- The Storried Platform
‘IN LOVE WITH THE WRONG MAN’ – By Dean O. Arutoghor
Pulling up the bedcovers just over my naked breasts, I admired the beautiful specimen of a man sleeping beside me. I chuckled and shook my head as I realised that the only adjective I could even find for his snoring was ‘dulcet’.
Tenderly, I traced a finger over his square jaw before going down to his six-pack as his taut stomach rose and fell ever so softly with every breath.
Oh and ability and willingness to please in bed? Double check.
“Mr. Perfect!” I whispered.
Still gazing adoringly at his physique, I eased myself off the bed and quietly slipped back into my clothes.
I didn’t need to leave him a note. He knew the deal. Right from the start, I had warned him that this would happen but he thought he could sway me. Even after five months.
At the door, I looked over my shoulder at him for one last time. I will miss this. I will. I didn’t think it would be such a wrench when the hour came to walk out.
I took a deep breath, stilled my shaking hands and opened the door.
I closed the door firmly behind me.
As I headed to the hotel lift, I retrieved the Lebara SIM card from my mobile phone and destroyed it. That was the only way Mr. Perfect could contact me for our usual rendezvous and more importantly, I never saved his number.
I slipped in my usual SIM card and two missed calls notifications blipped almost immediately. I smiled as the picture of a bald, dumpy man with crooked teeth popped up on the screen. My guilt almost melted away as my heart filled with joy and love. When you have been with a wonderful husband for twenty-five years, you learn to, eventually, appreciate security, familiarity and a deeper love over lust when it comes calling. If you are half as sensible as me and know when to walk away that is.
By Dean O. Arutoghor
Pulling up the bedcovers just over my naked breasts, I admired the beautiful specimen of a man sleeping beside me. I chuckled and shook my head as I realised that the