The morning walk of shame
The walk of shame is undoubtedly every young woman’s worst nightmare. You decide to go out one night and happen to run into some man you like and you go home with him.
The next day you have to walk home early in the morning in a skimpy outfit and smudged makeup while people throw judging looks at you. It is nerve-wracking I tell you! I remember my first walk of shame vividly.
I was 21 years old. It was an uneventful Sunday night and I was curled up on my couch with a book and a glass of whine when I got a text from one of my friends.
The text said that she and two other friends had decided to hit the clubs and they wanted me to join them. I hadn’t been out clubbing in a while, so I immediately ditched my book and ran into my bedroom to dress up for the night.
I settled on a little spandex micro-mini dress I had bought a few months earlier and a new pair of seven inch ankle strap stiletto heels.
I finished the look with a full face of makeup and my very long tousled lace front wig and I was ready to paint the town red. My friends came to pick me up and off we went.
While at the club, I ran into an old flame. He was looking hotter than ever and as we started talking I realised that there was still a lot of chemistry between us.
We flirted and teased each other for the better part of the night and when it was time to leave he asked me if I wanted to spend the night at his place.
A part of me had been hoping he would ask so I readily agreed. He didn’t disappoint. We enjoyed a night of wild, passionate intimacy!
The next morning he woke me up at six. He told me he had to leave to make it to work by seven.
He didn’t have a car and we were both struggling college students so neither of us was willing to splurge on a taxi.
That meant I had to walk ten minutes to the matatu stop and about another five minutes from where I would be dropped off to my house.
Those were the longest fifteen minutes of my life! First of all I had discovered too late that my new pair of strappy heels were unspeakably uncomfortable.
Secondly, my dress was too tight and short and it kept riding up my hips as I hobbled up the road so I had to stop and adjust it after every two steps.
To make matters worse it was a Monday morning, so I was running into decently dressed people on their way to work. I will never forget those stares of silent judgment! I wanted to die!
As I got older I realised that there should be nothing shameful about the walk of shame. Who even named it the walk of shame anyway?
We should rename it to something more appropriate like the ‘stride of pride’ or the ‘trek of triumph’. Unlike most people in this society of prudes, I don’t have any hangs up about my sexuality.
I am young woman who enjoys intimacy and that is nothing to be ashamed of.
Good intimacy is hard to come by these days so having a successful night of fun and hot intimacy is cause for celebration, not embarrassment or shame. So, ladies, enjoy your stride of pride! Nobody forced you, so why the shame?
A copied text: Phxbrowser
The walk of shame is undoubtedly every young woman’s worst nightmare. You decide to go out one night and happen to run into some man you like and you go home with him.
The next day you have to walk home early in the morning in a skimpy outfit and smudged makeup while people throw judging looks at you. It is nerve-wracking I tell you! I remember my first walk of shame vividly.
I was 21 years old. It was an uneventful Sunday night and I was curled up on my couch with a book and a glass of whine when I got a text from one of my friends.
The text said that she and two other friends had decided to hit the clubs and they wanted me to join them. I hadn’t been out clubbing in a while, so I immediately ditched my book and ran into my bedroom to dress up for the night.
I settled on a little spandex micro-mini dress I had bought a few months earlier and a new pair of seven inch ankle strap stiletto heels.
I finished the look with a full face of makeup and my very long tousled lace front wig and I was ready to paint the town red. My friends came to pick me up and off we went.
While at the club, I ran into an old flame. He was looking hotter than ever and as we started talking I realised that there was still a lot of chemistry between us.
We flirted and teased each other for the better part of the night and when it was time to leave he asked me if I wanted to spend the night at his place.
A part of me had been hoping he would ask so I readily agreed. He didn’t disappoint. We enjoyed a night of wild, passionate intimacy!
The next morning he woke me up at six. He told me he had to leave to make it to work by seven.
He didn’t have a car and we were both struggling college students so neither of us was willing to splurge on a taxi.
That meant I had to walk ten minutes to the matatu stop and about another five minutes from where I would be dropped off to my house.
Those were the longest fifteen minutes of my life! First of all I had discovered too late that my new pair of strappy heels were unspeakably uncomfortable.
Secondly, my dress was too tight and short and it kept riding up my hips as I hobbled up the road so I had to stop and adjust it after every two steps.
To make matters worse it was a Monday morning, so I was running into decently dressed people on their way to work. I will never forget those stares of silent judgment! I wanted to die!
As I got older I realised that there should be nothing shameful about the walk of shame. Who even named it the walk of shame anyway?
We should rename it to something more appropriate like the ‘stride of pride’ or the ‘trek of triumph’. Unlike most people in this society of prudes, I don’t have any hangs up about my sexuality.
I am young woman who enjoys intimacy and that is nothing to be ashamed of.
Good intimacy is hard to come by these days so having a successful night of fun and hot intimacy is cause for celebration, not embarrassment or shame. So, ladies, enjoy your stride of pride! Nobody forced you, so why the shame?
A copied text: Phxbrowser
