Written by Bunmi SofolaEmail: email@example.com
IT is every cheating spouse’s worst nightmare come true. The fear of being caught could be a reality - that happens all the time. But to be literally caught dead in your lover’s bed brings a cruel twist of fate to the dreaded law of karma. Vicky, a single mother of two thought she’d struck gold when she met Roland at a close friend’s place. “She'd always told me about her brother,” Vicky said. “He was reputed to be a chronic womanizer but his wife thought he was the cat’s whiskers. It was enough for me that he found me attractive to start an affair with - and he was worth the effort. He would drive me to his guest house at least three times a week where I cooked him delicious meals and made mind-blowing love to him.
“He was a bit kinky in his demands but generous and kind. In time he trusted me enough to tell me about his wife and their non-existent sex life. He was happy to take care of my children any time I asked and even bought me a second handcar. The fateful day our nightmare began, we were in bed after a hearty meal and some wine when he complained of heartburn.
There wasn’t any remedy in the flat for that, so he carried on regardless, assuring me he was all right. We were having our second romp when he suddenly started jerking. I thought he was climaxing, not knowing he was about to collapse on my chest. I was terrified but I heaved him off and rang Anne my friend. She arrived within minutes but thank goodness he was still alive. He was clutching his chest and I quickly helped him into his clothes whilst Anne went to a hospital nearby to get me one of the doctors. He worked frantically on him only for him to give up the ghost. I was hysterical and Anne roled on the floor wailing uncontrollably.
“The doctor left to arrange for an ambulance, believing Anne and I were around when his heart attack started. ‘How did it happen?’she asked when we were alone. ‘When we were having sex!' I told her. Her eyes rounded. Under no circumstance should I breathe a word to anybody about this, she warned. I felt awful knowing I’d destroyed Roland’s wife’s world - thanks to me, her bread winner was dead! You can then imagine how shocked I was a few months after the funeral when his wife came visiting.
She didn’t tell me to expect her. The doorbell just went, and there she was. Of course I knew what she looked like but this was the first time we would come face-to-face. 'I understand my husband died while having sex with you,’ she spat still very bitter I felt like the scum of the earth as I hung my head. ‘What really happened? I would love to know,' she pleaded. I told her about her precious husband. How he loved having sex often especially after some good wine and how I wasn’t his only mistress. Now that we were being honest with each other, I told her I’d been to the house a couple of times when she was away. Her husband had a different entrance to his bedroom and nobody saw us, except the guards of course. She was shocked.
As far as she knew, her husband stopped taking any sort of alcohol years back on the advice of his doctors. She told me she was baffled when condom and viagra were found in the glove compartment of his car. ‘We stopped having sex years back because of my bad back,’ she said as if she was in a trance. ‘He said it didn’t matter that he loved me and would cope.
You know, I’ve learnt of another mistress not far from our house? How was I supposed to handle it all? I wanted to humiliate him by not attending his funeral, but the children made me. For over 20 wonderful years I’d loved him, trusted him. How could he humiliate me this way? He’d turned 16 years of my life into a sham. Even whilst the priest read the eulogy, listing his virtue as a devoted husband and a loving father, I snorted - I knew better. . .
"How he was able to have successfully kept two or more mistresses; beat my imagination. Yet, we wanted for nothing. Where did he get the money to fund his passion?" I shrugged. All I wanted was for this grieve-riddled woman to leave me in peace. I was relieved when she eventually left, mentally looking round my flat, probably calculating how much each item must have set his precious husband back. I learnt that the post-mortem ruled he’d died of natural causes. That is some sort of consolation, because I really loved that man and I miss him terribly. If it were left to his wife, as bitter as she now is, she would happily have put ‘lying, cheating bastard’ on his headstone if she could get away with it....”