I have never been one for older lovers, I appreciate the companionship two people close in age share. It’s a companionship deep in similarity of experience, language and struggles.
How do I talk to an old lover about Social media, or about the struggles of my dream to become a musician? Even the genre of music from their time and our time is changing extensively.
Somehow, with all these in mind, I met an older man and we were together on and off for over six years.
It was one of those days in college, I had a boring class. It seemed to always be about the same thing which I never really seemed to understand. I got dressed and was headed to my lecture room not really to learn but to mark the register as a student. I confess I did this a lot in college. It was mainly associated to the fact that most lecturers seemed uninspired.
As I walked out of my hostel, I ran into a close friend who is not that anymore. This was sometime in 2004, she was headed for a modelling audition. I accompanied her and on getting there saw quite a number of female models of all body types. I had always been a slender girl with an elastic body that made going down two sizes easy and I never did gain weight. And yet, somehow, as I was in the midst of girls who seemed to do beauty for a living, insecurity possessed me. My friend asked me to audition as well and in the heat of the moment I agreed to. I was jittery because I had never done this. That was my first and very last time.
As we stepped into the room in a group of about eight, I was the last in line so the first on the line up. They called us out, asked us questions, and called a few numbers to stay and the remaining to leave. I was part of those told to stay behind.
Two stages after, I qualified as part of the final fifteen. They took our measurements that day and were asked to come back for fittings. My friend wasn’t chosen.
So now you are wondering, how I met him right?
Well, the day of the fittings came. it was the morning of the event. The other models weren’t new at this. Someone had taken my outfit as theirs and there was no way to find out who. I was the foreigner. All of them seemed to have formed a bond of sisterhood from the many auditions they had attended together. So, as I walked amongst the piranhas trying to figure out who it was that took my outfit, I finally gave up and stopped looking. I stayed for a while and when the event ended, I was paid less than half of my agreed payment as token for showing up. Some of the models who took a liking to me told me to email the judges. He was one of them. I emailed the judge whose number we all had and he apologized sending me the remaining part of my payment, but that wasn’t him.
He was smitten by me and had gotten my number from our profile information. A week after the event, I was in class for a lecture when I got a call from him. He introduced himself as Chris and that’s how it all started.
Chris visited me in school a couple of times, we sat, talked and got to know one another the best way we could. A while after that, I went to see him someday at a guest house.
I had been talking to him off and on and had gotten to know that he was a politician in Ghana, a special adviser. He had kids but wasn’t married. At that point, I was a girl who was just learning a lot about life. I was a virgin when I met him at the auditions, and till about two weeks prior to when I went to visit him.
He sent an assistant to come get me and pay for my cab. I really thought it would be a restaurant or a lounge when he had told me he had people around, but as I walked the long corridor of the hotel that led to the room he was in, I started to realize what this was. I wasn’t very familiar with the area and I didn’t know how to go back, so I braced myself and walked in. His assistant gave him his change and left. I don’t think we said more than two or three sentences before he found his way on top of me. With tears running down my eyes, he fucked me.
Like I said, I had just started having sex about two weeks prior, so it still hurt, I felt no pleasure from sexual intercourse and I think somehow I couldn’t say anything because I blamed myself for going in the first place.
In college everyone was having sex but me, I was the last of all my close friends to do it, and I had met so many amazing people willing to do so much for me that I ran from because sex wasn’t an option.
So this was sort of an emancipation, and the beginning of my body count. We met a lot of times after that. I would cut him off when I was seeing someone or when I met someone who I liked but I was always back there when they weren’t what I thought.
He wanted so much from me, like marriage, kids and submission. I wasn’t ready to give anyone that, especially not a man older than me with over 30 years.
The more years went by, the closer we got. We travelled together twice and fought a lot on both trips, I wasn’t there to be his sex mate and I made sure he knew that. He always pressured me and claimed to love me. He was also in awe of my wisdom and how intelligently I advised him about certain things at my age.
In the first few years, I would always spot after sex. Sometimes I cried and other times I told myself that’s how girls feel. Sometime during those seven years, I dated a guy with whom the sex was better, more affectionate, and our conversations were the kind I liked.
Chris was always a means to an end for me. He filled in when I was lonely and I constantly asked myself if I was with him because I had daddy issues. Truthfully though, I grew to like Chris. He was miserly and childish, but I liked him. Or how do you explain all the back and forth, leaving and returning?
We started seeing each other again, and I got a job. Chris couldn’t handle it. He feared my independence. He didn’t want me to have enough to stand on my two feet. He wanted me to always need him. As the job made me more independent, I began to see and experience less of him.
I wanted to make an investment and had 80% of the required funds. I needed 20% and thought Chris would be able to help me with it, after all I had never asked him for anything. But he refused to give or even lend me those funds. He refused to support me in the first real request I made of him. Seven years and this man who had asked me to have a baby by him and marry him so many times before wouldn’t come through for me.
This was yet another man who wanted my essence, wanted my body, wanted a home in me but wasn’t going to meet me halfway, nor equip me with what I may need in fear that I would fall for or end up with another man—like that was such a bad idea.