My body trembled whenever Osas approached me.
I want to say it trembled in a good way or tremble is not the right word to use in this case. It was like a craving that will never go away. Osas was an addiction for a long time. Sometimes I felt like I needed therapy to get over him. I felt pity for any woman who came across him because he was like a drug. An overdose of Osas still won’t kill, that was how toxic he was, it was the craving for more of him that was dangerous.
I stood still.
“I know you don’t bite,” I responded slightly embarrassed because he caught me taking a step or two back. The couple standing beside me walked into the elevator. A few more people walked into the elevator and the doors closed. Osas and I were left standing in front of the elevator doors.
“You look great,” He said as he admired me from head to toe. I knew it. I killed my look today. The saying “dress like you are going to run into your enemy”, it works.
“Thanks,” I responded with a sense of urgency. I was meeting up someone and ended up running into someone else. He didn’t respond I tried my best to avoid his eyes. I could feel his eyes on my chest. It was like he was going back and forth between my face and my chest.
I stared at the elevator doors praying that the elevator will come back down and open up so I could walk away from Osas. A young woman with two children stepped in front of the elevator. She made eye contact with me and smiled, I smiled back uncomfortably. She held the hands of both children firmly. The boy of maybe about four years was held with her right hand, and a little girl of about two years was firmly held with her left hand.

A part of me prayed that she would get the cue that I was uncomfortable and try to engage me in a conversation, but I was with someone that was not possible. I prayed my phone would ring so I could excuse myself.
“Listen don’t be like that please,” He said as he looked pleadingly into my eyes.

This was the part of the conversation I didn’t want to have.

Not in my beautiful red dress standing in my white pumps, not here not now.
The doors to the elevator opened with the ding sound. The lady and her two small children headed towards the elevator.
“Excuse me,” I said to him “I have somewhere to be” I told him as I walked towards the elevator.

He grabbed my arm, I felt the familiar tingle, the type that I felt when he would hold my hand romantically, but this time it wasn’t romantic. It was just the fact that he touched me. I responded to every touch even though it wasn’t erotic.

Was something actually really wrong with me?

Did I need total cleansing from anything that had to do with him at all?

I thought I had healed from him having any form of effect on me, but I guess it wasn’t so.
“Please stop,” I said to him. “I have a meeting.”
“Can we have a drink this weekend?” He suggested.
He must have some nerve. I thought.
How did he think it’s okay for him to ask me to go out to have a drink with him? before today I hadn’t seen him almost eighteen months.
“No” I responded as I walked towards the elevator. The doors were pulling in close. He still held my hand firmly, I could not understand why. The lady in the elevator put her hands through the doors to prevent them from closing. She had impatient look on her face. I actually thought it was kind of nice for her to wait for me. This little meeting with Osas was going to take a little longer than I expected so I motioned for her to let the doors close and she can go up without me.
“Osas, What do you want from me? “ I asked the question. It didn’t sound so sincere even from me asking it, The question was meant for me. What did I want from him? Why was I still entertaining him? I could have just walked away and acted like we never knew each other or met, but instead I stood and engaged in the conversation with him and now I was asking him what he wanted from me. how hypocritical.
“I just want to spend time with you, we haven’t communicated in a while so I guess it’s just a good way to catch up that’s all.” he said so casually.

He had a whole lot of nerve.

“What makes you think I want to spend time with you?” I asked.

I was getting irritated by the fact that he felt he could waltz back into my life and everything would be cool.

“You always enjoy my company,’ he responded confidently with a smirk.

I gave him the side eye.

He laughed.

I caught myself smiling.

“Listen I know I have not been a good sport and things panned out badly between us, but maybe we can sit and talk.”

Was he trying to convince me?

“No” I said and took my hand off his grip. A tall, man was standing three feet from me waiting for the elevator. The elevator door opened and I rushed into it without looking back. I held my purse and closed my eyes. I heard foot movements of people coming into the elevator. I shut my eyes closed real tight, I didn’t want to see Osas. I heard the doors close and slowly opened my eyes after realizing I had not pressed the button to the floor I was going to.

Osas was standing right beside me.


“If anyone can show why this couple cannot lawfully be joined together in matrimony, let them speak now or forever hold their peace.”

