Dele had forced himself into my anus. My whole body shook as spasms of pain shot through me. He retracted.
‘Do you want to wake the kids?’
I rolled up in a ball as the pain
subsided but I could still feel the point throbbing. So this is what it had come to. Was my vagina no longer good enough?
I heard Junior in the other room. Dele must have gone to him. Some explanation about an ant bite must have sent him back to sleep.
Dele forced me to turn over.
‘Sorry, I won’t put it there again. I didn’t know it would hurt you’.
You didn’t know?! I had begged and pleaded, tears running down my face, knowing what you were aiming at. Asking you to spare me the pain.
I kept my face averted. There was no need for him to see the hate and pain and anger that were in my eyes. This was supposed to be love making.
Lovemaking. The type I had dreamed of as I read those steamy romance novels, as my heart beat in tandem with the heroine’s, anticipating with her the first touch; the weakness of the knees that comes with that sudden wetness; the throbbing of the nipples in arousal as it awaits the touch and then the wet lips suck; the groans of pleasure as he fills her and then goes from shallow rhythmic thrusts to stronger more urgent bangs as they both reach the heights, two hearts in one.
This was no lovemaking. Dele no longer cared whether I was ready. Sometimes it was just a question of ‘turn around I want to fuck’ and when I refused, he would take it by force. The only scripture he remembers so clearly: do not be depriving each other of it. He forgets: love her as your own body. This was no lovemaking. Can there be a making love without love? I lay on the bed and let him do his thing.
True, there was a time I used to anticipate Dele’s coming. When I would look forward to being with him. Had we not made love everywhere conceivable: in the car, office, under the moonlight, kitchen table, floor, standing, bath tub, hotel room…just name it, we’ve done it.
But something changed. Or maybe in my naivety and haste to become Mrs Somebody I didn’t stop to see Dele for who he really is. Why didn’t I notice that Dele had the capacity to rape. Why didn’t I notice that a key weapon in his hands was emotional torture?
I have lived through the torture these past five years. Everyman that speaks to me must be having sex with me…or at least wants to. I have had to break up all friendships, cut off my family just to make him happy and lately he has been asking me to stop talking to virtual friends. All our problems seem to come from other people. He says he loves me. All he does is because he loves me. I want to believe him but my heart has made its own decision.
I wished he had just taken without inflicting so much emotional and physical pain. But these days a ‘lovemaking’ session is preceded by my getting the story of my life laid out- all I am to him is a cheap whore. I give it to any man who stops to ask. Today, the culprit is my boss whom I had a meeting with earlier in the day. If you gave to your boss, then you should give it to me as well.
As I watched him hump, enjoying the sweetness I felt in pain. I knew it was now or never. I have rehearsed this so many times. I clutched the kitchen knife and shut my eyes. All I wanted to remember was one sweet memory but all I could see was the many faces of torture and pain. It was now or never.
He shut his eyes in ecstacy and in that second, I saw my chance to shut his eyes forever…