Everything in me screamed and waved the red flag at my decision. I shouldn’t do this, I really shouldn’t! But I’ve already made the call, and I’m pretty sure he’s at the reception, getting my room’s number.
I want to retaliate in the same fashion. David hurt me! How dare him! Not only did he cheat, he had the nerve to record himself and the bitch doing the deed! And apparently stupid enough to leave the video on his phone long enough for me to find out.
Can you even begin to imagine what went through my head seeing them, together? She had an amazing body though, tatted and beautiful light skin, everything I’m not.
After three kids, and a gym membership that expired without my ever owning up to the challenge of taking care of three kids, getting the house running and still owning and managing a catering agency, then squeezing in time for the gym was a huge difficulty.
David has always liked dark-skinned girls, he hated tattoos, which was all the reason why I’m confused and irreparably hurt. How dare he ruin our vows for a rump? Was it even really just a rump?
I can’t trust his words, he saw me watching the video with tears streaming uncontrollably down my face. His first reaction was shock, then guilt; he started pleading, trying to explain. But, I couldn’t think straight, all I wanted was to get out of the apartment before I did something I’d regret.
First place I stopped was a night bar—blasting loud Fela music and drowning conversation, perfect for my head to get straightened. What do I do? I have three kids with David!
I can’t imagine hurting them and probably scarring them for life with a divorce… my first baby, Eunice is just seven!
The music was turned down low, and a guy walked up to the podium to announce a surprise pop up strip show, announcing that whoever bought more drinks male/female shall be the one to decide which stripper will perform. A ploy to get more sales, but everyone went crazy. I couldn’t be bothered though.
At this point, I feel numb, a little tipsy, and probably deaf from the damned loud music (sorry, Fela). The questions kept going back and forth like a group of evil minions, playing an empathetic game of football.
How can he do this? Why will he do this? How long has this been going on? Was I the problem? Was I a bad wife? Was this why our sex life had felt choreographed and chore like? What do I do now??!
Then the lights got centered on the makeshift stage, breaths held to find out who’ll be performing. Then I saw him—dark , like sinful chocolate, the light making him seem glittery, or maybe I was too drunk. But his features were striking enough to snap through my drunken state, Damnit!
Over six feet, rippling muscles, structured legs that felt like tree limbs. His face, that chin… so defined, I was convinced that God is a sculptor.
Deep set eyes and lips so thin and luscious at the same time, and everything sexy and sinful.
I guess, I stared too hard, because he smiled, more like smirked and started dancing or performing a miracle, because everyone was quiet, or stunned to compulsory silence; the only thing heard was his music, the sensuous sound of Bruno Mars serenading his every move. And boy, can he dance!
I felt my eyes bulge when he started striping, slowly, carefully and very mindful. He knew his craft, oiled and looking like a snack. When he got to his boxers brief, the crowd lost it then. Ladies started throwing money at him, begging desperately for a private dance, shouting for the manager to book an appointment.
Who was this magnetic force of a man? I was enthralled even in my saddened state. I knew what to do then. As the devilish idea popped into my head, I called for the manager.
And here I am, nervous as hell, anxious he might not like my body, I might not be his taste. Sweaty palms and on the brink of collapse, I heard the door bell.
OK Naomi girl, you can do this, it’s just sex, from a mind-blowing hot stranger. I’ll be less hurt after getting even, I pep talked myself as I shook my body to loosen the dress, then proceeded to open the door!
He came in. “Hello, Naomi” right?” He strolled in, very casually, very confident. I wondered if ‘that’ was a common occurrence for him.
Of course gal, what’d you expect from a stripper, a crazy hot one by the way? I mentally chided myself.
Finally finding my tongue, I replied,
“Yeah, and you’re? …or you don’t tell your clients your name?… all professional, huh?” I giggled nervously.
Damnit, I’m a grown ass woman, why does this stranger Make me feel all nervous and shit?
He looked at me with an amused smile. “You can call me Mike.” He walked directly to the bedroom. I must have looked surprised at the ease with which he was handling the whole situation because then, he asked, or more like said, “You’ve never done this before right?”
Something snapped in me—the confused and conflicting turbulent emotions, and undeniable hurt I felt at being betrayed came pouring out in the form of tears, warm and streaming down my face uncontrollably, as I tried in futility to hide them from him, embarrassing myself further. Damnit!
He looked curious and a little bit taken aback and like the magician I’ve come to think he might be, he said just the obvious truth. “You were cheated on by your partner. Looking at you, I think it’s a husband, not a boyfriend. And you want to do this to get even?”
I could only nod, as sobs wracked my body. He came closer, helped me sit on the bed and just stared at me till I could regain some composure.
“How much for the whole night?” I asked after some minutes, and a little bit of clarity.
“Do you really wanna do this? I hope you know this won’t erase the hurt, nor will it make it better. Instead it has the distinct possibility of ruining and cementing your marriage to doom,” he said looking genuinely concerned.