The wedding date was January 1 at 3 pm.

You found out about the wedding from your roommate of three years, Pamela.

She was a guest, and you were going to be her plus one. She asked you to go with her, because she had no one else to go with, and she wanted to enjoy the experience in the company of anyone who would accompany her, so she asked you. She also asked you because you were Nigerian, and she knew Nigerians threw elaborate weddings.

You found the link to the wedding site on the invitation card and did a little snooping. You had gone on the wedding website to see the wedding party and information about the wedding. The love story was simple. They met through mutual friends at a game night. They were on the same team and became attracted to each other. She gave him a hard time and finally obliged after three months. They dated for eighteen months. He popped the question while they were in the Maldives for his mom’s birthday. She said ‘Yes”.You rolled your eyes.

You went through the pictures on the site. The wedding shoot was elaborate, they both had white outfits on. The theme was meant to be angelic, or so you thought. She wore a long, white dress and a golden crown on her head. He had on a white kaftan with gold embroidery. They looked great together. In the next set of pictures, she had a red dress on and was playing the piano. He stood by the piano in a black suit. In the last pre wedding photo, she was wearing a navy blue dress, he was wearing a navy blue shirt and black slacks. He was photographed kissing her forehead. You sucked teeth.

You clicked to see the bridal party. The bride’s sister was the maid of honor. You read the bio of the rest of her posse. The groomsmen were handsome, they were all doctors, members of the Sweet Boys Association (handsome, well dressed and bearded men). You sucked teeth.

You decided to plan your entire outfit for the wedding. You decided to look your best, beyond beautiful. There were many eligible bachelors, and you had to snatch one of them for good. You were tired of going to events and being asked where your man was. If Dickson hadn’t been an idiot, you would be married to him. Instead, he left you for the tall, slim and elegant Bola.

The following day, you decided to visit Maryanne, a fashion designer who made trendy clothes for wealthy people. Her shop was on Broad Street, in the middle of a busy downtown area. She had two clients ahead of you who had come to get fired. You smiled and watched them try on their beautiful outfits. After they left, you told Maryanne the reason for your visit. You wanted her to make you a nice outfit on a budget. You pulled out your phone and showed her the picture of a beautiful woman in the outfit you wanted.

“It will cost you though, and this is short notice.” Maryanne said as she eyed you playfully. You and Maryanne attended the same high school. She always had a knack for fashion. You were glad she made a full time hustle out of it.

“I understand, please make me the center of attention,” you told her.

You ended up at the shoe store and picked out a nice pair of metallic stiletto heels. The sales associate talked you into buying. You decided it was a great idea, even though you wanted to stick to your budget.

Bridget, your hairstylist, was stunned when you showed her a picture of the Toni Braxton hair cut you had decided to rock for the wedding. It took her three years to grow your hair into a long, healthy mane. She was reluctant. You insisted. She countered by asking if your outfit had a head wrap. You realized you had not asked to have one made, but you had one that would match your fabric. She agreed to help you tie the head wrap and make you look regal.

On the drive home, you thought about Dickson and how things had ended between you both. Tears began to stream down your cheeks. After dating for four years, it became ashes. His mother didn’t like you. It was a big problem. She had no reason for not liking you, except that you were not in the same social status. Your parents were middle class civil servants. You went to public school like other children you knew. You had good grades to take you to the university. You graduated and found a good job. It was then her son came into your life. He turned your world upside down. Spoiled you with gifts and expensive trips. The day he took you to see his parents, his mom snubbed you, and his dad found himself in an awkward situation of trying to save face. You quarreled with Dickson that night. You told him your relationship won’t work. He begged you and said nothing would come between you, not even his family. The tone of his voice and his pleading eyes, which seemed glassy due to forming tears, convinced you that he was telling the truth.

A few weeks later, you ran into his father while shopping at the Galleria. He told you he would pay for your items. Reluctantly, you agreed, because there was a Ted Baker shoe you had your eyes on. You picked the shoe and agreed to his proposal. He decided to take you to lunch. Lunch was at a fancy upscale restaurant. He asked a lot of questions while you ate. He told you about himself and his children. He asked you not to be angry with his wife. He was nice.

