Comfort Zone:
By Comfort Mussa
Welcome to February, the month dubbed lovers month. Since everyone is talking about love this season, on Comfort Zone, we are not indifferent to the topic of the season. This week, let’s talk about love.
Ask any lady in Cameroon the question – What is the best gift a woman can give her husband on their wedding night?
The response you will likely hear is “Her virginity”. Yes! That’s what our mothers were taught. It’s what I learned.
While there is serious lack of relevant information about the sexuality of Cameroonian women, we have abundant information on how to prepare and present ourselves to our men. Our mothers, aunties, neighbours and even random passengers in shared taxis dish out information on how to please our men, from cooking a man’s favourite meal, taking a bath before he returns from work etc
This sex ed course teaches us the virtues of virginity but not the bliss of sex, what to expect and how to respond. Even when women have lost their virginity, they still approach their matrimonial bed fully prepared to be savoured, because they are taught that the man’s dinner is first course and their beautiful bodies, his dessert.
Of course there is joy in giving. But how prepared are we (women) to receive, what do we expect to receive? We asked our readers this question and solicited their stories about their first time as a married couple and what it was really like for them.
This week on Comfort Zone, I share with you a story originally published on www.sisterspeak237.com in our series dubbed Stories From The Honey Moon Suite. Stories in the series run the gamut from absolutely amazing to downright disappointing.
This one is a contribution from Precious.
The moment everyone had been waiting for came. The pastor, in an enthusiastic tone, announced: “Emm, Brother Fide, it is now time for you to kiss your wife…” My groom took a few steps towards me and planted a soft unsophisticated kiss on my lips. This was followed by a
mixture of applause and screams from the audience. I eagerly waited for the sensual work that had begun to be brought to completion.
For the remaining part of the wedding, I wondered what our first would be like. I was expectant and turned my little brain into a questionnaire. I couldn’t wait to escape the crowd and have time with my beau. As the day wrapped up and we got ready to drive off, my ‘god-mother’ held my hands and took me to the front of the car where no one will interrupt us. With a smile that spoke volumes she said, “Today, you are going to be with a man for your first time. Make sure you are sweet in bed.”
I drove away without a discourse on what, being “sweet in bed” meant.
We happily blessed our driver’s hand with a tip and walked into a three-star hotel on a silent street in Bamenda, Cameroon for a one-night honeymoon experience. The upscale interior decor was refreshing to the eyes. Various works of art garnished the walls around us. It was a pleasant sight.
The eyes of a brown-skinned receptionist at the welcome desk greeted us. As we negotiated for a room, I could only think of the three letter word that makes the world go round. The room didn’t fall short of my expectations. The red sheets on the bed spoke the language of love. It was a calm and convenient cubicle. It seemed like the perfect place for a romantic adventure.
After a quick shower, I put on my lingerie and hopped into bed, eagerly awaiting my trip to “lala land”. I knew Mr N.’s “little man” will experience a moment of inflation. I knew he will then insert it somewhere between my legs. I knew, as a pioneer, it will hurt a little but the pleasure will far surpass the pain. What I didn’t know is that I was in for a struggle.
Like the fishermen, who became Jesus’ friends, we tolled all night but caught nothing. As our time in the hotel expired, I begged the time to linger so we could try some more but as the cliche stipulates, “time waits for nobody.”
When some family members saw us the afternoon after, dressed in matching clothes, they started ululating. Little did they know that we had not consummated the marriage.
I was totally disappointed in myself. What was I missing? How could I really be ‘sweet’ in bed? We kept trying for the next one week with the same results. Then Mr. N had to leave for work. He worked as a Marine Electrical Engineer in Equatorial Guinea and was going to be away for two long months.
The level of disappointment in myself grew. It was a mixture of confusion, uncertainty and doubt. After examining my lady parts, I concluded that there was no way a thing that big was going to go through and stay there.
I also thought I had been bewitched by some ill-meaning family member.
Thoughts were running through my mind like waves in a torrent.
The over one week of trying to eat the fruit of marital goodness seemed like a wild-goose chase. The only results I had were soreness; I wondered why a thing that novels, movies and friends said was so good had turned out so gruesome. Those had been my ‘formal’ educators on sex. When I started menstruating, my mother warned me sternly, “If a boy touches you now, you will get pregnant.” That was about all she ever told me about sex. My father? He lived his life as though sex didn’t exist. As if that’s not how he produced me. He never went near that topic. Not even in a joke.
To be continued