“My marriage was ruined when he slept with her!” I screamed hoarsely. “Make love to me tonight, please, I want to forget. For tonight. I bought a pack of condoms. Make love to my body and make me lose my mind in euphoria for tonight. I’ll think about my problems tomorrow, tonight I want to get even.”
I knew I sounded pathetic, but having him stare at me with those eyes, gazing intently like I was some exquisite butterfly, made me realize I couldn’t let him slip through my fingers tonight.
He directed me to get up, his hands started roaming, feeling my body, my thick thighs and wide hips from birthing three kids; his hands splayed on my pudgy stomach and i6 flinched, he smiled an approving or maybe a reassuring one, all the while not kissing me, just touching me. And that was enough to light my body on fire.
I felt really insecure standing next to this six feet plus perfection of a man, his toned physique made me think of things I shouldn’t, that throbbing Adam apple, I wanted nibble at.
I was not the same sexy twenty-one-year-old Naomi; the years and child bearing have had quite a toll on my body and self esteem.
Then he whispered close to my ear enough to make me shiver in anticipation, “I’ll make sure you never forget this night. While I honestly don’t think this is the right way to go about your predicament, I’ve never said no to a beautiful lady looking for some good loving. I don’t make love by the way, I fuck.”
Capturing my lips in a searing kiss, his huge hands lifted me off my feet, onto the bed with him hovering just above me. He proceeded to make his promise come true; he was so thorough and gentle and rough at the same time. I had never been sexed that way, not even with David. Every matched thrust, tongue flick and finger throb, felt intense and sensual, Mike made me feel like a woman, confident and bold in her sexuality; he made me feel present and needed.
I felt his want, from his animalistic wild thrusts and varying positions.
He made me feel emotions I couldn’t describe all night long, laying on the comfortable bed, moaning with shaky limbs. I had more body spasming orgasms in just one night than I had had in a very long time.
Light streaked in through a little peek in the windows, splashing on my face. I love mornings, ever since I became a mother and waking up early is part of the requirements, I learnt to love it.
That’s what mothers do: we readjust, adapt and relearn. Always scared to get it right, with the kids and the husband. But then, the realization of failing at one of these countless responsibilities was just heart-wrenching. Pain twisted deep in my gut as I realized that I was naked, and the reason behind it.
What in Hades name did I just do?
Frantically gathering the sheets around my naked body, I looked around the hotel room, searching for a particular homo sapien. The room looked good, the interior designer must have thought he was designing a lovers’ nest, with the elaborate four poster bed, red curtains and a very noticeable whiff of romance in the furnitures. Oh wait, I remember booking the honeymoon suite last night; the receptionist was being bitchy with me, seeing my drunken state, and telling me different shitty reasons why I can’t book a room.
Out of frustration, I paid for the honeymoon suite, giving her the perfect middle finger; bitch should learn innovative ways at being a cock block.
Wrapping the warm sheet around my still naked body, I quickly started gathering my stuffs, all of which were strewn across the room in the dark throes of lust last night. Feeling hot tears gathering again, I felt dirty, and violated and angry, very deathly angry, and sad, and just around my head somewhere, a tinge of happiness that came from a sore woman who was sexed right.
After dressing marginally in a presentable way and wiping off the “had mind blowing sex” look from my face after minutes in the bathroom, I perused my bag for my phone, I remember throwing it in there amidst the commotion with David last night.
Fifteen missed calls from David, ten from my mom and lots of text from my best friend Sheila. I felt the crazy sensation to cry again as I thought of my kids asking for their mother. How will they cope?
Me and David were committed to showing them that we were stable and perfect as parents for them; stability was something I didn’t get during my childhood with a late father and a struggling mother, I knew what it felt like to be with a single parent. I don’t want that for my kids, not at all.
Divorce is my last option, but what do I do? I feel intense hatred for David and do not see myself loving him the same.
“What do I do?” I screamed and lashed out, like a mad woman, running my hands through the bedside table, its contents spilling to the mahogany floor.
Among its contents was a note, with an impressive handwriting. It read: ” This is Mike, and I had an amazing time last night. This is my number, in case you ever need a repeat…”
My first feeling was delight: he found me desirable! But then, common sense streamed in… and then shame hit, in waves, oscillating and making me feel nauseous, the urge to go to the bathroom, strip naked and curl up tightly, after scrubbing myself clean was immense.
I have to get out of here, I thought, before I went crazier. It’s been a hellish sixteen hours. I have to take the bull by the horn as the proper mental upbringing of my kids is important to me.
My marriage can’t be over, not yet, not without a fight. Guilt and anger are a potent mixtures. Looking around the room once more, I looked at the bedside table, and noticed that a particular note was missing. Oh well…
“Time for reality,” I said out loud, feeling the texture of the note in my purse.
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