Two weeks later, you found out you were pregnant. You had been feeling dizzy at work and nauseous in the morning. You didn’t add things up until the smell of the coffee your coworker gave you sent you running to the bathroom to empty your guts. You decided to take a pregnancy test, and your fears were confirmed. Dickson was away on a work trip. You decided to wait till he came back to tell him. You confided in Sandra, your cousin.

When Dickson got back, you told him over a candlelit dinner in your dining room. He was not happy. He told you the baby was born out of wedlock, and his family would not approve of it. You were shocked, because he was the same person who would not use protection. You had taken your IUD out because your cousin told you it would mess with you by delaying your conception time when it was time to start a family. He told you to get rid of the pregnancy. You were shocked, because you thought after dating for so long, it would bring you closer. You decide to confide in his father. Maybe it would help. You had dinner with him at his private guest house. You told his father everything, hoping to get advice. His father shows empathy and tells you he would try his best to convince him. Your heart is happy. Things would work out.

Dickson didn’t change, instead he became distant. The calls became less frequent. The text message responses became delayed. He finally blocked your number and deleted you from his social media.Frazzled, you reached out to his father. He invited you to the guest house to see him. You sat on the white sofa crying your eyes out. He told you everything would be alright. He offered you a glass of lemonade and told you to relax.

You woke up in your bed in the middle of the night when a sharp pain hit your abdomen. The pain was excruciating, you could not bear it. You got up and realized there was a pool of blood in the middle of the bed, and it was running down your legs. You panicked and called your cousin Sandra. She was the closest relative who lived in a twenty mile radius. Sandra showed up thirty minutes later and took you to the hospital.

Three hours later, you laid in the hospital bed with tears running down your face, and Sanrda holding your hand, telling you everything would be fine. You lost the baby. The doctor said you ingested a substance that induced you. You stared at him in disbelief. Your mind ran back to the events of the day and realized you had a drink at the guesthouse. It was the lemonade. Who would believe your story?

There was damage to your womb, and you had to get a hysterectomy. It was the most painful moment in your life, after losing both your parents to a motor accident a few years ago. Uncle Pete, Sandra’s father, became your parent. Your dreams of becoming a biological mother were dashed. It hurt more that Dickson had moved on quickly with another woman. You saw it using Sandra’s Instagram page. It hurt.

Weddings and happy couples made you cringe over the years. You were bitter. You went to therapy. After a year, you eased back into your old self, but it was never the same. When Pamela asked you to be her guest, you almost hesitated, but changed your mind. You had not been to a wedding in three years. You decided to look your best, maybe your knight in a shining armor would be there. You were optimistic.

On January 1st, you told Pamela that you would ride separately, because you had to be at a lunch before the wedding. She agreed. You got to the church at 3.15 pm, not to cause a stir. You sat in the back row. The church was filled with family members and well wishers. The service was just starting, the bride stood in front of her groom, and the pastor began the service. They exchanged their vows.

The priest asked

“If anyone can show why this couple cannot lawfully be joined together in matrimony, let them speak now or forever hold their peace.”

There was silence.

You raised your hand and brought your hand gun.

There was no way Dickson would marry Bola.


“Wakey wakey”

I said as I strolled into our bedroom.

Giselle lay in bed, looking ever so beautiful even as she slept. Her beautiful tresses were spread across the pillow. She was such a beautiful view to wake up to every morning. Without make up, she looked gorgeous.

It was time to get dressed. We had a long day ahead of us. Our wedding was coming up in a few days. One hundred guests had seats at the beautiful wedding to celebrate our union.

The past few months were hectic. It was one drama or the other. It came from people who were close to us.




Giselle finally found love, and all hell was let loose. She had a child with the man she found love with, and it became a problem. We had spent weeks praying together and going to therapy. The therapy sessions were brutal. We had to be vulnerable with our therapist, who did a great job stripping us off the walls we had built around ourselves.

At a point, I felt she was going through postpartum depression. She had different moods every day. Some days she would not want to hold the beautiful child we made together, Henrietta.

