Tuesday, November 21, 2017
Caught In The Act
By Darryl James (Columnist)
Published September 17, 2009

Caught In The Act


When teenagers discover sex, the entire world can change and change rapidly.

Such was the case for myself and my high school love, Gina.

Once we began going steady, we began to live and breathe each other.

We did everything possible together-lunch, studying, and after school activities–all of which made us closer.

When Gina and I began to get closer, we would spend endless hours grinding and pressing our bodies together, kissing and touching and fondling and being in love. She gave me limitations–I couldn’t touch her down there, and I could only rub her breasts–but I was happy with whatever she gave me, and it was enough to keep me interested.

But I wanted sex.

I even believed that I needed sex. But I knew that I needed Gina’s presence and her hugs and kisses even more. I knew that more than anything I needed to have this woman love me and need me and think that I was the most important thing in the world.

She was the most important thing in my world.

It seemed to me that we were the whole world and that Gina was the other half of my life.

I thought my life would end one evening when Gina’s mother walked in the room while we were in a prone position on the couch. We were holding each other and fell asleep in each other’s arms.

I’m sure it looked like a lot more than that.

“What the hell is going on here?”

Her mother was questioning Gina in the same room my body was in. My mind had left and gone into a safe place that would keep me out of harm’s way. I watched from a distance as her mother spewed out a string of words that I think were sentences when Gina turned to me in a quiet voice and simply said: “You’d better leave.”

No one had to tell me twice. My mind and body merged and the united force slipped out of the house like the wind.

Gina did all she could do to convince her mother that there was nothing goingon, but nothing would convince the unmovable.

“Mommy, I wasn’t doing anything,” Gina insisted.

“I’m not foolish, young lady. I know what I saw.”

“All you saw was him laying on top of me.”

“Isn’t that what people do when they have sex?”

“But we had our clothes on.”

“Only because I walked into the room in time.”

Gina gave up trying to argue with her mother, who was convinced that Gina would start having sex and end up pregnant like her cousin, who was two years younger.

“Once you walk in the water, ” her mother counseled, “you’ll learn how to swim.”

But there was to be no swimming anytime soon, especially since I could no longer visit the pond.

Gina’s mother banished me from her home for what seemed like an eternity, and even though I was deathly afraid of her, I desperately wanted to face her and explain that Gina and I would save sex for marriage, and that we loved each other. But I knew that the best thing to do was stay out of her way because she hated me long before the current incident.

But I didn’t care because I loved Gina.

More than loving Gina, I had a friend in her.

A friendship that grew and blossomed into love–the kind of love that serves as the foundation for a lifetime of togetherness. We didn’t know what we were doing, but we were creating our relationship the right way, becoming friends before becoming lovers.

Gina and I confessed our love to each other in the winter and celebrated that new love as though each day was spring. My world, my entire existence was now based on Gina’s movements. I knew that the seasons were changing by the clothes she wore. I knew the time of day by the shadow of the sun on her chocolate face. I knew that it was a humid day when her pressed and unpermed hair would fall into her face, giving her that messy, yet cute look.

And I knew that one day we would live a life filled with love because we were doing what we both knew was the right thing for the two of us-the right people.

That moment changed Gina.

In one way, she was resolved never to be placed in a position where her mother could lose respect for her. So, even when I was once again allowed in the house, she would kiss me quickly when it was time to go and never allow me to linger.

But it also changed the way she viewed her decision to wait until marriage for sex.

Largely, it had been her mother’s teachings that made Gina feel waiting was a good idea.

And it had been our own love and trust that made me follow Gina’s desires.

We finished high school and moved on to college, still trying to hold on to a childhood love in the midst of oncoming adulthood.

Gina had some new advisors in the friends she made in college and their counsel moved her to decide with no fanfare, no discussion and no announcement that sex would now commence.

Things were never the same for either of us after sex began. There were too many other things in the mix tearing us apart. The added strain of resentment on both sides really left us swinging in the wind.

Gina was left feeling unappreciated for delivering a special part of herself to the man she loved.

I was left feeling resentment that I had been completely left out of a decision that had been made which affected me. Gina had changed to me, and since I did not know why she changed, I didn’t know what else had changed.

We both began to change even more.

Where she could have searched her own soul for her deep desire, she chose to listen to others who were neither mother nor family.

And where she could have had a discussion with me and so made a life changing decision with the man she loved, she made a plan in darkness that did not properly come to light.

In the end, we were both caught in the act-of sex for the wrong reasons, of ending love and of leaving.

Different set of circumstances, different time and different place, but the same feelings of being caught in the act.


Darryl James is an award-winning author of the powerful new anthology “Notes From The Edge.” Now, listen to Darryl live on BlogTalkRadio.com/DarrylJames every Monday from 7-9pm, PST. View previous installments of this column at www.bridgecolumn.proboards36.com. Reach James at djames@theblackgendergap.com.



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