Like A Virgin

Read this piece to “Sl*t Him Out” by Baby Tate.

Trigger Warning: Rape, depression, sex, suicide

I really was a poet or an artist in my past life.  I get so much inspiration from men.  I’m a true lover girl.  So, thanks to men for being my muse and always triggering my urge to create and write.

When I reminisce on how this year has transpired, I see two versions of myself.  The beginning of the year resulted in the deepest depression I’ve ever experienced. 

Let’s recap. 

January. 

My birth month.  I turned 28.  I celebrated alone.  I was studying for the bar.  I could sacrifice one birthday.  At this point in time, I actually preferred to be alone.  I spent majority of my law school years fighting peers, administrators, professors, honestly anyone in my path.  Fighting for your rape allegations to be believed will drain you.  It will make you cherish being alone, because every time you are around anyone else, someway, somehow they disappoint you.  They break you.  You get to a point where the most peaceful existence is solely within yourself.  So I cherished being alone. 

On a happier note, I graduated from law school in January.  Finally.  This chapter of my life can be closed.  For good.  What we came to accomplish: this $200,000 degree is finally ours. 

February.

The bar is quickly approaching.  My lease is ending soon.  I’ll have to pack up this apartment.  I’ll have to fit this packing expenditure into my study schedule.  I’m trying so hard to focus on bar prep—but I can’t.  I get bored easily.  I’m not grasping concepts.  I’m not hitting the daily progress that my bar prep program says that I should.  For years I’ve self diagnosed myself with ADHD.  In a few weeks, I’ll be in Nashville and my Louisiana Medicaid will be useless in another state.  Let’s go get evaluated by a psych. 

What do we find out?  I have severe clinical depression, PTSD, ADHD and insomnia. 

March.

I spent the next few months in severe denial.  Law school couldn’t have traumatized me this much.  Rape couldn’t have traumatized me this much. I wanted to leave the past three years in the past.  Rewrite my story, like common practice.  No stains.  No reminisce of pain could be left on me.  Because if it was, that would make me weak.  That would make so many who I hated win. 

I wasn’t eating.  I was in denial.  I was no where near acceptance.  I was low.  I was at rock bottom.

April.

I failed the bar. 

I clearly wasn’t in a stable mindset.  Two pats on the back for completing the two day, twelve hour test.  Two additional pats for not ending up in someone’s psych ward or deleting myself.

May.

I went back to SULC.  Girl why would you do that?  Because I’m an idiot with a pain kink.  In all honesty, I genuinely didn’t want trauma to be my only memory of this institution.  I had friends graduating.  Friends who had celebrated my graduation with me.  I wanted to do the same for them. 

The aftermath?  I found out that a friend who I let live with me in her time of need said I lied about being raped to a mutual friend.  You can marinate on that.  I let her live in my house, rent free, when she had no one and she uttered the worst thing you could say about me. 

I found out that I was the topic of conversation in an underclassmen’s group chat.  They said “there were reasons no one took my rape story seriously”, they slut-shamed how I dressed and what I posted on social media.  Mind you all of these group chat members were extremely friendly to me in person—just to talk shit behind my back. Then one of their mom's threatened to get me kicked out of my sorority.

A 40-year old bald man who lusted after me in law school went on a 48-hour Instagram rant about me.  He made up several lies and created a big spectacle that led to me blocking several lawyers and law students.  What did I do to him?  I posted screenshots of him saying I was lying about being raped.  He didn’t enjoy whatever backlash came with that revelation. 

So in May, I felt like I was getting jumped.

June-July.

I took an Instagram hiatus.  I kind of hated everyone.  I was studying for the July bar.  I occasionally went out with my best friend.  Her line sisters adopted me, and they became my circle of escape. 

At the end of July, I took the bar for the second time.

August.

In August, things began to change.  For the first seven months of the year, I felt empty.  Like a shell of a person.  My antidepressant made me feel like I was on a roller coaster.  I would have up days.  High spirits, positive energy and an unshakeable mindset.  Then I would have low days.  Dark energy, depression, hating everyone, hating myself, and lots of bed rotting.  Eventually, I felt like myself again.

