Familiar Strangers BY …Jude Idada

Familiar Strangers BY …Jude Idada

My friend is sexually yoked to another, who is not her husband, and it is not her fault.

He kidnapped her even when she really didn’t know him.

They had gone to the same university.

She was in her first year while he was in his final year.

And the most they had exchanged was a simple hello from time to time.

But others spoke of him within earshot.

So the name somehow registered.

Without interest or intrigue.

A face that passed her by now and then.

A faces she saw sporadically around the department.

A face with a name.

A name that wasn’t exactly memorable.

He had graduated and she didn’t even realise he had, because she never even spared him a thought unless she saw him.

She also never said hello, unless he said hello.

That was then.

Familiar strangers.

Life had rolled on for her.

Graduation. Youth Service. First job. Second job. Dating. Marriage. Kids. Bedlam.

Her marriage had got into a rough patch.

A very rough patch.

An overwhelmingly possessive husband.

A paranoid and controlling husband.

Angst.

Malice.

One so cold that she and her husband barely spoke unless it had to do with the children.

Neither did they touch each other.

Yet they slept on the same bed.

Nights of silence.

Each back turned to the other.

It was on one of those nights she had the first dream.

It was vivid.

It was steamy.

She screamed in her dream when she reached her climax.

And woke up with a jerk on her bed.

All bathed in sweat.

Soaked wet between her thighs.

Her skin filled with goosebumps.

The rosebud apexes of her mamaries stiff as almonds.

She was panting.

Looked around and was relieved to see the familiar surroundings of her bedroom.

And hear the comforting snore of her husband.

Then she stood up and walked to the bathroom.

Deeply troubled as she washed herself.

Why the dream?

Why the sex?

Why him?

She still could see his face in her mind as she stared herself in the mirror.

He looked exactly as he had looked in university.

His name was somehow etched on the fabric of her mind.

She was deeply worried.

She had never thought about him even once since she last saw him at the university.

Why would she now dream of him making such sweet passionate love to her?

The thought hovered around her throughout the day.

And the nights that followed were still the same.

Even more passionate sex.

Same guy.

She waking up satiated and scared.

Worried about what she could have said in her dream.

What her husband could have heard.

So she began to sleep in the guest room.

Behind the looked door.

With the television loud all through the night to muffle whatever sound she made, since she was sure her husband would eavesdrop on her in his suspicious way.

And before she closed her eyes to sleep, she would pray violently.

Binding and casting.

Incubus and the fiends of hell who stalk the night.

Yet the dreams persisted.

Her orgasms increasing in intensity and satisfaction night after night.

No one to talk to.

No one to share with.

Just innocent children, friends she couldn’t trust, colleagues who were just acquaintances, parents who would condemn her, siblings who were like strangers.

She was alone in her sex filled dreams with this man who was a memory from her past.

So one day she went on Facebook to search for him.

She knew she had to make sense of it all.

It wasn’t hard.

Because he already followed her on Facebook.

And there was an old friend request that was still active.

She was surprised.

And curious.

So she checked his profile.

He was proudly married.

Visibly a father.

Successful.

Debonair.

And on his profile picture he was smiling.

His eyes

Piercing.

Hypnotic.

They made his smile intoxicating.

Her heart raced so hard she had to shut her laptop with a loud bang.

It took a while for her heart to quieten.

And even then as the days piled on she found herself thinking of the profile, the picture and the man.

So one day while the house slept, she sat up in bed, picked her laptop from the bedside table, opened it, signed in to Facebook, searched for his profile and clicked on the message button in a bid to send him a message.

There were messages from him already.

One was an introduction and a reminder.

Another one was a looking in.

Another one was another looking in.

Another one wanted to know when she will accept his friend request.

On and on.

She read them all, then she sent him a simple message.

“Hi.”

Before she could place her hand back on the next key, a message popped in.

“Woow! She finally responds. How are you hon?”

It took her by surprise.

She didn’t expect him to be online.

Hon?

