat down as quickly. This was my least favorite part of the meetings.
“Now Tatum don’t be shy, control of what? And for everyone who does not know I am Pam.” She waited for me to stand back up, elaborate on what i meant.
“My sexual urges.” On my feet, I faced Pam. “I want to learn how to date without my legs in the air on the first night. This is a safe space.”
My bad habits, my failed relationships. I needed control over my pussy so my heart could heal. Sex is the root of my problems. If ‘Fuck them first was a person.’ It would be me.’ For some reason I wanted to sample the milk before I invested in the cow. Backwards. Eighty five percent of the reason I was left heartbroken.
“Of course, this is a safe and confidential space.” She reached behind her. In her light skin hand she held up a packet. “That’s the reason everyone signed these confidentiality papers.” I sat back down as the rest of the room finished up.
It’s not every day you tell your deepest secrets to a room full of strangers. But for eleven months a group of women did just that. The Celibate Tour was created for women suffering with a sex addiction. Like crack we feigned for that sexual release. And after we achieved it, we still wanted more.
“I hope everyone has been writing in their journal.” Pam pulled out her pink book to show the newbies. When we first started Pam suggested we create a safe space to vent. Mines kept me from playing in the gutter. Doing naughty things that weren’t good for me.
And so far, it’s been pretty good.
The freak in me has learned control. I have accepted whatever trauma caused me to me develop hypersexuality.
“Newbies, journals are important. It ok to write down your feelings or fantasies in a safe space.” Pam our hippy instructor use to be like us. A woman who did not understand the power of her pussy. Full of cum and dumb decisions is how she explained.
“Let’s get started, I want to welcome you ladies to the Celibate Hearts, Celibate tour. My name is Pam and I’m a sex addict.” Her transparency is what kept me coming back. I loved knowing I wasn’t the only one who craved orgasms. “We have a few new faces in here, so I will go over the rules. No judging. If any of us had room to judge, we would not be here. Nothing is to nasty; I’ve been a wife and I’ve been an escort.”
She told us about that story. When her husband couldn’t do the job, she went to work. “What’s said here stays here, the last person who took it out there.” She pointed towards the door. “Had to see a real judge. I created this space so I could heal in peace. People joke about nymphomaniacs but don’t understand how they are created.”
Or how we think. What we go through, the damage being a freak does, now what makes us happy. It’s deeper than sex. It’s bigger than the orgasm guaranteed at the end. It’s a euphoric high we are chasing; the people don’t matter. How we get it doesn’t matter long as that itch is being catered too. Every other emotion came second, even falling in love. I wanted both. Someone to love me as hard as they fuck me.
“And it’s none of their business till you are ready to share.” Pam switched from business to a proud smile. “Next week is our graduation for my new year babies.” I smiled because I was a new year baby. “These ladies took a year to themselves and worked on being a better woman.”
Celibate hearts were not about depriving you of sex. But it made you take a step back and reevaluate your worth. What are you doing to increase it being sexually active? Nothing? Then maybe you shouldn’t have it until it does. That’s what I was doing. Holding out until I increased my value and orgasms.
“It takes a lot of restraint, growth, will power, and a lot of no’s. But my babies made it to a new year. Everyone is invited and I hope more sign up for a celibate vow.” She gave a warning “It’s hardwork mentally and physically. But sometimes we need it ladies. And I’m here to support whatever choice you want.”
I made my choice. It’s not how I wanted to live my life. My vow was personal but one I should have taken years ago. My business is thriving, spiritually I’m growing, and I avoided bad relationships. Instead of repeating my hoe phase; I fucked it out in my journal. I took my stress out on my pen and it’s been working.
“Okay ladies so today we are going to talk about.” She pulled out her chalk board. “What she wants after celibacy.”
Present day~ How it’s Going
*Knock, knock*.
Mylo glanced at her phone pissed that she was not downstairs. They were 10 minutes behind Mylos OCD schedule. Tonight, did not call for understanding they were here to be professional.
*Knock, knock*
“Fuck is you doing in there?” Her Baltimore accent spoke with annoyance.
Mylo fished in her pocket for Tatum’s extra room key. She called her phone only to be sent to voicemail. Alarm set in when her son Michael asked his mother. The plastic card in her hand, she opened the door hoping she would not have to choke her before the night was over with.
“Yo!” Upset, she saw Tatum over by the window dressed for tonight.
