He is a dignified married man, but when a sleeping monster deep inside him awakens, his life is plunged into a pit of insatiable sexcapades around Nairobi, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake...
|| Catch up with Episode #1 here.
I‘m a married man; I can’t overstate this fact. I got hitched with Sly, my college sweetheart, 11 years ago in a church wedding. In her sparkling white gown, she cried, happy as a clam. As my voice boomed through the speakers ferrying my wedding vows, she swabbed at her watery eyes with the back of her index finger. Her palm held a white handkerchief, but it was so wet with tears, her own, that she had to improvise.
“Sly, looking at you right now makes me see the real meaning of each letter in the word LOVE,” my voice was steady, but damn, deep down I struggled to keep it together. I was mighty happy, but being an introvert accounted for the careening of my knees. Camera lenses zoomed in on us. Clicks. Flashes. Smiles. Uproars. And I boomed on, the hand mic threatening to slip through my trembling fingers, clammy with sweat.
“Letter L stands for the length of what I feel for you; stretches from the East to the West. O stands for an oasis where trust and care blooms. Babe, V is for the velvet curtains I’ll draw each morning to let sun rays into our beautiful home. And letter E..”
My voice failed me. It dangled precariously, almost falling off into a squawk. Shit, you can’t make it so obvious that you’re fighting back tears. They’re watching. The men and women filling up the pews. Our parents. Be strong champ, I lectured myself. After a raspy throat-clearing, I went on.
“E stands for the electrifying feeling; the thrilling warmth of your breath that will warm my neck every time we embrace…Baby, for better for worse, until death do us part.”
Really? I should have said, until blood pulsates at the tip of my cock and every girl who slithers out of her lingerie strikes us apart.
Sly, mother of my two kids, is the most amazing woman I’ve ever seen. She cooks for me, leans in randomly to kiss me, sets up surprises for me all the time, sends gifts to my office- damn, this executive Rolex Ceramic Bezel around my wrist was one of those. She makes my phone buzz randomly with romantic messages. And she’s done that for 11 straight years, while me, for five years now, I’ve been plunging into different women with my breathing roughened.
And this is how the cheating started.
Five years ago…
I’m barricaded behind a heavy, well-polished oak door. On the door, a glinting plate reads:
Mr. Daniel Osiwa
Senior Finance Manager
That is the title to my name at MultiBiz International. I squint at my Apple Macbook Pro and jot down some figures on a leather-bound executive notebook. My left hand lets me sip from a steaming cup of coffee, eyes fixated on the screen flickering with figures on the Nairobi Stock Exchange website.
As I set the mug down, a soft knock hits the oak and then seconds after, the handle twists. Sera walks in, cautious with a metallic tray under her palms. On it is a white ceramic plate with fried eggs and diced tomatoes. Sera is our office cook.
“Good morning, Sir,” she salutes softly over the gaggling of the water cooler.
“Morning, Sera.” I don’t take eyes off the screen. I’d only lifted my head once when the handle moved and she stepped in. There’s a computer on another office desk that is against the wall to my far left. I normally drive on my swivel chair to it every time I need to use it. It’s CPU hums on.
“How’re you today?”
I ignore her and start pecking at the keys of my laptop. I can’t tell how that sits with her, but she proceeds to set the plate neatly on my desk. While at it, Sera accidentally knocks the fork which takes flight off the edge of my desk then plinks noisily on the tiled floor. That jolts me and I shoot my eyes to the fallen cutlery and then face her.
“Oh! Forgive me!” Her voice is wavering. Our eyes meet and she has both palms over her mouth. Before I can react, she’s crouching beside me, picking the fork. And I see it, under her half-way buttoned white shirt. The sensuous cleavage. I swallow once, and then again. My tongue swims lustfully in a watery mouth. She’s already standing; my eyes just rose with her.
For the first time I notice how beautiful she is. The up-pointed breasts stretching her shirt, curves well-rounded like those of an hour-glass. In my skull, I conjure the rubbery of her bust swelling under my palms. My thumb is fondling her nipples, erect.
“Sir?” Her voice comes like an echo in a dream. I snap back from my lustful reverie and straighten myself in my leather seat. She’s caught me staring. Damn.
“Oh, it’s fine,” I say nervously as I struggle to maintain eye contact. “Place it on the desk, I’ll… I’ll rinse.”
Sera smiles, gives her moist lower lip a luscious bite then walks away. Goodness! What was that?
Later that night, I text her to say she’s beautiful, as my wife, Sly, urges me to give work a break from across the dinner table. And she replies to say I’m handsome.
Three evenings later, I bang Sera in a hotel room across the office. And the demon in me gets awakened. I continue to see Sera routinely, and then Maggie- a friend’s friend, then Angela- a company client. My wild appetite can’t be satiated. In no time, I have a second, secret phone. On it is but a single app, Ohlala – the Tinder for escorts. Soon enough, the cheater’s den is given birth to.
Cigarette in a Chocolate Box is a four part series by Brian Kasaine that will run every Wednesday in October.
|| Continue to Episode #3 here
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