Full of emotions.  Full of opinions.  But less worry.  Less anxiety.  Less rage.  Still me, but lighter.  I felt reborn.

As cliché as it is, I felt like a Phoenix.  Reborn from the ashes of my trauma.  I felt anew.  This wasn’t all in my mind.  I was experiencing a lot of déjà vu.  I felt like it was 2020 or earlier all over again.

Picture it.  I’m back living with my parents.  I only hang out with majority of people from high school or middle school.  I’m back trotting around my old spots in Antioch.  I rarely see that many people from college.  Its damn near 2015. 

It gets stranger.  I’m starting to see old sexual partners.  Like men I haven’t seen since 2017.  “I’ve avoided you for years and suddenly you’re real again????”

My foster-Delta friend group frequented parties thrown by the promotion group: Members.  Members were having an all-white Labor Day party in downtown Nashville, on Broadway at the Hard Rock Café rooftop.  It was happening on a Sunday.  Thanks to my foster-Deltas,  I have come to be a huge Bar Sovereign on Sundays enthusiast.  It is the best vibe I have experienced in Nashville.  Artsy, cunty, queery, good drinks, fye music, gas in the air, people actually dancing.  It feels like New York, smack dab in the middle of Nashville.  It is MY closest version of Heaven on Earth.

So following the all-white party, we decide as a collective to head over to Bar Sovereign to end the night.  As we’re sitting outside of the Hard Rock café, a photographer approaches us.  He asks if we enjoyed the party.  We say “yes” in unison.  He lingers a bit, then eventually walks off.

“That was strange” I said, “he kind of looks familiar.”

My best friend's line sister says:  “I thought you knew him.”

Me: “Me?”

Her: “ Yes, he’s been trying to talk to you all night.”

Me: “What???”

Her: “Yeah, I thought you were ignoring him on purpose.”

Then it hits me.  Bitch you do know him.  You’ve had sex with him. 

For a moment that Tik Tok sound of “am….i….a…whore?” crossed my mind.  I literally forgot about him. 

This was actually a beautiful moment for me. 

When I moved back home, I confided in my best friend.  I told her that I think I lost my identity after attending TSU.  I lost my virginity sophomore year and ever since then, I think I’ve been chasing the virgin form of myself.  Trying to return to her.  The version of myself that had had sex was never worthy of a relationship.  Only worthy of sex and disregard.  I gave my entire self to former partners and for years I lived in envy of what could have been if I was the “chosen” one.  I let not being chosen diminish my value, compromise my morals and alter my self vision for years since sophomore year.  I never felt comfortable with my sexuality.  I never felt comfortable with the version of myself that wasn’t a virgin. 

And suddenly, I’m face to face with an old partner and I can’t remember him.  Someone apart of a collective that I diminished myself for and now I can’t even recognize him.  At that moment I decided to forgive myself. 

The past seven months have been hell for me, but I finally feel like I’m stepping into a new version of myself.  A lighter version.

At the end of August, I received a long awaited job offer to become a Public Defender in Nashville, TN.

September.

Buckle up.  Unfortunately or fortunately—depending on if you’ve enjoyed this much of the piece—all of the previous narrative was context for September.

September is the main premise of this blog, so let’s dive in.

September really takes off once I begin my job.  I truly love the Public Defenders’ Office.  This job has been such a blessing to me.  We are paid extremely higher than most public defenders throughout the county.  The office is incredibly woke.  We discuss racism, misogyny, the school to prison pipeline, corruption in the criminal justice system, you name it.  Nothing is controversial, everything is fact.  I feel like I’m talking to my best friend everyday that I’m a work.  I never dread going into work.  I’m actually excited.  All of my coworkers are so friendly and so intentional about making all the new hires feel welcomed and excited for us to be there.  All of my higher up bosses are women, and my big big boss is a Black woman who graduated from TSU and is an AKA. 

