I am officially a pariah. You would think it was a choice I made but no, there was no voting involved and none of the Museveni – Mbabazi drama with somebody vying for my pariah position. No polls were conducted to weigh how I felt about it. I was knighted a pariah. It crept up to me and became an extension to my already existing triple threat of a name, bonding and mutating like the T-Virus in Resident Evil.
It would seem that saying that you can never date a married man in the middle of an argument with your girlfriends can silence a room. Don’t look at me like that, if I had known I would never have let the words escape my mouth. But wait, scratch that…on second thought, I would have gladly screamed it out on top of the Clock Tower. My girls were looking at me like I had suddenly grown Cerberus’ three heads and spoken in Parseltongue. The attention seemed so good that I repeated it, and still the silence continued. Jemimah suddenly guffawed, called me a lunatic and that broke the silence. Suddenly I was awash with torrents of reasons why married men are awesome. Confounded I caught snippets of conversation that made me realise that I was a virgin, a total greenhorn to the changing trends of the ever revolving social existence. I was, as they say, a certified social outcast.
So what was it about married men that had females eating out of the palm of their hands? Was there a pheromone outbreak in married men that was spreading like the black plague and infecting every girl in sight? What is it that these pied pipers have that lets them have their cake and eat it too? Being a bit of a curious cat, I thought maybe getting a married boyfriend would get me the answers, but that had my moral compass spinning out of control so I gave up the idea. I got creative and decided that my friends would make excellent lab rats (I mean what friends are for if not for experimentation). Of course the lab rats (Oops, I mean friends) had to be fed and watered, so I made a get together out of it and got muchomo, 2 boxes of Namaqua and of course some black forest cake (God knows girls go nuts for cake) until they were ready to spill their guts.
In the glow of relaxed satisfaction I found myself in a lucid moment where I saw the world in a whole new light. With trading stories came the comprehension that the world did not exist just as I envisioned it. In my world married men are usually represented with older men graying, blackened teeth, distended stomachs that could house food to feed a small village and the smell of Old Spice. I had completely forgotten that they included the likes of the so handsome Brian Mulondo, Ben Mwine, Maurice Mugisha, Boris Kodjoe of this universe who were still young, debonair and exuded sex appeal and maturity like dark chocolate. I would probably lose my mind to them like all the other females.
The thing about wedded men at present is that they are strong, confident and are settled, all the things that the feminine specie is looking for. The guys we went to school with are viewed as hustlers and salesmen of pipe dreams, castles in the air and promises of green pastures when they can barely wipe their asses (Don’t curse!! Not my words). The allure in married men is like that phase where you dated a bad boy. You know it is wrong and won’t last but you find it irresistible that your inner goddess is released and your wild, darker alter ego can go on a rampage with no reservations and judgments if only for a few day pockets of time.
One friend (name withheld) narrated to me of the little bubble of happiness she lived in while dating an Adonis of a married man. Their romance begun with sharing a related social circle, spying each other across the room, his offer to buy a drink, her flash of a beautiful smile proceeding to giddy giggles, his whispered promises of an unforgettable night, her glazed lustful eyes, their drive to the nearest hotel, the trembling anticipation as he rushes to unlock the door, the fumbles to tear everything off and finally the culminating to an orgasm of defining magnitude. After that they were both hooked and were junkies that would do anything for the next fix. Her life revolved around shopping sprees (reason he tells the wife he is broke, and why can’t she pay anyway), the sneaking around sleeping in different hotels (reason he is away on so many business trips and workshops) that was just an aphrodisiac. She described it as being on a year long high, unnoticing of the time that flew by.
That lasted until it started to dawn on her that she was starting to fall for him and she was falling so far in that abyss she could not stop herself. And who could blame her? The remarkable sex, the pampering and all the excitement has a way of messing with your mind. It started to dawn on her that she wanted more than hotel rooms, stolen kisses and whispered phone conversations. She wanted the whole packages, but it hit her that he wasn’t, and could never be hers, at least not permanently. He was hers just for a few hours of a day, but never hers to hold, cuddle, confide and even go home to. The man already had a wife and children for that. So commenced the pleas for him to stay longer, clinging to him if only for a little while, the prohibited phone calls while he is home, questions of his whereabouts and all the while her insecurities started to show.
He was patient at first, understanding even, but all the while being firm and reminding her that they were just having an arrangement. In poor taste he let her go for misconduct and failure to adhere to proper mistress etiquette. No matter how much courage you muster up when getting a shot at the doctors, it doesn’t take the pain away, and neither did the preparation she made. The breakup ate at her self esteem, filling her with self loathing, regret, heart wrenching pain that would not go away no matter how many tequila shots she threw back. That was the price she paid.
The famous adage goes “It’s better to have loved than to not have loved at all”, but personally I think I would want to pass over on this particular torment. I have had the fortune, or misfortune, to know wives whose husbands have been unfaithful and the anguish and hurt that they felt and dispersed nearly floored my heart. Clinging to their love children, warm tears flowing like rivulets on their beautiful faces, these powerful beings who are career women, mothers, wives, sisters are bereft of any oomph to fight and live forever in doubt of how worthy they are in their own capacities. To be on the other side of the looking glass has lent me an empathy that gives me the courage to make a choice to have no part in causing this pain to another woman. As one guy’s mother said “If they are cheating on their current wife what makes your relationship so special?” This mother is so right and I know this because mothers are usually right.
In truth I have been tempted and given so many chances to date married men who want to offer me the world, but saying no and sticking to your word is where the true test lies. I never did like to share my men anyway. I am generous to a fault but when it comes to a guy am not budging on that. I am one of those girls who want to be your only one and would make you the sole guardian of her heart. I do not get this sharing thing, perhaps it makes sense to some people but I can’t make heads or tails of it.
Falling in love is a tricky business, and whom we fall in love with is sometimes beyond us, a game play between fate and destiny. But I would consider letting the taken ones go and finding somebody who is just all yours and a perfect safe haven.