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“Sign here!” I commanded, in a stiff voice. He was much older than I, by about 10 years, and I should have shown him more respect. But he had done the unforgivable and was to pay dearly.

Many years before in my peasant past I had lived near my uncle in the village. I first met this man during those years when he came to visit my uncle, working on some books with him. I moved my family away from the confining village to Mombasa, where I had prospered. My wife, far from the humble girl I had met, liked and bulldozed into marriage, became a well-filled out woman with computer skills which I paid for her to obtain in college. She was now well-respected especially in church circles for her dedicated work with children. She had risen to become a national trainer with the Boys’ and Girls’ Brigade. I felt immensely proud of these achievements, knowing that I had had a strong hand in it all.

It bothered me quite a lot that she did not give me the respect she should have, for did I not lift her from an insignificant, poor, almost abandoned girl with no future, and given her status?

Some time last year, increasingly bothered by her poor attitude towards me, and her sharp tongue, I began to wonder if she had taken a lover, unlikely as that seemed even to me at the time. I sneaked into, and installed an app called Cheaters on her phone, so that it would send reports to me of all her phone calls, sms, WhatsApp activity and browsing history. I was shocked to discover that she had turned against me, talking ill of me with her lover. I was further astounded to uncover the identity of this man. How could she go for a man 10 years my senior? I found myself almost wishing it were a younger man whose prowess in bed she had sought. But no, it turned out to be the fellow I met at my uncle’s, and who was still stuck in the village we had left behind so many years before.

Many weeks passed, while their messaging became more and more explicit, he telling her how he was going fulfill her as a woman, sexually. I was infuriated. What more could she want after everything I had sacrificed to give her, especially from an old withered, very lean fellow who had not even mastered the art of feeding after this long? Should I wait until they were rendezvoused in a hotel room and attack them with a panga? Should I hire a gang of thugs to beat them both up until they became invalids? There were times when his messages became exciting even to me, and I had a hard time dragging myself to the reality that this was another man telling my wife, my own wife, these things, and probably doing them to her.

Or should I take the revenge I read somewhere that you should let the man who sleeps with your wife keep her? No, I wanted something more satisfying to me. A friend of mine unwittingly gave me an idea. He had a lorry that brought fresh produce to Mombasa, from places beyond that village of my remote past. Since I sold lorries, why not buy one myself, and make this oldie serve me? He needed money, that much I knew from his chats with my wife. He could go to farms in the uplands, buy fresh vegetables from the farmers and bring them down. He would have no way of lying to me about his whereabouts because the vehicle management systems on the trucks my company sold would broadcast where it was at any given time, yet he would know nothing of it. Perfect!

“I will arrive at 10 so we will have more time together,” he wrote in one of his messages to my wife.

“I will be all ready for you, my darlin,” she messaged back.

My truck had been on the road for a few weeks by this time, in the hands of a distant cousin. I planned this would only be for a short duration, before I offered it to the oldie. I would sack the cousin noisily, letting my wife know all the reasons for this action. Family members are rarely the best partners for a business venture. True to form, he lied to me that he had not left the farmlands while the systems showed him to be in Kawangware market. He then rushed back to the farmlands to arrive in Mombasa a day later than he should have. I sacked him on the spot and had the lorry taken home to my wife whom I told the details of the parting of ways. I was convinced the cousin had been selling some produce in Kawangware, keeping the money in his pocket. I fumed.

“So,” I told her, “I now need a driver as this truck cannot be parked here gathering dust when it should be earning back the money I spent.”

It was no more than week later that my wife told me one evening. “Do you remember Tim, friend of your uncle?” She had just come back from one of her trips to Nairobi to oversee the building of a water project we had started some months earlier.

“No, which Tim?” I asked, while inwardly resenting him for putting the horns upon me.

“He used to visit Uncle often. I even think they did typesetting work together.”

“I think I vaguely remember something like that.” I kept up the pretense of not knowing whom we were talking about.

She went on to tell me Etimesgut Escort how she had recently met him in Nairobi after many years. He was looking disheveled and obviously down at heel, though still with some of his old pride. “Maybe he could drive the lorry?”

