Unsplash Credit: Christian wiediger

My Confession Based on A Text Message

You just said that, right? I text back.

A long pause ensued, as I wait for him to answer.

Right? I text again urging him to respond.

Hmm, that’s correct, he responded.

You don’t have to confirm or deny anything, he hastily continued.

So, why are you asking if you’re neither here nor there? I questioned him.

Just curious I guess, he texts me back, the tone of his response sounded nonchalant.

You see, he had always suspected that I was a lesbian.

I stopped in the middle of a text to him and dialed his number and asked “Do you want us to talk?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Tell me.”

“Yes,” I confirmed.

“Did I hear you right?” he calmly stated.


As I recounted to him how I got this way, flashbacks crossed my mind. I didn’t know whether I wanted him to stop me at this point. I needed no validation. It’s my life, my body, and my choice. Because people should be able to love who they wish, without fear of prejudice or discrimination. But, I wanted him to confirm his suspicions. The truth will set both of us free.

While I continued talking I close my eyes and let my mind drift to the day when it happened.

In my sixth year at Western Regional hospital, Polly Moodie was a young nurse, three years younger than myself. Who worked with me on the oncology unit, had developed a friendship with me.

We would be sharing a hotel room together while at the annual nurse’s convention. After unloading bags and our suitcases, we headed to our assigned rooms. It was easy to share accommodation with her, based on our work relationship. She always let on that she was a virgin and innocent when it come on to the birds and the bees.

After the first day, we got to rapt on varying topics including sex. I found out how naive she was about sex, but open to the idea of experimenting with sex. She knew how I felt about it and I couldn’t stop or hide my bias on it.

Her cafe latte sat on the table sill untouched because she was ogling me. I finished drinking my Pina colada.

I kept fit and looked after myself, but unlike me who had a modest amount of cleavage and hips. Compared to Polly. She had a body that was hot, sexy, erotic and invited you to explore it.

I must say that I was never physically attracted to women. Well before I met Polly.

I loved how she was consumed with me. But my senses too were heightened to the point where I was feeling the rush of lust creeping under my skin.

Passion was missing in my young marriage, there were days when I felt like my marriage was just a facade to collect all the benefits our collective companies had to offer when one had a spouse. Lack of passion and money was only a part of the price I had to pay for my misery. The other part was alcohol. Usually, his intoxication was for the most part a battle in the matrimonial home between us, frequent arguments, slaps, and occasional bruises that I cleverly hid from the prying public, and this happens most days.

I was raised in a Protestant home and brainwashed to believe that my spiritual values were more important than my personal desires. And I certainly didn’t need to sell my soul to get even with my husband for calling me a bitch or anything else he could muster up in his alcohol comatose brain.

Despite the deceptions and selfishness displayed against each other, a part of me just needed to escape.

And I guess it’s true lonely needs company.

Without a word, she kissed me deeply. There was no hint of the innocent girl in that kiss. But I wasn’t going to be confrontational. Who could quarrel with that? I can’t.

She was just a little misguided.

“I hope you understand that there are no attachments.” I pointed it out

This was met with silence

“Are we clear?” I pressed her.

“Yes,” she smiled at my confusion.

But I was lying to myself, by constantly reminding myself of my motives for not wanting to do this. I knew only that my brainwashed mind told me it was wrong. This was an unforgivable sin, pure and simple.

Moral norms are dictated to us by society. But, if love is a choice why should such importance of hell’s damnation be placed on the gender of our choice? Why should anyone give a damn about who we love and lusts after?

Replaying the events of that night in my mind.

She looked into my big brown eyes. “You decide what we do. I’m good to go, or not do.”

“I can’t decide.”

“Then I will decide for us.”

Apprehension, I nervously forced a smile.

In her mixed emotions of excitement and tenacity, she gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. Heart racing, I was ill at ease. I was sure this whole encounter had been a big mistake. Polly put her warm hands on my shoulders and brought me closer. She then kissed my lips. This broke my awkwardness. “No one’s supposed to regret anything,” Polly said as she met my searching eyes.

Polly took advantage of my relaxed body. Her lips touched mine, my mouth opened wide and her tongue emerged, prodding, tickling. The fear faded.

We had our own beds.

“But, one is going to be unused tonight,” she said.

These were strange words that fell on my ears. But, no longer worried about any fears or taboos I surrendered.

I was free. Free to love. Relief.

I watched her as she slept. Her breaths were long and even, she looked peaceful. She smelled like a unique blend of lavender body wash, sweat, and my favorite perfume black orchid. I smiled proudly.

At last, I felt that I belonged.

People have prioritized the need to stay in other people’s businesses. Or that they’re either apathetic or unaware that the perceived hardships which lament me in my marriage are all self-imposed, and my priorities are so out of place that I traded my relationship for a perverse kind of coping mechanism and my happiness for temporary relief from insanity.

Still, I’m lucky, always has been. I have a lover who loves me unconditionally. And a dear friend who chose not to be judgmental. To him, his decision is not based on any biases for persecution or creating the conditions for which he could accept me and my choice.

When or how did alternative lifestyles become forbidden? And please don’t tell me that it was written in the scrolls, the manual on archaic punishment like stone-throwing and brimstones and fire for society to conform to religious ideology.

I have no remorse. Neither regrets, because I never loved in vain. Polly was my first time in the forbidden zone. And I haven’t looked back since.

I smiled at the memory of us. And the premise that confession and asking for forgiveness is good for the soul and the sacred ideas of bringing salvation if that ever become my need.

Sumaya Ali [Veronica Thompson-Smith]

Nurse. Volunteer. Writer. Publish my works. Chocolate addict vernaann2@gmail.com Follow me@Twitter-valiqa_ali. Facebook@Sumaya Ali.Instagram.com/vernaannswine