Interviews of My Sex Life: Kathryn Part1

KATHRYN
We stayed in a three-story townhouse in a neighborhood called Carriage Mill. When you came in the front door, you were immediately greeted by two staircases, one leading down to a restroom, the laundry room, my office and the garage, and the other leading up to the dining room, restroom, living room, kitchen, den and patio. But at the top of those stairs, another set of stairs awaited, leading to the three bedrooms and two baths. It was a small, quaint home that I’d grown accustomed to, but I was used to better.
I washed my vibrator off, washed my hands, and went downstairs to my office to attempt to do some work. Married life sucked. If I had known I’d be using a vibrator three times a day, I would have stayed single. It was October and I hadn’t had sex since June, not ‘cause he won’t give it to me, but because he was so eager to. Confusing? I know; let me explain. After marriage, sex is not just sex to me. It should be used to express love from a male to a female. So my husband came home every night and expected sex, but he did nothing to get it. He didn’t cuddle first or do foreplay. He just hopped into bed, stared at the wall for a bit, and then asked, “You horny?”
Please! I know B.O.B., my Battery Operated Boyfriend, doesn’t fondle me either, but I expect B.O.B. not to do it. I didn’t expect my human husband to not do it. And I actually felt that if I withdrew sex from him, he would get the hint. Please! He tried every night as if the message wasn’t delivered and then just went to sleep like nothing happened! Our marriage was not perfect; in fact, it stinks! He says it’s because I’m worrisome and I treat him like a child and don’t give him sex. Excuse me? Our marriage shouldn’t be built on sex anyway, and how am I worrisome? I think he’s annoying too, but of course, what do I know?
My Latino husband worked as a barber, so he was gone from the time he woke up in the morning ‘til seven at night – eight or nine on the weekends. He preached on Sunday, so he was home by two thirty, but he was so exhausted he’d sleep ‘til three in the morning. Then he went downstairs and watched a movie, usually Transformers – on surround sound. And I was worrisome? Hmm! But he was the breadwinner, so I tried to keep my complaining to a minimum. I was trying to start a business from home, but I didn’t bring in as much money as I would have liked to. My kids were all doing their own thing, so at times this house was as loud as a graveyard.
Perfect example: it was Saturday. José was busy at work and I didn’t exactly have friends like that. Jen was with Fish and I was in the house staring blankly at my computer screen. I called José, but it went straight to voicemail. His phone never stayed charged. I called Fish, but there was no answer. Knowing she and my daughter were together, I called Jen, but no answer there either. They must have been having fun shopping. I knew they had to be because I loved hanging out with Fish back in college. Even when she was a freshman, she was always the life of the party. And she was an alcoholic. She didn’t believe it then and still didn’t believe it now. She didn’t have to have a drink, but she never knew when to stop. I’ll never forget the first time I met her.
I stayed off campus and I was driving back to the campus to visit a friend. As I drove past my old dorm, there was a thin black girl sitting in a lawn chair in front of the building, fanning herself and drinking out of a wine glass. She was completely naked in thirty degree weather at one a.m. I pulled up, took a picture, and was about to back out when something told me to talk to her. I put the car in park, got out, and walked up to her.
“Hey.”
“Hey, Sarah.”
“I’m sorry, I’m not Sarah. My name is Kathryn.”
She looked at me with glassy eyes and took a sip from her glass. “Hmm, you look like a Sarah.”
“Nobody’s ever told me that before.”
She took a sip. “Well, I don’t know any other white name. You like the name Matilda?”
“No, Kathryn is fine.”
She knocked back the last of the contents of her glass, took out a vodka bottle, filled the glass a little over halfway, and poured just enough cranberry juice in the glass to turn the clear liquid red.
“It’s thirty degrees out. Why are you out here naked?”
She looked at me as if I was crazy. “Sweetie, it is scorching hot out here. Way too hot for clothes.” She took another sip.
“How about we go inside and put some clothes on?”
“Lady, I don’t know you! And I know what happens when white people take black people away!” She stood up and gulped down the beverage. “Now you looka here, you white beast. You think you are better than me, but…”
I couldn’t understand anything else because her speech was slurred with booze. She was three feet away from me and she had the air reeking of alcohol.
“And another thing – I will whoop yo’ white ass!” She bent down, picked up a Hennessey bottle, and began to chug.
“Maybe you should slow down.” I put my hand on her arm and she removed the bottle from her lips and looked at my hand as if it were a spider.
“Bitch!