The two cheats had fallen into my trap neatly! She thought I did not know the two of them were in daily contact, maybe even sexually when she was upcountry. I hoped that she was kept so busy that it did not actually happen. I could not be 100% sure.

“I am not sure about giving my truck to such an unfortunate,” I answered disdainfully. “Does he even possess a driving license?”

I made a few feeble protests then told her she could verify his ability and availability, after giving her a figure for his pay, a percentage of the sales. I saw their conversations on WhatsApp as they talked about the truck driving and it was agreed that one weekend he would also travel from upcountry to meet me and get a contract of some sort signed, during which I felt justified in not showing him the proper respect.

“Sign here!” I commanded, in a stiff voice. He was much older than I, by about 10 years, and I should have shown him more respect. But he had done the unforgivable and would pay dearly.

I was beginning to think I had made a smart move in bringing the oldie into my employ, since the trips were making increasing profits. I had been so keen on monitoring him and the truck that I forgot to check my wife’s phone activity. I had congratulated myself on having removed the two from each other’s clutches, the oldie being on the road much of the time. I was puzzled to find, when I checked the Cheaters database, that the records had stopped coming in more than two weeks previously. Had they discovered my sneaky little app? That was entirely likely since she had studied computer software. But between my job and monitoring Oldie’s activities, I had no time left to check on the wife. It irked me that my own wife was using skills that I had paid for to thwart my efforts.

The water project had reached such a point that my wife needed to go up more than twice or thrice a month. On one such trip Tim had just finished delivery to Mackinnon and Kongowea markets when she was ready to leave. Without my reports of my wife’s phone I never knew how it had been arranged but I absolutely refused to let Tim give her a lift. They pretended to look puzzled by such an unreasonable man who would not let his wife ride on his own truck. But it continued to bother me that I could not always time my wife’s trips so that she would be in Nairobi when the truck was in Mombasa. The possibility remained that they met on their upcountry trips, and without my surveillance app on her phone I had now lost control.

I became almost desperate wracking my brains to find a way of stopping this adulterous liaison without seeming to have brought trouble on my own head by employing the fellow. Then out of the blue the idea hit me. My uncle was still living in the same place, running his book editing business for Longman’s Kenya. They handed him manuscripts, which he turned into textbooks. I would try to find out about my oldie and his family on a visit to my uncle.

Without letting my uncle into too much information I found out from him that Tim’s wife sometimes helped in typing out the few manuscripts which came handwritten. When Tim had told him he would not be doing typesetting work for him, because he was going to be driving a truck, my uncle had suggested that his wife could use the same computer to type out work for him; she did not have typesetting skills. “I felt that I had not lost all,” said my uncle. To my furiously plotting mind that also meant he had her phone contacts.

I now set out to find that information out without alerting my uncle that I had any interest in her. My plan of revenge was coming along rather nicely.

“You have a rather neat phone, Uncle!” I admired his instrument.

“It is an iPhone that I asked my sister in the States to send to me, while I dumped the money into her bank account, from which she could transfer to herself in America.”

“It is a good thing that banks have finally embraced technology,” I said, while looking at his phonebook, wondering how he had saved Tim’s wife’s number. He was always very methodical in his life so it came as no surprise that he had saved the spouses’ numbers next to one another, using their surnames; her first name was Susan.

I quickly made a mental note of the number and said, “I have heard of Siri. Do you use it?” Of course he was very proud of showing me how he used the voice control to accomplish various tasks.

“Bring it here, let me show you,” he told me. I was amazed at how, at his age, he had embraced technology.

Armed with Susan’s contacts I could embark on her seduction. It became clear to me that part of the strategy was to use church work. Accordingly I decided to stay on until Etlik Escort the next day which was a Sunday so that I could run into Susan there as if by accident.

As soon as I was spotted some deacon pulled me into the vestry. “Welcome back among us, brother!” greeted the minister.

“Thank you.” I was shown to a seat. “I am visiting my uncle whom you all know, and decided to attend my old church while I am here.” I spotted Susan as one of the deacons on duty that day.