She was the happiest six month old human I had ever met. She had her mom’s beautiful eyes and smile. How could she look at the beautiful baby and not want to hold her? After a while, she was convinced she was not a good mother, and maybe someone else deserved to be Henrietta’s mom. It broke me.

I, on the other hand, had my issues with Stephanie, who was Giselle’s cousin. We were engaged to be married, but we broke up. I met Giselle and things got heated up and then complicated. Stephanie told everyone that Giselle snatched me from her. She said all sorts of nonsense about me. I tried to talk to her, but she refused. Giselle didn’t care. It put me in an uncomfortable position. Giselle was ready to ride and die for me. Family gatherings became like funerals for me. I felt like a Judas who had put two cousins asunder. If Giselle wasn’t pregnant with my child, maybe Stephanie would not have been so angry. I got used to the mean mugging, the snide comments, and the cold treatment from some family members. Stephanie’s parents were indifferent.

I stared at her as she slept. I didn’t want us to be late for our appointment. We had an hour drive, and we had to be there by noon. We also had to meet with the marriage counselor at 3pm, and dinner with her parents by 5pm. The nanny was downstairs. She watched Henrietta everyday from 9am till 5pm. I asked her to stay while we went for dinner with Giselle’s parents, and promised her overtime money. She was more than happy to oblige.

“Giselle wake up.” I called out as I walked into the closet. We had a huge walk-in closet in our bedroom. Her clothes occupied more than half of the closet.

I picked out a white shirt, black slacks, and my favorite Ferragamo belt. My shoe rack was by the door. I would wear my favorite ones. I could not understand why Giselle was still asleep. She always took her time to do everything. She had her morning routine, and she had slept through her alarm. She didn’t wake up to read her Bible in the closet, she didn’t go running three miles. She was not listening to her podcast. She must have been exhausted from running around yesterday.

“Babe,” I called out as I walked towards the bed to wake her up. She was still.

I leaned in to kiss her forehead. Normally she would stir a bit, open her eyes and smile at me. It didn’t happen. She was not breathing.

“Giselle” I called out and shook her.

She didn’t move. I felt for a pulse. There was none.

Giselle was…… dead.

Confessions of a Cheating Wife (3)

How do you look into the eyes of someone you have betrayed?

I walked slowly towards Yemi. I had the bed sheet draped around my body. He didn’t turn to acknowledge my presence but I was sure he knew I was behind him.

“Why our bed?” he said facing the window.

I could not say anything.

I had to ask myself that question. Why did I decide to defile our marital bed?

I wanted to speak, but the words could not come out of my mouth clearly. Yemi was patient and kind. How could I blow that up?

Osas was the only reason I would blow my marriage up with Yemi.

Osas was nothing like Yemi. He was just good for sex. Today, I got caught and from then on things would never go back to being the same.

“I don’t know what I was thinking, there is clearly no excuse for what happened in there.” I responded. I had to own up to this, it wasn’t fair for him to suffer emotionally for my infidelity. He had given me basically everything including the assurance for the growth of a healthy relationship.

He didn’t turn to look at me. He stared out of the window. It hurt to know that someone who could so easily look me in the eye avoided mine.

What was he thinking?

  • *************************************************

Running into Osas after a few years of no contact was a curse. Osas was my guilty pleasure but nothing good was going to come out of our encounters. The last time we saw each other, it ended on a bad note. I decided to accept my loss and move on.

He had cheated again for the umpteenth time and did not want to take responsibility or even apologize. It was my cue to leave. Any woman with common sense would leave such a situation the first time such a thing happened. I guess my common sense was lacking.

I was at Glass House, a tall building with over a hundred floors. I was meeting up a colleague for dinner. I walked up towards the elevator doors. There were three people standing ahead of me, a young lady who had her attention on her cell phone scree. The other two were a couple, the woman was pregnant, the man stood beside her and held her close, rubbing her back gently.

I craved for this type of love from a man for a long time until i met Yemi. Yemi was the best thing that had ever happened to me in such a long time. We waited for the elevator to come down, we knew it would take a while as there were other floors and other people on those floors would want to get. There were three other elevator doors. A few minute later, one of the doors opened up, a woman in yellow shorts, a tank top with a Jane Fonda look walked out of the elevator, the next person to come out was a familiar face.


