Kissing in the Dark
The Makings of a Personal Celibacy Challenge
Challenge #3: Mr. Beautiful
My eyes lock in on his biceps when he enters the bar. But for poise, my chair almost swirls to follow him . Luckily, there is no need. After he daps up my photographer, he sits directly across from me. One whiff of his pheromones and I am under attack. My only defense: the uncertainty and curiosity of his sexuality.
Does it even matter?
Nope, not when I’m lusting.
I don’t want to make out with him. I don’t want to date him. I certainly don’t want to marry him.
I just want to watch him.
So, I watch.
The hour passes and just for good measure, I tally the number of women he hugs and fondles. There are four.
The number of hugs and handshakes for guys: zero.
And it doesn’t matter. He bypasses me like most dudes bypass my Instagram.
“You got all of these damn quotes on here. Nobody’s reading that,” he says.
“I’m a writer…”
“Well, maybe you’ll get a few intellectual types.”
Good? That’s what I say. But that’s not what I mean. What I want to say is, “Why am I not attracting you as much as you’re attracting me?” Instead, I continue to watch him. He orders drink after drink and shot after shot. I sip my champagne. Once he’s tipsy enough to accept a FaceTime, the picture becomes clear: he prefers the simple sugar over my raw mixed molasses.
This is never a surprise, but it’s always a buzzkill. It definitely changes the forecast from 100% precipitation to dry skies with a light shower -maybe on the beach at night and definitely in the dark. But this is good because I’m celibate. Right? No, this is great. It’s wonderful. I can wipe the sweat from my breasts and drink more champagne. I can live a little.
“Yo, I have a new limited edition bottle in my place. Let’s grab it and get it in…”
That’s what he says.
I say no. Then, he grabs my hand.
He pulls me in for a group hug with his two lady friends and something changes.
My pheromones are slow to release, but they pierce his Skinny Jeans with vigor . He has no time to retreat. The scent of my skin keeps his hand in mine, his lips in mine, and his body against mine. Finally, I reach the turnstile to La La Land.
I go in.
I caress and kiss- with tongue- and I mean “My Hands on His Bald Head” with “His Hands on My Bubbly Bum” type of tongue.
We go in.
My initial temptation is replaced by distant admiration which probably provokes his new temptation and it is certainly about to lead to my non-celibation… no, that’s not a word. But in these fearless moments of lust, my “write” brain switches back to my right brain and the wrong words I create are the only words left.
Then… without notice…
The kiss ends. The night ends. The possibilities end?
Mr. Beautiful ends up with her, Simple Sugar.
While this Sweet Molasses ends up with a cold shower.
But the beads never evaporate; they only vibrate as I breathe life into the night’s dreamscape .
Hence, I wake. I wake up with anything but fear of my poor judgement. I am stuck in La La Land. I luxuriate in the memories of salacious kisses and throbbing hearts and other body parts. I even tell a few girlfriends, “I made out with a boy who I believed liked boys -and I liked it.” I replay the clips several times and focus on his eyes, his upper lip, and his shoulders. I don’t want to forget.
So what if it isn’t true. So what if it isn’t real. So what if it isn’t with a man who actually wants to be with me, a celibate, beautiful, woman of color who posts quotes and lacks self-control when it comes to chemistry, kissing and licking and sucking… LUST, it’s a fruitless deed of the darkest night disguised as the sweetest nectar of our dreams.
Even after I turn on the lights, I am still asleep. The taste of fawned intimacy lingers long throughout my day. It is not until I crack open the Word that I am completely awakened by Romans 1:24-27. I won’t preach, but read it and know that when you get to know God, he never forgets you. He won’t let you fail as long as you desire to succeed.
But, Success at Celibacy means:
Don’t kiss if you’re celibate.
Don’t tongue kiss if you’re celibate.
Don’t tongue kiss, while holding a bald head if you’re celibate.
Don’t tongue kiss, while a bald-headed man is holding your bum if you’re celibate.
Thank God I’m still celibate.
Sometimes God doesn’t have to say or do anything to show us He loves us.
Sometimes we don’t have to say or do anything besides love Him.
My behavior that night showed no love for God. It probably made Him sad. I kissed a kiss that will never be unkissed. It will last forever to be compared to even the sweetest kisses of the one God sends my way. I followed the lusty desires of my heart. I traded the Truth for a lie. I worshipped the beauty of man, even if only for a moment, over the beauty of the Creator.
Thankfully, He knows me.
He knows that I want to be loosened from the bondage of lust. He knows that I am willing and able to break free but only through Him. And because of this, He will not let me die in my sin. Instead, He will nudge the handsomely kissable men away and send a sisterly soul to say, “Girl, go to bed.”
It’s true, the longer we have to wait for the real thing, the harder it gets to say no to the fantasy. But with faith, He will restore our patience and renew our minds. He might let you walk into La La Land, but He won’t let you get lost in the park. He’s not even the type to hold your hand, but He will give you explicit directions on how to get the heck out of there.
We just have to hear them and Follow Him.
Pray for ’em.
Faith for ’em.
Celebrate for ’em.
And Wait for ‘em..
Those Real Kisses from those Truthful Lips, they are coming soon.