“What would you like to do? Give the sermon?” Every eye turned to me. I knew that the sermons at this parish followed a series of topics. Sure that today’s message would follow upon last Sunday’s I demurred.

“Perhaps if you had not chosen the readers of the lessons, I could take one,” I said.

“Of course. Susan was doing the second one,” said the minister. Turning to her he asked, “Should we let our brother take it?”

There was no way such request could be refused, so I became the reader like that. I looked in Susan’s direction for an instant and sent her a look. She smiled her acceptance. She had retained her looks rather well. She had not picked up as many extra pounds on the way to motherhood as some of the others I had met outside.

After the service we repaired again to the vestry to, among other things, comment on the service. That ‘post-mortem’ declared it to have been a good service. As we left I shook Susan’s hand.

“Sorry to push you away from your moment in the sun,” I said, tongue in cheek.

“I am shining rather dimly, thanks to you,” she shot back, with a cheeky smile on her face. “How have you people been? The coast seems to suit you.” She looked admiringly at my clothes.

Keeping to the accepted lexicon, I said, “The Lord has been good to us. We can’t complain.”

“Come and have lunch with us,” she invited. “Your uncle would not mind. After all he had you since yesterday, if I am not far wrong.”

“Indeed you are not. My car is parked right there,” pointing and thinking that my plan seemed to be running on oiled wheels. It even seemed that my subterfuge with my uncle’s iPhone had not been necessary. We rode the short distance to my employee’s house while she told me that their children were not doing badly. They were in boarding school except the last born who was at home.

“Doesn’t she attend Sunday School?”

“She does the 9 o’clock one and goes back home. I hope she has prepared the lunch by now.” As indeed she had. I enjoyed the rather modest meal but because I was enjoying it with someone I was so attracted to, it went down much better that if it had been otherwise.

Afterwards as we chatted I asked her nonchalantly whether she would be interested in being a facilitator in a seminar in Mombasa. She told me she had quite a bit of experience doing that. I left her with the promise that I would notify her in good time, with dates, topics and venue. She then gave me her number, not knowing I already had it.

The Woman’s Guild Hotel hosted the seminar facilitators at a discounted rate. Susan had been very good during her sessions. She was a teacher of young children, it is true, but I had not realised that she was that good with adults as well. I could not praise her enough. My only regret was that the seminar was so short, but on the second evening I had taken her out for dinner.

“Don’t bother with mass-produced food today. Let’s dine in fine style.”

“I did suspect you invited me to Mombasa with ulterior motives. I do not mind the nice envelope I will receive, but you are not clean.” She did not sound displeased with the idea, almost inviting me to ramp it up to something more.

I picked her up at Makupa and we headed out towards Nyali Bridge, then onto the Malindi road, which we left at Kengeleni to enter Nyali proper. Towards the beach, at the creek, I drove into the Tamarind Restaurant. We took a table from which we could see over the water, towards Old Town.

“When they tell us in history lessons about dhows coming to Mombasa in the ages gone by, they came in this way. This was the harbour they docked at.”

“Don’t be surprised by my ignorance, but are those white triangles dhows?”

“Wow, well spotted! Those are indeed the sails of dhows which still come here from the northern ports.”

“Will we see a cargo ship, or a passenger liner tonight, do you think?”

“Oh, no! They do not come here. The current Kilindini harbour is on the southern side of the island.”

“Do harbours grow old?” She sounded like she was only half joking.

But I said seriously, “No, it proved not to be deep enough for the bigger steamships that brought rail-building materials, so George Whitehouse decided to use that other side, which was just as shielded, but deeper. The dredging was not as much as would have been needed on this side. But don’t let appearances deceive you. It’s still two kilometers across the water!”

We were having lobster for dinner with Eve Gelen Escort a white wine. She opened her eyes wide at this.

“The Bible, contrary to missionary teachings, has nothing against drinking alcohol,” I dug in.

“What? Do you mean I have not read the Bible properly?” she grilled me.

“You have. But with tinted glasses. That teaching has been handed down from those first people who were taught by the nineteenth century missionaries.”