I stopped dead in my tracks. If there was ever a day to look so good, it was today. I had on a red dress, white pumps from Nine West. My make up was well done. I just felt the need to look good, and I pulled it off effortlessly. I pulled my long hair up into a high bun, the hair Osas loved pulling during sex. He looked good. His beard was well groomed, his barber had given him a good hair cut. He had on brown pants and a white long sleeved shirt. His eyes were on me.

“Hey.” he said.

I nodded in response. He walked towards me, I could smell his cologne. The familiar scent that memories..

“Hi” I responded taking a step back. I didn’t want him hugging me. He noticed what I had done.

“I am not going to bite you, why are you taking a step back?” he asked as he walked closer. I was losing my defenses. My body began to tremble, it seemed all so familiar.


In life, there are certain people you need to say hello to and walk past, nothing else.

I grew up in the projects. My brothers and I shared one room in or tiny apartment. It was what my parents could afford. They worked hard to make sure we had food on the table. All my siblings and I had to do were go to school and do homework. I was the middle child and the only girl. My older brother Joe was a year older than me. My younger brother Michael was two years younger than I was. We were very close because we were all we had. Mom never let us go outside to play with the other kids. There were a lot of kids our age we could pay with and attended the same school as us. The rule in the house was firm. We could not go out to play with those kids.

Part of the reason why mom never let us go out to play was that she was a stripper at a club downtown. She was ashamed of what she did. She was raped at sixteen years old and got pregnant. She lost the baby at four months and was never the same again. The grief haunted her for a long time. She barely graduated high school, but she decided to fund the easier way out. She was very attractive, she was five feet and six inches tall. She had a pretty face, full breasts, a small waist, and nice legs. I was the spitting image of my mom, so I knew I would look exactly like her when I got older.

Dad worked for a man who owned a mechanic shop called Alfred. Dad was four years older than mom, they met after high school and started dating. He worked at a fast-food restaurant while mom braided hair all day and followed men at night. They broke up a few times because mom would not stop sleeping with different men. Dad didn’t want to lose mom, at twenty-three years old. He had nothing more than eight hundred dollars to his name, a jalopy that could take him to work and back, and a one-bedroom apartment. He bought a ring and proposed to my mom. She agreed to marry him, and they started their life together.

Mom had a best friend whom she worked with.


They were thick as thieves, always together. They talked about buying new clothes and make-up. They talked about small shows. They also talked about Larry, their boss, a short Italian man who owned the club. I had seen him once when he came to the house to check on why mom had not come to work in a week. He reeked of alcohol and had a Cuban cigar in his mouth. Mom had a high fever and could not work for a few days. Tatanisha updated mom on what went on at work. She was unmarried and had no kids. It was the life she chose for herself She came from a broken home and ended up in the adoption system. Her parents didn’t want her, the system didn’t want her. It was the men who wanted her, that was what she lived for. The only day she didn’t have the same work shift as mom was on Monday. She always came in the evening to check on us and make sure we were tucked in bed after dinner. She would hang out with dad in the living room watching television. She was always gone in the morning.

One night, she came over to the house like she usually did. She always showed up at six-thirty and made sure we had dinner. She checked our homework and had a glass of beer with dad. Dad sent us to bed at eight-thirty instead of nine. Reluctantly we went to our beds. I don’t know how long I had been asleep, I woke up to yelling and noise coming from my parent’s room.

My brothers were fast asleep. I got out from the bed I shared with my brothers and walked towards the door. I wanted to hear what was going on clearly. I heard mom’s voice. Mom was home? She was meant to be at work. Monday was crucial for her, her best clients showed up on Monday. What could have happened?

The Placeholder.

“He is not going to marry you; you are just a temp.”

“He is not going to marry you; you are just a temp.”

