I don’t know if I will ever share a story quite as bizarre as this, so take advantage of it while you can.
This weekend, I went to see a childhood friend of mine to catch up on his life and to meet his (to me) new family.Â After we exchanged some hugs, courtesies and light chit-chat, my friend told me that he wanted me to check out a manuscript that his friend, my first real kiss, had authored.
I could write my own bookÂ on the long-distance crush that lasted between me and “the author” for almost ten years, but I will just leave it at this: I’m glad that there are men in my past that I once liked thatÂ I can still be healthy friends with because there are no illicit sex strings attached.
Or, at least so I thought.
I always knew that “the author” was a great writer.Â As a matter of fact, that is one of the ties that kept us bound for so many years.Â When it came to his book-in-the-making, aside from TONS of cuss words,Â he didn’t disappoint.Â As he went into his fictionalized non-fictional account of his life and his church experiences, I found myself engaged in his somewhat twisted but highly entertaining perspectives.
However, right when I was getting comfortable, a character was introduced into the story: LaChelle, but he called her “Chelle” (pronounced SHELLIE) for short.
At first, I was flattered.Â Here is the guy who I kissed in front of an elevator at 12 fantasizing about being my husband at 33.Â But then, as I continued to read on, I found myself firstÂ being shocked, thenÂ uncomfortable, then embarrassed, then irritated, and then disgusted.
This is a ministry site and so I won’t get graphic, but let’s just say that I’m glad that we don’t have any “illicit history” because he might have found a lawsuit on his hands.Â It seemed that every other page included some account of sexual activity; not PG-13, but XXX (not Church)-rated.
I’m sure some of you are wondering why I was trippin’ being that he had never been with me.Â Initially, I said the same thing, too.Â So what I have “pecan-colored skin” and a body frame just like Chelle does?Â All of that other stuff wasn’t real, right?
But as I took some time to really dig deep, I discovered that as I’ve gotten healthier about my views on sexuality, what I didn’t like was that I felt that he was uncovering something very private; something that was never meant for the eyes and thoughts of just anyone.
That got me to thinking about all of the erotica I was obsessed with in the past.Â Just like Chelle, I’m sure most of that stuff was made up, but it still “pulled back the covers” on an act (or series of acts) that is supposed to be viewed as special and in many ways, because God made it, even sacred.Â I should never be led to think about what someone looks like naked or what they do when they are that way unless they are my husband…and I don’t have one of those yet (keep prayin’).
Chelle’s fictionalized, but in so many ways, she is a lot like me—the real thing.Â We are both women.Â We both have the same body parts.Â We both are sexually healthy, which means that in many ways, we have similar needs and desires.Â And because of this, I think whether fiction or not, our personal life should be handled with care so that the similarities (and explorations of such) can be protected.Â I have no desire for any man to feel like he knows me after encountering a “Chelle” in a book just because she’s a woman…like me.
Oh trust me, a couple of years ago, I wouldn’t have thought it to be even remotelyÂ this deep; not by a long shot.Â But that’s how I know that I am getting better and my porn addiction is subsiding.Â What I used to find as “harmless entertainment” or at the very least “a great substitute for not fornicating”, I’m now seeing can be just as potentiallyÂ destructive and humiliating because a disrespect for sex, whether in the flesh, on film or in print, is bad no matter how you cut it.
So, I guess that’s the upside to the whole “Did he really call her ‘Chelle’?!?” experience.Â At least I’m finally at a place where erotica isn’t all that sexy anymore.
It’s just way too much information.Â Without or without my name in it.