by Daniel Nkado
I have always wanted my husband and me to try something new in bed.
Over the years our sex life has grown boring.
Most times I feel he is just not into it anymore— you know that thing they say about sex turning perfunctory after some time in marriage.
I hated that.
I never wanted to feel that way—a used-up housewife who has given almost all she could sexually.
A bedroom boredom.
So I talked to my husband. We were on the bed that night, watching the ceiling, when I told him.
He gave me a scoffing smile and asked, ‘What do you mean by a sex adventure?’
I tried all I could to explain, but he just wasn’t getting it. The more I tried, the more he laughed.
Maybe I wasn’t using the right terms. I would have, if I knew them.
But even so, my husband could prove very ticklish at times. I mean what man bursts into laughter after an orgasm?
Ok, maybe quite a few, but that’s just the case with the man I married.
‘Will you quit laughing, silly!’ I said.
He yet won’t stop so I knocked him hard on his shaved head.
And finally he was quiet. I ignored the frown he cast at me and held in the urge to smile. ‘I’m serious,’ I told him.
My husband pulled up to a sitting position on the bed, his back now to the wall. ‘So what do you have in mind?’ he asked me.
‘Let’s try role-playing,’ I said.
‘Role playing? What is that?’
‘It’s uhm…you know…basically the playing of roles.’
My husband stared at me with an awkward frown, as if he suspected something has gone loose in my head.
‘Yes!’ I screamed, remembering something. ‘I have it now!’
My husband drew slightly back. ‘Theresa, are you okay?’ he asked, casting a sceptical face.
‘See, dear, we are going to switch sexes.’
‘You are going to be me and I you.’
‘Ok,’ my husband said, nodding with ripe sarcasm.
‘Come on, it’d be fun.’
‘I see,’ he said. ‘Tell me this is not a prank from one of those feminist books you’ve been reading.’
‘Which book are you talking about?’
‘Erm, what’s the name again?’ He winced, trying to remember. ‘Yes, Cynthia Wolf or Naomi Lion or something.’
I hissed. ‘Oh please, Naomi Wolf is just an author and that awesome book of hers has nothing to do with this.’
‘Yes, really! Now please take away those eyes of yours.’
‘The eyes are gone now,’ he said, ‘you can continue.’
I looked and the eyes weren’t really gone, but I continued nonetheless.
‘You are going to dress up as me, pull on one of my sexiest lingerie while I come in wearing your briefs.’
My husband was staring at me, saying nothing.
‘Yes,’ I continued, ‘I’m going to put on a small beard too and wear a cap.’
‘What of your dick?’ he asked and earned himself another knock on the head.
‘Come on,’ I groaned. ‘Be serious now, will you?’
‘I’m not in.’
‘I’m not ever going to wear those your mosquito net underpants.’
‘Okay, fine, you can wear your normal briefs then just put on my bra.’
My husband slid back into the sheet. ‘I’m going to bed.’
I knocked his head again.
He turned to me: ‘Theresa, hit me all you want, kill me, but you are never going to turn me into a woman just for your own selfish desires.’
‘Really, my own selfish desire, you call it?’
‘So you are really comfortable with our present sex life?’
‘Well, you are the one that is complaining.’
‘Okay, fine,’ I said. ‘Let’s sleep then. At least I tried.’
My husband pulled up again. I guess he knew there won’t be any sleep for either of us that night when I start murmuring and complaining to the invisible spirits in my head.
‘See,’ my husband said, understandingly now, ‘we can try something else, anything, but just let it not involve me slipping into your underpants.’
‘Fine!’ I said. ‘Now let’s have that something else from you.’
He rolled up his eyes, thinking.
I stared at him, waiting.
‘We can try more foreplay before the main stuff,’ he finally produced.
‘You see, you are just the reason why we are even having this discussion in the first place.’
‘You call my nipples nuts and you use words like ‘stuff’ to describe sex!’
‘What is a better word to use?’ he asked. ‘Hocus-pocus, or abracadabra?’
I shook my head, sighing. ‘You are just hopeless.’
My husband laughed. He took one of my hands and started to stretch out my fingers. ‘Honey, do not concern yourself so much, all old couples go through this phase, it’s pretty normal and—’
I took back my hand immediately.
Surprise fell on his face.
Ignoring both him and the face, I picked one of the pillows and rose from the bed.
‘Where are you going?’ my husband asked.
‘To the living room.’
‘Since you’ve become all old and wrinkly and aged, I myself haven’t!’
I was gone before he could say anything else.
Days went by and then weeks.
I continued to persuade my husband and he continued saying no, till eventually I gave up.
‘Think up something else,’ he always said, ‘just anything else that would be sexy and real adventurous and won’t interfere with my manhood.’
I smelt sexism, but decided to ignore it. Truth is I was already tired of persuading him. I’ve come to conclude too that it wouldn’t make much sense if he agreed without the entirety of his mind.
So I took his advice and thought up something else. And that night I told him.
‘Sex outside our bedroom, sounds cool to me!’ my husband said, approval all over his face. ‘So where do you have in mind?’ he asked.
‘Maybe the living room.’
My husband shook his head. ‘Honey, there is no much difference between our living room and the bedroom. You got to be creative with these things.’
‘Ok, what of the garage?’
‘No!’ he said. ‘Anything outdoors count me out.’
‘With your size, I bet you be ready to change my tyres afterwards.’
I was already heading for it, but he was sharp and dodged quickly so my fist flew across his head instead.
‘Aha! I have it!’ he said.
‘Really? Where?’ I asked him.
‘My kitchen? Oh no.’
‘Honey, the kitchen is just perfect.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘Not where I cook.’
‘Think about this, the kitchen is the only place in this house no one would ever imagine we would be having sex in.’
‘What’s your point?’
‘You wanted something different, this is it.’
‘It’s going to be very discomforting.’
‘Exactly what the fun will be. Pleasure from discomfort.’
‘Do you by any chance imply S and M?’
‘Anything wrong with it?’
I ran over it in my mind. ‘I guess not,’ I said, quietly.
My husband smiled and kissed me.
That Saturday we took our boy to my sister’s and drove back home, hot and eager.
Inside the kitchen, we started first on the middle desk.
Then my husband lifted me and dropped me on to the table by the wall. He stood at the extreme edge so that my head rested on the gas burner.
It was different, slightly uncomfortable but all the same refreshing.
In the heat of the action, I took my hands to the back of my head.
It was in the process that I accidentally flicked the burner knob.