The words of the woman pierced into my heart like a knife. She was right. I was wasting my time.
All these months, I was dating someone who turned me into a placeholder. I was the committed one, he was using me to pass time until “The One” showed up.
I am a five-foot nine-inch chic, Pretty face with a Master’s Degree in Computer science, but I can not keep a man. They walk in and out of my life like a bus stop. I thought in my pretty head that I was doing it right. I wore nice clothes, smelled good, my hair appointments were monthly, nail appointments were bi-weekly. I took trips four times a year. I attracted handsome men with everything going for them but commitment.
So, the question is, what am I doing wrong?
I met Philip in Cabo. He was the perfect boyfriend for me. When we got back to Los Angeles, we went on dates back-to-back. I was living my dream relationship. He had the hots for me and I felt the same way. Sex was ahhhhhmmazing. He was damn good in bed. It made me pray that I was not sharing him with any other woman.
Red roses at work.
Roses on my doorstep.
Foot rubs in the evening or weekends spent together.
Fancy dinners.
Front row seats at sporting events.
Surprise weekend getaways.
Expensive designer accessories.
Should I say more? Would you want what I had? Yes, and yes.
This was my perfect relationship which included constant phone calls and video calls. Then the smoke started. He started spending time with his friends. He used work as an excuse, not to go-to date nights.
I complained to my co-worker Sasha who had become a confidant.
“Maybe you should let him have space,” she advised.
“Yes, maybe he is dealing with stuff and he is either internalizing it or doing something different it may have nothing to do with you,” Sasha said.
I could not understand what she meant by him dealing with stuff. He could always talk to me.
My phone calls were automatically sent to voicemail.
Getting a response to my text was like playing the lotto.
Then the fire started.
He didn’t return my calls for a whole day, so I decided to check on him.
I drove forty-three miles to his home in Laguna Beach. I opened the door to his condo with my key and saw a woman on the couch watching tv.
“Hey,” I greeted in half shock and half uncertainty. For all I knew, she could be a relative.
She sat up in surprise.
“Hey, how may I help you?” she asked as she put the remote control in her hand on the center table.
“Where is Phillip?”
“He is not here,” she replied flatly.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“Bianca, I am his girlfriend. And you are?”
It felt like my heart had leaped into my mouth. What did she just call herself?
His girlfriend?
Then what was I?

“You were a placeholder,” Sasha replied as she listened to my sob story.

I had never been so humiliated in my life. I took the walk of shame out of Phillip’s home.
“He loved me, we were going to get married,” I said quietly. I was convinced in my heart that he was the one.
“He was not in love with you,” Sasha said with a straight face. “Listen, sweetheart, this is not new and I know it hurts so bad, but men lie. They lie about you being the one because they are cowards and can’t let you go. They want to keep you in place until they can find ‘the one.”
I didn’t want to believe this whole heartbreak thing was happening again. What was it about me that was not making them commit?
“I did everything to make him love me and make me stay.”
“Well maybe that’s where you missed the point, you were too busy trying to make him stay and you didn’t stop to check if he was worthy of you. You are worthy of love. You will not get love from the wrong one.” she said with a smile.
“You are right.”
“We lie about our requirements sometimes, and when we find the requirement we reject it, it happens even with women too”
“So how do I keep a man, I am tired of these constant breakups.”
Sasha smiled.
“You need to be your true authentic self, the right man will see that and he will stay, just take this as the trash taking itself out and start all over again.”

ON THE RUN (1) a novella

For my dear life, I had to run.

The ray of sunshine filtered into the room through the blinds. I looked at the clock which was across the wall from me. It was a few minutes past 7 am. My partner was not laying next to me. He had not done so in almost two years. I never imagined waking up alone every single day. Some nights he would creep into the bed and put a pillow between us. Other nights he would have me drunk with wine and then have sex with me with the lights off. I could see his eyes in the dark and the contortion of his face when he was about to cum. It was a routine I had gotten used to. He didn’t care if I was on my period or not sometimes. It felt like rape.

Yes, I said “sex”. I could not remember the last time we made love. He kept himself buried with work on his computer or found every excuse in the book to keep away. Our lovemaking ended when our daughter turned two. I craved to have my husband to myself some nights. He rejected me every time I tried touching him. He came up with the idea of having a pillow between us. I pulled the covers over my head. Why did I wake up to this day?

It was May the 28th, my 31st birthday. A year ago, it was my 30th birthday, all I did was plan a small girls’ trip with my friends. I left my little one with my aunt, who was more than delighted to have her for the weekend.