“So we have swallowed a teaching without examining its roots?” I was amazed at how quickly she had grasped the essential point.

When I lay my palm on her thigh, she swiveled her eyes to me questioningly. I simply moved slowly towards her groin. She put her hand over mine as if to stop me, but allowed it to ride on my own. I massaged her upper thigh slowly. I felt her fingers tighten around mine, and her breath draw in. I squeezed her tender flesh.

“Did the missionaries deceive our grandparents about adultery too?” she asked with a hint of irritation. I thought, surely that is tongue in cheek?

“Supposing I took you to a nice place tonight and made sweet, tender love to you all night, what would I have taken from you?”

“It’s not that. We would both have been unfaithful to our spouses.”

“Have you ever asked yourself what that means? How would it affect my wife? How does your husband come into it? Neither of them is here. Why do we imagine they will be affected?”

“The Bible forbids adultery,” she maintained robustly.

“For what reason?”

“It is sin.” My fingers arrived at the hem of her panty.

“That is another instance of simply repeating phrases whose origins we have no idea of.”

Her hand was still riding on mine as it ravaged her inner thigh, near her cunt. I could feel the heat from that mound.

“Those teachings were very relevant when the human race was concentrated in the deserts of the Middle East. It was not certain that we would be successful as a species. So it was important to safeguard children by giving them a stable environment so that they would have a better chance of becoming parents in their turn.” She was looking at me doubtfully.

I continued, “That is the origin of the idea of marriage between one man and one woman. It was not even exclusive because we have the record of some rich men who had several wives, but did not draw the wrath of the Almighty. Even today wealth shows that one has favour from God.”

She was about to dispute that last statement then seemed to acknowledge the truth of it. “You seem to have dismissed the whole teaching of the Bible.”

“Oh no. It is not that pastors and church leaders are not aware of these weaknesses in their teachings. But they have nothing better to offer. Additionally the widespread practice of religion gives them immense power and influence. Many of them have also come into wealth.”

My thumb crept along her slit. I felt her legs at first come together, then part a little more, perhaps to allow me to explore her cunt better. I released her for a fraction and moved her hand onto my groin; my cock was standing at attention. She absentmindedly began to stroke my erection, while I returned to delighting her cunt.

“So tonight, I will take you to a fine hotel, give you such fine loving that you will forget the missionaries’ position and have a healthy relationship with your Bible!”

I felt her fingers tighten around my stem. “Have you finished with your wine?”

“We can go now,” she almost sounded eager.

Once in the car I placed her hand on my crotch as I drove out from the Tamarind, through Nyali and then, instead of going back over the bridge, I turned towards Malindi. Twelve kilometers later at Shanzu I chose one of the tourist beach hotels and booked a room. She opened her mouth in wonder at the cost. But I could easily afford it.

Up in the lift we went. When we got to our floor, the long corridor was almost intimidating, but my hand on her waist served to calm her.

“So you’re dreaming how you will be inside me in a few minutes?”

“You’re longing to feel my tongue lashing your pussy, and clit, aren’t you?”

“I will always remember this date as the evening you corrupted me thoroughly.” She swayed a little. “Sure, I had always had doubts about some teachings we hold onto stubbornly but it was all very vague in my mind. I feared to explore ‘heretical’ thoughts but tonight you have put them into words. Elegant words. Thank you, sweetheart!”

When I opened the door into our room, it was she who grabbed me around the neck, kissing me so hungrily you would have thought she wanted to eat me up like the lobster! I held the back of her head to steady us and gave back as good as I got. Old man Tim had not been giving this woman her due, I thought, yet was screwing my wife every opportunity he got. Sue was ravenously hungry for some loving.

There was no time or need for lengthy foreplay. We were both on fire. I threw her over the bedspread and grabbed her knees with urgency. In an instant my mouth was on her twat, licking her lips. She moaned loudly, not expecting that. Apparently Tim had never given her this kind of treatment. Turning my tongue sideways I drove it along her slit like a plough blade, opening her to more of my tricks. Her hips bucked on the bed.

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