*Knocks on wood*, but my job is perfect.  I love it.  Its not monotonous.  I’m running around downtown Nashville.  Our office is right next to the Batman building.  I feel so 615 with this job.  I’m actually in the courtroom—which was always my dream.  I’ve gotten to see a jail pod for the first time ever.  We’re really on the ground working.  We’re really in the field.  I really get to investigate and litigate crimes going on in my city—my own backyard. 

I always dreamed of being a criminal defense attorney, and here I am.  In my field, and bar results haven’t even come out yet.  We’re really out here fighting against the State.  That is so bad ass to me and such a reflection of my personality. 

When we were assigned cubicles and offices, I had a specific vision for mine.  Even before being accepted into law school, I had doubts that I wouldn’t get in.  Once I was accepted, I had doubts that I wouldn’t graduate.  Once I graduated, I had doubts that I wouldn’t get a job.  Once I got this job, I had doubts that I would fail the bar again.  I’ve always battled with imposter syndrome.  That this shouldn’t be my life.  That this isn’t my blessing.  I can’t be a lawyer. 

So, to combat this mindset, I filled all four corners of my cubicle with degrees, awards and accolades to always remind me that I can do anything I put my mind to.  Every goal or ambition I’ve desired, I’ve went after it.  I’ve never left something unfinished.  That’s the energy I feel everyday when I step in my cube.  That’s the motivation to make it through each day and that’s the inspiration that will make me a phenomenal attorney within this office.  For the first time ever in life, I’m proud of what I do and truly do love the work I do daily.

That was business, let’s get to pleasure!

To reward the new found wealth that came with my new job, I decided to start dating again—or at least exploring my options.

I fired up my old Hinge account and accepted a date with a cop. 

Now, before we get to calling me all types of slurs—I had an ulterior motive.  Public Defenders interface with cops a lot.  If cops weren’t making arrests, I’d be out of a job.  So, what better way to perfect my craft than to get inside the mind of an opp. 

We go out on a date.  We get tipsy and we just talk.  Yap as the kids say.  In the midst of all this, I’m slipping.  He’s so easy to talk to.  Am I actually enjoying listening to him? He has the cutest little accent for certain words.  Being a cop, he knows what I’m talking about when I’m talking about work.  I’m the only lawyer in my family and friend group, so most of the time when I talk about work, I just get head nods, but no further dialogue.  He actually adds to the conversation.  I like him.  Do I like him?  No bitch, you don’t know him.  This is one conversation—get a grip.

I said we were tipsy right.  Most cases that first year Public Defenders handle are DUI cases.  We were taught to argue about the officer’s method of administering field sobriety tests.  Did the officer perform the correct test?  Did the officer accurately administer the test?

Though I’m a lawyer, I’m also a scientist.  I have a Bachelor of Science degree in Biology with a minor in Chemistry.  So, I’d like to experiment.  Remember I said we’re a bit tipsy.  I want him to give me a field sobriety test.  This way I can 1.) see if I would pass one and 2.) know how the test is administered. 

We’re in a parking lot, so there are lines on the pavement marking where cars should fit.  He tells me to take nine steps on the line.  Walk heel to toe and count out each step out loud.  When I get to nine steps, I have to make a full circle on the line and walk back doing the same sequence.  I’m about three steps into the exercise and I start stumbling off the line.  Am I drunk?  I haven’t even had that much to drink tonight!

I can’t get the line down.  The Capricorn in me is pissed, because there’s no way I just failed this test.  He’s laughing, mocking me and saying “let’s move on to the next test.”

I’m pissed, so I’m like “no, I’ve already failed, why would I continue, just take me to jail.”  Then he goes on about how he needs more tests to establish “probable cause” and I know he’s right, because I would argue against any officer who only performed one test in court, so I reluctantly oblige. 

The next test.  He tells me to follow the tip of his finger with only my eyes.  I can’t move my head.  He starts moving his finger like he’s an orchestra director.  Am I drunk or is he moving his finger this fast on purpose???? He finally stops moving his finger—thank God.  Despite the rapid eye movement I just did, I feel like I had to pass that one.  So, I ask: “Did I pass?”  He says: “I can tell you’re lit.”  I scream out “How??”  He said: “I’m watching for your pupils when you move your eyes.  If you’re pupils bounce when you look out of the corner of your eye, we can tell you’re drunk.” 