I looked forward to this day as a child. At age thirty-one, I hoped to have a husband and a child or rather children. I hoped to have gone to college and graduated to become an engineer. All though I had accomplished everything on my list, I was in an unhappy marriage.

I never imagined I would ever be in an unhappy marriage. My parents had a happy marriage until my mom passed away. I was eighteen years when she passed away. My dad was distraught for a few years. It was hard to watch him slip into depression.

I don’t even know how my husband and I got here. I am sure you are wondering. Is there another woman involved?

Yes, there is another woman involved. She hates me so much that she is bent on watching my marriage get destroyed. I became a stranger in my own home, the one that I had built with him. We were broke grad school students at the time we bought the house. We wanted to get our Master’s and move on with life. When we got approved for the loan to buy the house, we spent to search for the perfect home in a nice neighborhood. We finally found a three-bedroom, two-and-a-half bath in the suburbs. Those were happy days for us until the other woman who was lurking in the shadows made her appearance.

Confessions of a Cheating Wife. (1)

It was not always bad. My marriage, I mean. I married a good man.

All I could feel were my legs vibrating.

The bed creaked. The headboards hit the wall in a noisy pattern, rhythmic to how I was being pounded.

It took months for Osas and me to plan this. The endless back and forth text messages since the first time we ran into each other on the elevator.

The nights when I would sit on the toilet seat sending messages and smiling. The surprise good morning texts via WhatsApp with a name saved as Vivienne. Osas was falling in love with me fast. I had spent several evenings at his place having dinner and chilling. He was my happy place. An escape from the madness in my current life.

Today, he decided to surprise me.

He showed up. He looked dapper. A chocolate brown suit, his black leather shoes. He dripped sophistication. I opened the door and let him in.

“You made it,” I said and planted a kiss on his lips.

“I have to my love.” He said and grabbed my slim waist. He looked into my eyes and smiled. “Did you cook anything I am starving?”

“I made some okra soup, it’s in the fridge. I can make you breakfast.”

He smiled and shook his head in disapproval.

“No thank you. I have a different type of breakfast in mind though.” He said with a smirk.

“Are you serious?” I asked raising my eyebrows. I knew what he was talking about. I wanted him to confirm it himself.

“Yes, it is ready to eat too.” He said staring into my eyes and refusing to break the gaze he held steady. “You know I am here for business, so let’s get to work,” Osas whispered in my ears and kissed the back of my neck.

I ran my finger down his chest. He put his arms around me and grabbed me to the sofa. He began to squeeze my breasts.

“Osas.” I moaned.

“Shhhh.” He whispered as he moved some of my hair across my face. He kissed me on my mouth and down my neck. He pulled the straps of my jumpsuit and moved them apart. He reached for my bra clasp and took it apart. My breasts were revealed. He dragged the jumpsuit further to the lower part of my body. I pulled his jacket off and unbuttoned his shirt. I reached down below his pants and felt for his hardness. He was rock solid hard. I held his hand and led him up the stairs. I needed us to be a little more comfortable. We got to my bedroom upstairs.

I reached for his belt and he helped me loosen it. He pulled his pants off.


I heard a phone vibrate. I was not sure if it was mine or his. I do not remember bringing my phone upstairs. It could have been in his pants pocket. Osas kept pushing harder between my thighs. My breasts kept bouncing as they kept in rhythm.

His hot breath was on my face and his breathing became more rapid. The bed boards were banging against the wall.

“Faster.” I panted as he kept thrusting deeper and deeper.

“Do you want to bend over instead? I could go faster that way if you want.” His voice sounded jagged.

Sex with Osas was a full-body workout.

“No. Not yet.” I said panting. I was almost out of breath.

“Okay.” He said and continued thrusting harder.

He kissed my neck and found his way to my mouth. I sucked his tongue. I heard the phone vibrating again. Osas looked upset but he did not stop. He flipped me around and started hitting me from the back. This was my favorite position with him. I felt his girth in my vagina. I moaned loud and he kept thrusting faster.

The bedroom door flung open. I was bending on all fours with Osas hitting it from the back and my husband staring at me in shock. Osas came out of me. I got up from the bed. It was too late. He had seen it all. The expression on my husband’s face. I will never forget for a long time to come