I have an issue with the lady at home and it is Salisu I bother with all of the foolishness. “Oh Salisu”, I would say, “I think Opeyemi and I shouldn’t have gotten married.” He is old and gaunt, his eyes wizened from wear, thin veins crawling up his neck like cracks on a wall,…
Salisu has been my gateman for a great many number of years and I am quite flummoxed as to how he became both my gateman, and personal advisor at the same time.
I have an issue with the lady at home and it is Salisu I bother with all of the foolishness.
“Oh Salisu“, I would say, “I think Opeyemi and I shouldn’t have gotten married.”
He is old and gaunt, his eyes wizened from wear, thin veins crawling up his neck like cracks on a wall, and his legs are like twin poles side by side.
Salisu’s answer to my question comes after he has squeezed his lips into a pucker, before he has run his hand over his bald head and after he has eyed me with those evil eyes of his.
“Why Sah?“, Salisu would say.
Salisu’s favorite place to be is in the shade of his house, in that place where the roof has provided that the sun would not bother him. It is there that he lays his prayer mat, the one he has so much respect for.
I have never understood this business of praying five times daily, and I have always considered myself too enlightened to care.
But one day, curious cat that I am, I notice from my balcony that Salisu has once again laid his mat to pray and I run down the stairs.
“Salisu“, I pant, “Why you respect this mat so much now?”
“Eh? Oga?“
“Why you put mat one side to pray and you always sit on bare ground?“
He smiles, exposing tobacco ridden teeth, before he squeezes those cracked lips of his into that familiar pucker.
“Oga this mat e very imfotant pa! Walahi! This mat e imfotant!“
“Interesting“, I mutter, my fingers stroking my beards.
Day or night, Salisu would never use this mat, except to pray. And after he is done with the business of praying, he would fold the mat neatly and place it to one side while he sits with one leg over the other on the floor (or a stool when he cares), his eyes trained on the gates.
My favorite place to be is on the balcony overlooking my vast compound. As a software specialist, I never need to be in any of my offices for work to move on. I can monitor and keep track of everything from home.
My wife, Opeyemi, is a banker and she does not have such luxury of time as I do. I recall that my fondest memories of Opeyemi have to be every time that we fuck.
You see, Opeyemi has the softest bosom and any man who has sampled a great many bosoms would attest to this fact; that there is a special quality to hers.
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But lately, after two years of being married, fucking Opeyemi has lost all of its sparkle.
She is still pretty, you see, still round like when you take two juicy oranges and you place them one over the other. Her lips are still full, and her breasts are still perky. But that thing that used to make sex with her an event to look up to has not been there for a while.
No fire, I tell you. She doesn’t bother with the business of looking sexy around me anymore, no does she straddle me with as much vigor. She is always tired when she gets back from work, and if I try to shove her up a wall and press my dick into her, she would go on and on about how my sperm is watery since I cannot get her pregnant.
Once I tried that, and I noticed when I took my hands between her legs, that she wasn’t wearing any panties. I asked, and she said that she took them off at work because she was feeling uncomfortable.
Interesting.
I am no fool. I have known for a while that Opeyemi lost interest in me since she confirmed from the hospital that her womb is intact. I know that she thinks that I simply, cannot get her pregnant so I am not man enough.
I know that all the late nights she has been keeping recently have nothing to do with work.
Listen, I know that she is fucking someone at her workplace.
What I don’t know is who it is.
But I have plotted my vengeance many times; I have thought of bringing a parade of girls to my house and plowing deep into them one after the other, while my nice, little wife helplessly watches. I have fantasized that as I fuck these girls, she be strapped helpless to a chair, tears pouring down her eyes as she watches me go from one girl to the next.
But the strength to actually go through with my plans has constantly failed me. What if it is all in my head and Opeyemi is truly faithful?
But why would she leisurely take off her pants at work is the question that keeps bothering me. Another conundrum for aged Salisu to explain.
To be continued…
Written by Dear Mac.
Can u upload more of it