Wasn’t that too familiar?

She thought to herself as she hesitated.

The she decided to play the big girl and responded.

“I am good.”

The next messages came in a flurry.

Questions and answers all mixed together.

She could sense his eagerness, discern the fact that he had been reading her updates for years and feel his excitement.

She was intrigued.

How could he have been in her space all this while and she had no idea?

How could he have been consumed by thoughts of her while she never thought about him before the dreams started?

And she responded.

Hours flew by until the dawn broke.

He captivated her.

With his intelligence.

His humour.

And the strength of his attraction to her.

But then she had to leave to get the children ready for school.

But through the day she thought about him. Eager for the night to return. And the chat to continue.

And it did.

The same routine.

For weeks and then months.

The chat.

Then the dreams.

And the next morning she would be so cheerful.

A song on her lips.

Her husband will watch her.

Silent questions.

To proud to ask.

But she did not care.

The night was what she craved.

And one day.

He sent her a message.

“I am in Abuja. Transcorp. Surprise me with a visit. This is my number………..”

Her heart jumped.

She had never spoken to him before that over the phone or even collected his number and now he wanted to meet.

There were alarm bells going off in her head.

Fear.

A red line will be crossed if she went to see him.

It wasn’t him she couldn’t trust but herself.

The rest of the day was in a turmoil.

The temptation hounded her.

And when she left work for lunch break, she found herself calling his number, felt her heartbeat racing as she heard his voice, gazed on as she saw herself drive to the hotel, call up his room, ride the elevator, walk up to his room, knock on the door and nearly collapse when he opened the door stark naked.

There were no words.

She was like a puppet and him a puppeter.

Like an out of body experience for her.

She watched him lead her into the room, remove every piece of clothing behind which she hid, and slowly but expertly begin to make sweet love to her.

She became like molten lava.

Liquid fire.

Blazing with pleasure.

Until she exploded into a million joyful stars.

And she lay on his chest listening to the music of his heart as her body cooled.

They were silent for a while until she whispered.

“Why me?”

He took his time to answer.

And when he did it was a long story.

It started from a silent attraction in school.

An attraction that had followed him through the stages of his life.

He went on and on.

About his dysfunctionally loveless marriage which he couldn’t end.

And she listened.

Then she shared with him her dreams.

The sex filled dreams.

And he told her of the days upon days he spent focusing with intensity on her pictures on her Facebook page as he masturbated.

Imagining himself making love to her.

Passionately.

Always through the night whle his wife slept.

She was shocked but hid it well.

As they talked it dawned on them that he was masturbating as she was dreaming.

The connection was right there for them to see.

And a deep fear seized her.

So she asked.

“What do you want?”

He responded.

“You.”

“For what.”

“To be mine for as long as we live.”

“But I am married.”

“I am married too.”

“I do not want to leave my husband.”

“I do not want to leave my wife.”

Silence fell.

His eyes bored into her.

Those eyes.

The fear increased.

Higher and higher.

It felt like she was falling into a deep dark hole.

Down, down, down….

She shouted suddenly.

“No!”

He jumped back in a start.

She fled.

Back home.

She removed him as her friend from Facebook.

Blocked his number.

Swallowed her pride.

And in the days that followed she made peace with her husband.

They began to talk again.

To make love again.

And the dreams stoppped.

She was happy.

For months.

Until last week.

When the dreams returned.

This time around.

It was not pleasurable lovemaking.

It was violent.

It was rape.

She was so scared of the night.

Too scared to sleep.

And the lack of sleep was driving her mad.

So she called him out of frustration.

And cried out to him.

“Please, leave me alone!”

And in a calm voice he responded.

“Don’t you see, we are meant to be together, forever.”

She stood there listening to him speak.

And she knew exactly what to do to make it all stop.

What to do to set herself free.

So that day when her husband returned from work.

After he had eaten.

And showered.

As they lay in bed.

She turned to him, rubbed his chest sensually and said.

“Honey, there is something I need to tell you.”