Friend Of The Family

His mind is wicked, this friend. Not evil, but wickedly mischievous, like a leprechaun.

Being faithful is not one of his strongest suits; he leads a double life in marriage.

His wife is the epitome of holiness, a churchious lady. God in and God out. God before and God behind. God all around.

But in the beginning of their marriage, she had confided in him of a time there was, when in her Federal Government Girls College in the East, she had found the female form alluring. At that time, it was mostly playacting, and a stolen kiss here and there, a caress to top it off, but never anything deeper.

And then when she went to University in the same East. And she went deeper, heart, body and soul. Three relationships. Until her final year, when she gave her life to Christ.

She met him during Youth Service, both of them in the same fellowship. They married two years later.

Thing was, he was always in the world, even though he was firmly in church. So philandering was an old skill he had. But she became holier and holier as the kids came. One, two and three. And the holier she became, the more demanding and suspicious she became too.

So he set a plan of freedom into motion, to relax the marriage but not break it.

He sent one of his lovers her way, the one he had bonded with firmly, the gorgeously beautiful and borderlessly open-minded one.

The Nigerian one, who herself was also married.

He sent her to arouse what it was in his wife that she thought was dead.

He planted his lover in her world, first in their church, then coincidentally in her salon, and then more coincidentally in her spa, and finally in her gym. It became a case of: “Oh, see who is here again!”

They became acquaintances, his wife and his lover. Then friends. Then close friends. Then best friends. His wife was at ease with her. They had a lot in common.

Both families became close. His wife was unaware. Her husband was clueless. Their kids were having a time of their lives.

Then it began, from confiding about her inner worries in bouts of tears, to tight hugs of comfort. And one day, when she was broken down and crying, the light kiss brushed against her lips, peppered with the words: “It’s okay, please don’t cry.”

The wife was so distraught, she didn’t dwell on it. But her subconscious registered it. It was etched.

Then another time at the spa, while they were having their hammam bath, his lover complimented the breasts of the wife. “See how firm you still are. Did you do a job on them?”

“No. They’re natural.”

“Your husband is so lucky.”

“Well he doesn’t say anything.”

“If I was him, I will die there.”

“See how you are talking like a man.” The wife blushed.

“You think it is only a man that can admire this your sexy body?”

His wife laughed it off and left it there.

But it was like a slight breeze blowing on the embers of her past. They began to glow.

Then one valentine day, both couples had a double getaway weekend, to the Caribbean. They met up with other couples, strangers. There was a game of truth or dare one night.

And the questions came.

His wife lied when she was asked if she had ever kissed or been with a woman before. But his lover didn’t lie when she was asked.

There was a generous supply of liquor, as it was in one of those Norwegian cruise ships. Both couples had drunk copiously, even though the wife had first resisted until the pressure of the group had broken her will.

Then it was laughter, unprovoked, with the inhibitions fading fast.

Then there was a dare, to his lover.

Kiss a girl.

And she did. She kissed his wife. It was tentative at first, and then it was passionate, as the other couples cheered.

The night was blissful, even as the seed germinated.

The next morning, there was barely any memory of what occurred the night before. But the unconscious stored it. And when his lover broached the subject over dinner, her mind opened. And the memories flooded in, with a hefty helping of embarrassment.

The day was awkward. But when they alighted at Grand Cayman and toured the island, the embarrassment subsided, as she listened to the lover talk about her past experiences with women to the three of them. There was no shame. And the wife admired that.

She didn’t notice her husband watching her intently. Neither did she notice how relaxed he was with his lover. The lover’s husband didn’t notice either. They were all family friends as far as the two spouses were concerned.

The trip ended, and life resumed.

But it was not the same again. Memories had returned, of the time when her kind was her major pre-occupation.

And one day, as his lover spoke to her, she found herself staring at the delicate curvature of her lips, mesmerized at the way the tip of her tongue grazed her lower lip when she said some words, the way the lips relaxed in a languid stretch when she smiled.

And without even thinking about it, she leaned towards her and covered her lips with a kiss.

His lover was ever ready, and she relaxed into the kiss. There was passion and fireworks, as they rode the Sapphic waves that crashed into them, until satiated, they lay in each other’s arms, silent, happy, only their thumping heartbeats telling the tale of their spontaneously ravenous yet incredibly pleasurable tryst to each of them.

The days, weeks, months, that have followed have been an exercise in freedom. There is still church. There is still a semblance of holiness.

But his wife is fully preoccupied with the demands of her heart and her body, with another, amazed at how she can be emotionally engaged to two souls at the same time.

And with him, there are no more suspicions or inordinate demands. Just laughter and love, as they both share the same lover, even while the couples stay close friends.

His wife is ignorant of him and her lover.

Her husband is ignorant of both lovers.

And in that ignorance, peace and freedom reigns.

My friend has eaten his cake and yet he still has it, securely in his hand.

For now.

Written by Jude Idada