WMYHUSWAH

Hino. A last name so common it doesn’t register much thought to many people. To me, that last name was my world for five months. Compared to a lifetime, five months may be absolutely nothing, but six years later and here we are writing an essay about it. WMYHUSWAH (What Made You Have Unprotected Sex With A Hino)? The question was originally presented as a lighthearted joke to ease the tension of some horrible past mistakes. It is now a staple to the Goo Goo Dolls song, “Iris.” At first, my chest filled with laughter, but I never thought of an actual answer in a respectful manner. Why did I do it? Let’s travel back to the 2018 Rachel mindset. This man, dare I say his name, my dearest Jonah, was my dark knight wrapped in a cape ready to save the day. My dearest Jonah was a passionate man who expressed interest in the hobbies I really cared about, was a great performer in bed, and foolishly discussed having a future with me.

There’s a first for everything, right? Was I filled with adrenaline or anxiety when he let me play Rascal Flatts during one of our love making sessions? I guess a mentally ill person may never know the difference. Reed, another name that hits heavy like you’ve been whacked with a bag full of bricks, she would never even let me mention anything Rascal Flatts related. But this man understood my passion for music. He liked seeing my smile light up more than my eyes. It drew me closer to him. He cared about my likes and dislikes. I had to have him. I’ve never been one to be tech savvy, but that’s what made us an okay couple. He was the guy to be in control of all that stuff. On December 30, 2017 we laid in my bed. My dearest Jonah had a device to create a projection from his phone. He sang to me. The lyrics from Disney’s Frozen never warmed my heart so much until that moment. Maybe it was accurate that an act of true love can thaw a frozen heart.

Now, if you were in the band, you’ve probably heard the stories of who’s dick was the biggest and unfortunately those who fell out of people. Francis, the name drops only get worse I guess, had warned me I was going to need lube to be able to withstand the pressure of my dearest Jonah’s massive cock. A group of us went to the local pharmacy to help me stock up on the essentials for our intercourse play dates. I never once touched that lube. He fit ever so perfectly in my vagina. We were simply meant to be. He knew his way around the female body, maybe even more so than I. I paraded around school with my philosophy of no oral or no anal sexual relations. But there was a force that came over my dearest Jonah to just spread my legs and dig in. I hate surprises, but that was the best astonishing performance during our short lived relationship that I ever experienced. Let’s not forget when the man placed me on top of his groin to initiate the birds and the bees deed. I peaked with an orgasm before he could even utter his favorite words, “Cum for me baby girl. Cum for me.” Who wouldn’t want a man who has invested in his partner’s ability to feel immense pleasure?

Guilty pleasures only give you a high for so long. And then what? I had nothing to live for. I wasn’t even trying to live for him. That was until he spoke of wanting a family and moving back to his hometown in Mississippi. Jack would be our little boy’s name. It’s only fitting because it certainly was a nightmare before the chaos covered our lives like a heavy snowfall. Suicidal ideations ran havoc through my veins. What was meant to only destroy myself, demolished the worlds of the people around me. While I let him sit in the rubble, I had hope that I could give him the family he always wanted. That would fix everything, right? A baby would hold us together? A baby would give me a reason to keep living. Please forgive me as these were the thoughts of 2018 Rachel. I promise I know better now.

I was reeled in by this human being who invested his time in my interests, swept me off my feet and rocked my world, and gave the thought of having a family with me the time of day. Hino. A name so common, but the sound of this specific one paints the prettiest shade of iris. A horrific storm watered us down and polluted our garden. But I’ve been granted a new season to bloom again. And I hope he has too. Our seed may not have made it very far, but our flyleaf pages left room for another man’s story of having unprotected sex with a Herrmann.

Note: Names have been changed for privacy.