“Shh, I’m fucking.” Tatum startled Mylo. Mylo counted to ten, she had enough on her plate. Tonight was the night to play around. The city of Atlanta was waiting to honor their company. A company, the two of them built from scraps while making money, big money. An award for their humane contribution to Clayton and Fulton County youth.
“What the fuck did you say?” Mylo could not have heard her right.
Hands on her hip, Mylo did not want to tell Tatum how stupid she sounded. Of course, she was not actually fucking. And she certainly did not appear to be ready for the festivities. Tatum sat by the window with a notebook and pen writing: No clothes on; her hair wore that ugly ass bonnet; smoking a blunt. Mylo loosened her bowtie feeling her temper about to pop.
“I’m writing my horny energy out. Give me a break.” A break. Mylo squinted, tempted to flip her big ass right out of the chair. There was no room for breaks tonight. The mayor is in the building to thank them, and this motherfucker wanted to write.
“Tatum...” Mylo paused and continued “If you don’t get your big head ass up and dressed. I’m going to cuss you out.” She towered over Tatum. Mylo may have been 100 pounds lighter, but she knew how to hang with the best of them. Tatum put her hand up.
“There’s a church next door.” She pointed to the window, casually writing. “I’m almost done.”
Tatum passed the blunt to her.
Mylo hit it hard, thinking she did not get paid enough. Mylo and Tatum were best friends, partners in crime, and business partners. They shared secrets, dreams, and she kept Tatum together. Mylo would not change it but she was getting on her nerves. They both had to be on their “A” game tonight.
“Girl, don’t start.” Mylo was spiritual, not religious, there was a big difference in her book.
“Uh-uh.”
“Bitch there’s money out there. Get ya ass up!” Mylo clapped her hands: balancing the blunt.
“You sound like my pimp.” Tatum joked on Mylo, but she wasn’t laughing
“Well let’s go ho!” Mylo snapped her fingers. The two of them laughed while Tatum closed her journal.
“I’m horny.”
“Go fuck then.” Mylo rolled her eyes tired of hearing this speech.
Ever since Tatum went on this celibate journey all she did was talk about sex. In less than a year the once bubbly woman resembled an angry toad. Who popped shit and complained about being horny 24/7? Mylo shook her head because Tatum vow was driving her crazy.
“You have plenty of bitches to choose from.” Mylo turned around to give her a bit of privacy.
Tatum had options on demand, this commitment she made was personal. She blamed her heartbreaks on her gullible sex drive. It caused her to make decisions based on their bedroom ability. Poor judgement mixed with good sex left her in tears at the end. After the last one she put her pussy on punishment. She didn’t understand the method to her best friend’s madness but Mylo supported her.
“I’m good on them.”
“So, you’re going to starve your pussy?” Mylo folded her arms curious as to what her answer was.
“Yeah.” Tatum bit her lip as she dressed.
Tatum decided celibacy would keep her from dating jerks and dickheads. She wanted to be a wife one day, is how she put it to Mylo. The kind of wife that fucked her good while adjusting her attitude. A woman that loved her uncontrollably. Put up with her schedule, brought her donuts on sad days and took her on picnics. Corny romantic shit as Tatum said.
“Well miss thing this attitude is not going to fly.” Mylo gave her best drag voice.
“Whatever, do you see my deodorant.” Tatum looked around for her deodorant. But Mylo could have sworn that was the same outfit from yesterday. ’Is Micheal here?”
“He’s sitting with the Incredible Hulk.” AKA Frankie, her co-parent.
The first bitch to break her heart. Eighteen years ago, she fell in love with a woman that loved the nightlife more. Strippers, drinking and partying was her top priority. For the sake of their son Tatum did not piss in her lemonade. Mylo talked her out of it, but Tatum had a fresh cup on reserve.
“Bitch did you shower?” Mylo snapped out of her head to check her friend. They both looked down realizing she had not.
“Let me go do that.” Tatum laughed out loud. “I can Not be cute and stank.”
“Right, funky go wash your ass.” Her face showed the disgust she felt. Mylo accepted the blunt and plopped in the chair. She had to keep track of time.
“Ok, mom.” Mylo gave her the finger and got comfy while Tatum pouted.
“Do not take all day.” There were people waiting for her, awards to accept and rich hands to shake.
“This hoe in here writing.” Mylo picked up her journal hooked from the first page. Mylo lit the blunt, and continued to read.
