Tribute By Wife.

Disclaimer: This post contains explicit sexual content.

I remember standing in front of the oval mirror inspecting my naked body in anticipation of your 8:00pm arrival. My vagina was clean shaved just as you liked it. I had spent the whole day munching on cabbages and pineapples, wanted to be very wet and sweet for you, just as you liked it. I splashed perfume on my body, you know, the one you bought for me when returning from Dubai. It smelled like the beach on a sunny day, so refreshing. I smeared scented oils on my vagina: lavender scented oil to the right lip, and jasmine scented oil to the left. The middle part I left for you to smear with your saliva. 

Earlier that day, I had shopped for several lingerie, all see-through mesh, skimpy, barely covering anything. I picked the red one, it stood out sharply against my dark skin, and I loved how it parted my butt cheeks, making it look full and so round. I took my time, smeared perfumed shear butter on my skin to make it glow, and I combed my kinky hair into an afrobob.  I matched my red lingerie with a pair of red silhouette high heels, killer move, I thought. I knew my appearance alone would blow your mind. 

Did you know I had bought a bottle of red wine that morning? Did you also know I had prepared your favourite? Did you know I had planned a candle night dinner, with chocolate fudge as our dessert? Well how could you, it was meant to be a surprise. I had decided to theme the night 'sexual healing', I still don't know the name of the man that sung that song, but I know you do. Another secret, did you know I had planned to lace our wine with Spanish fly, hm it was going to be a sex marathon. 

It was nearing 8:00pm and I  knew at anytime soon you'd be arriving, but then I was knocked down with a dilemma, how was I going to receive you? There was no way I was coming to open the door, so it was either I met you in the bedroom or in the living room, but in what position? I was thinking about a doggy position, with my behind stuck high up, or better still, I'd stretch my self on the couch like they do in the movies and for editorial photo shoots. I knew I was simply irresistible, with my long legs and finely sculpted body. 

I had a glass of red wine dangling precariously between my thumb and middle finger. I was taking sips thinking of all the things I was going to do to you. Did you know I had watched porn the whole day? I had learnt so many sex skills like the grape blowjob, the feet-job, I was planning on giving you the rusty trombone. Damn! I was going to blow your mind.

I waited and waited, and waited, but you were not coming. I tried calling, but your phone was off. I was worried, so I kept on waiting. Waiting led me to drink more, do you remember I told you I was planning on lacing the drink with an aphrodisiac? I had laced the wine with Spanish fly thinking you'd soon be home anyway. Then it started to work, and fuck I was horny. 

If being horny literally meant growing horns, I  would have grown horns everywhere, my clitoris producing the largest longest one. Where were you? I was on fire, my vagina was flooded. Vaginal fluids freely flowed down my legs, where were you to lap at them and tell me they tasted delicious. I had no choice, you were not coming, so I  used the vibrating dildo. It was mind blowing, body shocking, but cold. Your hard body pounding ferociously against mine was what I craved not some soulless cold metal.

I woke up the next morning with the dildo still in my vagina, the candles burnt out, the wine finished, my mind numb from countless self inflicted orgasms and my bed cold, untouched. You didn't sleep home. So where have you been? 

At 8:00am, I heard a knock on the door, I thought it was you. I hurried to the door, opened it, but it wasn't you, it was the police. They looked solemn. They said you were involved in a car crash whilst ascending the Aburi mountain. You were dead, and I was to identify your body. How could you do this to me? 

After the horrifying process of identifying your body, I was given your belongings, amazingly they hadn't been destroyed. When I got home, I opened your wallet, only to discover stacks of condoms. Banana flavoured condoms. Banana? The only banana I ate was the one that hung loose between your thighs, none other. And mind you, even before we got married our sexual escapades were done raw, so who, what were the condoms for? And that reminds me, your office is situated in Accra, we stay in Nungua, who were you going to see in Aburi? What were you going to do there?

This is your funeral, I don't want to accuse you of infidelity, of cheating on me with another. But try as I may I  just can't stop myself from drawing conclusions. So husband why? Today is your funeral, we are all sad, very very sad. I'm all that and very angry. I still don't want to believe you've been cheating on me. I plan on only remembering the good times. Those good times. 

Husband, when I'm also deceased, I'll come to you for answers, but for now lie in your grave and start planning tangible excuses, you know me already, I won't take things lightly.

This post was originally posted on November 27, 2017.