Anatomy of The Man Who Cheated On You

By Emmanuel Ngwa
6 Minutes
  Photo by Amber Morse on Pexels<br>
  Photo by Amber Morse on Pexels

Dear Bessem,

Don’t hit that delete button. This isn’t spam. It’s a message for you and you alone. Besides, how can it be spam? You’re so very careful about whom you give your email address out to. I know that. He told me. So, I had to go into his phone to get it out.

He has a complicated cellphone, that six-digit alphanumeric passcode. But you know boys and their toys; they’re never happy with any piece of technology unless it’s often too far complicated for even them to understand. But there you are, right at the top of his list. Isn’t that sweet?

Bessem my wife



Telephone Number…


I planned on calling you. No! This is simpler. Better. You won’t have found my number on that list. I call him. Never the other way around.

We’ve actually met. You and I. Twice in fact. The first time was at Besong’s wedding party sponsored by the company where your husband and I work. That was a couple of years ago. I don’t expect you to remember. I had only just met him. He was very drunk, you got upset with him for embarrassing you before your friends and colleagues and took him home. Do you remember that?

The second time was just this past week at that garden party. Everyone brought their husbands and wives, and of course, he brought you. Do you remember how we chatted then? He told me about your brother and friends, and how he couldn’t stand the food. We laughed but he didn’t laugh. In fact, he was unusually silent that afternoon. And do you know why? He was burning to have me.

There was a thick shade of trees at the bottom of the garden. Do you recall? Those trees provided a handy hideout on a good day if you could find the right moment to sneak away. I went first. Then, he came to me and I took him in my arms and smiled disdainfully into his pathetic, little face. But there he stood, ashamed of how he had given himself to me when you were barely 30 feet away up the hill.

Oh! Bessem, you didn’t notice a thing. So trusting. So oblivious. I admire that in a way. That ability to focus on what’s right with your relationship to the exclusion of all that’s wrong with it. Of course, he loved and hated what I had made him do, but that was short-lived.

He made an appearance later and even tried to shout at me for it the next time I had him alone. But I reminded him that it’s not nice to yell at a lady. We lost a lot of progress that day.

So Bessem, have I shocked you? I hope not. I like to think that deep down, somewhere, you must have known something was wrong with your young marriage. You must have known there was a black snake in the grass, but I bet you didn’t know that snake was me. The girl from the office. One you barely noticed and didn’t remember.

I would like to believe that you aren’t that stupid. Your husband may have thought you’re an idiot but I don’t. I didn’t mean to shock you. But I felt you really needed to know. He agrees with me. I’m sure. Or at least, he would if he could talk right now. But he can’t. He’s a little tied up at the moment but even if he didn’t buy, it wouldn’t matter. The truth is, your husband and I are having an affair.

Your husband is a puppy. I could see it from the very first day we met. I’m surprised you couldn’t. Well-mannered, polite, respectful, meek, weak. He had it written all over him. Such a delight. A man so fresh and so ready to be broken. I’m sorry, Bessem, I really am. But I’m afraid, he wanted me from that very first day as well. You know how men look at you, and you just… know. And I could tell he lost it for me, fantasized about me, imagined us together?

We were in the parking lot, walking to our cars, heading home at the end of the day. It was late and I had worn something low-cut and a little higher than the legs — completely inappropriate for work. I think you’ve been far too generous with him, Bessem. You give him everything he wants, but what you don’t seem to understand is, if you deny a man for long enough, well enough, then when you choose to give him the slightest taste of the forbidden, he’s in the palm of your hands forever. Men are so pathetic.

There, we stood in the parking lot, saying our goodbyes for the night and ready to walk to our cars. He said goodbye to me while starring at my breasts the entire time. That’s how I knew he wasn’t really saying goodbye.

I told him to talk to me instead of lusting after me and to get into my car if he was coming. So stunt, he didn’t say a word and instead, he slipped silently into the passenger seat of my car as if he thought if he did it quietly, it would be like he wasn’t doing it at all. But there was really never any doubt about what was going to happen. I knew I had him forever. Or at least, for as long as I pleased. He was silent the entire trip too, didn’t say a word as we made our way up the stairs to my apartment. That was good. I prefer it when they’re quiet.

You would’ve laughed at him, Bessem if you had seen him that night. He was so needy, so desperate. I love watching them when they want it. I love watching them beg with their little puppy dog eyes. Do you like to know what I did then? All I did was sit at the edge of my bed and crossed my leg, slowly so he could get just the barest glimpse of the creamy skin of my thighs above my stockings. The entire time, he did nothing more than sit on the chair at the far side of my room and that was enough for him.

I told him how he was being a bad husband. How he had a little wife waiting at home, how he could go home to her at any time, go home to you at any time and he could have and you know he could. But he didn’t. Instead, he chose to sit there and when I finally looked right into his eyes, and gave him permission, he jerked himself senselessly to me. I kicked him out soon after and even made him catch a cab back to the office to pick up his car.

He was miserably guilty by then. They always are. But of course, I didn’t use him anymore that night. What do you take me for, Bessem? He didn’t speak to me for days after that. I expected it. But eventually, he tried to talk to me. Then, he went too serious — big guilty eyes and a low mumbling voice, I told him to suck it up and be waiting at my doorstep that night. He was to be punished for ignoring me. He was horrified but he was also there at 6 pm on the dot as I had instructed.

That was the first time I whipped him — six lashes to the back. He needed to be beaten. If ever a man was born to be trashed, Bessem, it was your husband. He wallowed in it and thanked me after every stroke as I had commanded and moaned as the whip beat into his flesh and left its mark.

How did he explain those strange marks to you? I’ve always wondered. But of course, perhaps, you didn’t see them. He showers in the dark, dresses in the bathroom and purchased pyjamas for the first time in years.

Yours unapologetically,

The girl who stole your husband.