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Vanessa Shera

Nessa Shera is one lady who discusses her adventures, interests, and thoughts as she learns something new after every escapade, while occasionally enjoying a cup of coffee.
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My asshole was a crush that would creep in and out of my life for the longest time. Despite having separate commitments, there was always a mutual feeling of attraction. My mind would at times drift; playing and replay various fantasies; his chocolate meshing with my caramel. However, in real life, I kept him at arm’s length. I revelled in the chase; later on, he told me he did too… probably more than the actual catch.

As he said this to me, he communicated a lot more that emotionally devoured me in minutes. It was the last time I heard from him. Through phone call on a warm night, made even warmer as I laid underneath my duvet. Tears fell on my pillow as he gave me his two cents; how he would rather be with anyone else, and how incredibly gorgeous his ex-girlfriend was…that’s the exact word he used, ‘gorgeous’.

From the moment I started seeing him, I always felt that there was some sort of implied competition between his ex and I. I sent her a friend request on Facebook and followed her on Instagram. I would stalk her, compare notes, she had a toner body, but I had prettier eyes and fairer skin. I concluded that physically, I took the cake. Despite that, my insecurities remained. “If she came back into my life, I wouldn’t bother with you”, he admitted. More than anything else he said, that hurt me the most. My fears were confirmed, my insecurities flooded in at that moment, breaking down the already unstable walls of my confidence. “She’s even saved nowadays, probably went back to being a virgin”. Then why don’t you go fuck your perfect little virgin ex-girlfriend, I wanted to say. I didn’t dare though, fearing that the response would affect me more.

He told me it was just as well if he never heard from me again. How sad I had become because my ego had reduced during the time we were together. All the while, I thought that I had allowed my walls to fall so that he could get in, and yet all he wanted was the girl he met back.

I felt it was all so impractical. You get tired of being chased, of running or acting hard to get; you reach a point where you want to stop and settle. Once I did, I wanted to take pleasure in every inch of him.

I made love to him like light, like I was trying to fill his body with light. Fill his mouth, his belly, his eyelids, and his sex with light. Dance with it. Imagine that the bright, beautiful light was warming and filling his body to the brim. I revelled in the lustful gazes he gave me; in the way my body moved as I hovered over his naked self, as my wetness gushed onto him and spilt, staining the sheets.

He knew how much I craved him, so he limited himself to exert his power over me. We lived far from each other, so accessibility wasn’t always possible, with the only form of communication being our phones most of the time. Vigorous daily chats, turned into a weekly small talk, to eventually no conversation at times. I was insistent in maintaining communication, but he didn’t seem to reciprocate, claiming I was too clingy. Frustrated, I would delete our chat feed and go quiet, just to creep up later on to his account to find him online.

Perhaps he had other commitments, dealing with something…or someone. I chose to remain ignorant, never dwelling on the thought.

I found myself doing almost anything so I could have my moment with him. Giving away more of myself than I should have, emotionally, mentally, physically and even financially. I lent him money when he wasn’t doing well, helping out the best way I could, yet it was never enough. He was manipulative and selfish. I would move mountains for him whereas he wouldn’t so much as turn over a stone for me, and when I requested he treat me with the same charity, he’d accuse me of being too self-absorbed.

These thoughts kept running through my mind as he spilt his disheartening words through the safety of his phone, thoughts I wanted to speak out but couldn’t manage to communicate over my tears and aching chest. Even if I had spoken up, he’d have threatened to hang up to ensure that I wouldn’t defend myself; it wouldn’t have been the first time.

“So…now…can I finally go to sleep?” he finished as he heard me sobbing. I hang up.

I hope he slept well for both of us that night, as I stayed awake staring blankly at the ceiling in my dark room barely able to fight the inner struggles of self-worth and heartbreak.

As a last resort I took my phone and deleted his number, I wouldn’t be able to communicate with him if I wanted to. The saddest part is I still would, despite everything.

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