Preview from Chapter 1: My Damascus Moment*

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“She don’t wanna be a freak no more.” -Migos

“You saaaaaaayyyyyy it’s because of my age girrrrrrrrrrrl! But age ain’t nothin’ but a numbeerrrrrrr! It ain’t nothin’ but a numba! Numberrrrrrrr babyyyyyy.” On Route 97, one of Maryland’s main highways, I was blastin’ one of Pretty Ricky’s popular songs from the Blue Star Album after leaving a guy’s house early October 2017.

We just finished having sex. Well to be concise and raw as I promised, I left what I used to call penis appointments. Casual arrangements to satisfy myself. Instead of the proper name for the anatomical, masculine reproductive organ, I used the name of the sporting goods store Dick’s without the apostrophe and S. Yep! You got it. Dick appointments. I honestly believe if you can call the sporting goods store Dick’s, I’m in the clear to call a male’s penis a dick. Or the restaurant in Baltimore. I mean it is what it is. Who cares?

Or am I being too blunt?

Continuing... Within society, they (dick appointments) are named that because they are scheduled to give the deceptive notion, we are hanging out with a guy but ultimately, we are only using him for sex. Sometimes you do not even like him, but you are infatuated with him and, possibly, you find him to be attractive. He is certainly an ideal serviceman for casual sex. Checking to see if the engine revs up as it should. But that is it. Nothing more. He is a living prop to scratch the itch.

For a long time, that is exactly how I viewed men. Didn’t the industry portray women as jump-offs? Why not flip the script? Get like Ciara and act like a boy. That was “my thing” though. It fed my ego. So much to the fact, I purposely disregarded the damage it was causing internally for years to come.

You may wonder if I was concerned about the potential of becoming pregnant or extracting a sexually transmitted disease? Yes and no. Each man knew if we had unprotected sex, he better pull-out ASAP because I was not being caught up playing the role of anyone’s baby mama. I had men on rotation and if had checkups often to make sure all was good down there. Obviously, I certainly did not care that I was gathering spiritually transferred demons. I was living my best life! I was elite at having sex with another man and not being emotionally attached.

I had them eating out the palm of my hand. I had that A1! I had no plans on stopping until that very day.

“Ebony, I know you’re not about to put yourself through this again?”

You know how old school, strict moms say something in disbelief, but it is accompanied in a life-threatening tone full of warning? Yeah... I heard that tone of voice. But it was a man’s voice. It was not booming but just an audible voice.

I furrowed my eyebrows looking around inquiring who could say that? I am in the vehicle by myself. I know no one called me on my phone because it would have interrupted my jam session. Plus, I would have ignored them anyway. Did I mention that no one was in the car with me? Then I sat there as if I had a choice while I was still driving on the highway. And I thought to myself, God? Is that You? Silence. I shrugged it off and I continued to sing the song.

“Ebony,” this time, there was a little bit more authority, baritone and, even, a hint of impatience. “I know you’re not about to put yourself through this again?”

Yeah, it was God. I knew this was God. No questions asked. He called me out! He done caught me in my mess. It was not a figment of my imagination because my whole mind was fixated on the dick appointment from which I left plotting our next one. Only God would interrupt my thoughts like that because I know I surely would not. I knew this the Lord. He was letting me know that I have been out of line and the choices I had made were leading me to destruction.

.......

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Until next time,

Ebony M. Acton🌸