He taught me something.  I’m impressed.  I’m silly putty at this point.  We probably talk in my car for another hour like high school kids.  Then we make out—also like high school kids. 

I drive home.  I call my best friend.  She yells at me for messing with a cop and I pull in my driveway. 

Suddenly something feels different.  I feel turned on.  I feel horny.  Not from just a kiss.  But yes, from just a kiss.  This is also another beautiful moment. 

When you spend years discussing your rape publicly, the thought of how other men will view you does cross your mind.  You wonder if you’ll ever enjoy sex again?  Will you still be desired by men?  Also, while being on antidepressants, you begin to wonder if you’ll ever have a sex drive again?  I had been celibate since February, with no real desire to have sex ever again.  That’s dramatic—but that’s how I felt.  I was president of the “I hate men” club.  Most men nowadays annoyed me. I hadn’t been horny in months, and still resonating with the traumas of old partners and losing my virginity, I didn’t feel satisfied with sex.  I felt used during sex, but suddenly in this moment, I felt giddy.

I felt virginal.  Like a virgin.  Touched for the very first time—literally.  I had a small crush.  I enjoyed the kiss, and he turned me on. 

Someone call Issa Rae, because my pussy wasn’t broken.  For the first time since 2017, I felt passion and pleasure.

Things did not progress with the cop, but that passion and pleasure I hadn’t felt since 2017, the young man who used to deliver such matched with on Hinge.

I told yall, it’s a rebirth.  I’m going through old cycles.  Another partner from 2017 is just magically popping up again. 

Little did I know, more old partners were on the way.  This has to be karmic. 

Last Friday, I went to a party called “The Last Friday.”  I don’t have great things to say, but I do have a story to tell. 

At “The Last Friday”, I was on the dance floor sipping my mojito with my friends.  All of a sudden a young man walks up to me.  He’s talking like he knows me.  He waves to his friend, his friend waves to me.  In my mind I’m thinking “how do I know yall?”  I’m not playing.  I genuinely did not know who I was talking to.  They’re telling me “Congratulations”, I’m thinking “okay, I do have a few things to be congratulated about, but where do I know yall???”

I’m hugging the young man and saying its so good to see him.  I’m trying to be overly friendly to not give off that I have no idea who I’m talking to.  We carry on light banter.  It’s a good conversation.  Like two old friends chopping it up.  At this point in my head, I’m thinking “maybe he was my lab partner in college and his name is just escaping me.”

Eventually we go our separate ways and BOOM it hits me.  Bitch you know him!

If you’ve been reading Your Curlfriend for a while now, you may remember the first blog that truly took off.  This blog was viral at TSU, Fisk and MTSU.  Once upon a time, people used to come up to me and talk about this specific blog.  The piece was titled: “Let’s Talk About Sex Baby.”

The premise of the blog is this.  I was a naïve sophomore.  I used to exchange spit with a Que from Fisk.  I was still a virgin so through a friend I learned that this Que would have another girl come fuck him when I would leave his dorm room after not fucking him.  The sophomore me snapped.  I felt played, humiliated, and I hated that Que ever since then.  I wrote “Let’s Talk About Sex Baby” to reclaim my narrative, time and dignity.

That piece is really what I consider to be the birth of Your Curlfriend and it shaped every piece put out since then. 

Now that you have that information, can you take a wild guess who I was talking to?

The young man who basically is the catalyst of this entire platform.  The young man who broke my heart and humiliated me.  The young man who I have thought that I hated for all these years, is the same young man who came up to me yapping and congratulating me at a party.  And with no hate in my heart, I had a full blown conversation with him out of nothing but love, genuineness and a bit of confusion. 

Since being back home, I truly do feel reborn.  I feel more connected to self than I ever have been.  I’m experiencing many things differently for overall positive outcomes.  I feel seen.  I feel heard.  I feel new, like a virgin.