My Husband Wasted My Body Count

Hey Swēt, I have a confession, my first marriage lasted eight months because my husband couldn't handle my body.

Early twenties, fresh out of school, and I had a rotation of about four men keeping me fed. Wild girl, I was a sl*t. People were on my neck to settle down so I picked the finest guy from a good Lagos family, presentable, quiet, treated me well. I really thought that was going to be enough. It was not.

I didn't take my libido seriously before I said yes. This man's drive was low, low, like once a week if I begged, and even then he'd finish and want to sleep. I lasted two months of good-wife-ing before I started climbing the walls. The world had spoiled me.

So I went back to the rotation. Quietly. Serviced apartments in Lekki, different guy different weekend, I was still coming home smiling so nobody ever suspected.

Then I met the one.

Older man, married himself, one of those men who look at you like they've already made up their mind. We met at a friend's birthday, he saved my number under a fake name, and for weeks it was just 2am texts that I felt in my back. I started wearing perfume to bed. My husband thought it was stress.

Friday after work, I lied about a girls' dinner. He picked me up two streets from my house, drove with his hand on my thigh the whole way, didn't say much. When we pulled up to the short-let I was shaking Swēt, not exaggerating. He walked around, opened my door, kissed me right there in the parking lot before we even got upstairs.