Tales of Betrayal

ONSHORE, OFFSHORE: THE HUNGERERD CLITO When Joe made a U-turn from the airport back to his home this hot afternoon, no one expected that he would. It could be total fate or sheer providence. Whatever it was had the unwavering resolve to reveal a deep seated secret that would forever alter Joe’s marital life. Joe was a Petrochemical Engineer working with Shell Oil Company. He was one of the people responsible for the Nigerian oil and gas mining and exportation. As a common practice in this industry, Joe ran two weeks onshore and two weeks offshore; two weeks in the oil fields of Niger Delta and two weeks in Lagos with his wife. Expectedly, Joe had money. He was well paid from Nigeria's Petrol Dollars. Joe's wife was also well cared for, an obvious fact revealed by her glittering skin and the excess flesh folded up around her thick neck. But money, with its enormous advantages, is not without its own negative weight. What Joe's wife never revealed to anyone was the possibility of her husband having some s****l dysfunction, a sort of forty seconds man. With excess money to afford the luxuries and frivolities of life, a typical Joe tends to consume sugary contents more than necessary for his body. Some waists are locked by excess sugar and its excess fat. No one knew if this was not the problem or probably Joe's wife was just a woman given to feminine adventure. On this given day, Joe had just finished his two weeks onshore, spending quality time with his wife. Now he was due to return to the high sea to extract more crude oil for Nigeria for another two weeks away from home. Bags put together, Joe bid his wife farewell after sending a generous amount of money to her bank account. 'See you in two weeks', Joe said as he zoomed off to the airport, heading for the Deltas. Whenever Joe left home this way, he never came back until it was two weeks. Joe's wife knew this more than anyone else. But as it were, change is constant in form and appearance. Sometimes, against our wills, nature forces change to happen. Joe was at the airport when, suddenly, he remembered that he left his Compass behind, a vital tool for every miner on the high sea. Joe must return home to pick his Compass. To be on the right side of time, he would take a bike home, pick his Compass and fall back to the airport just so he wouldn't miss his flight. Joe didn't wait to process the entire details in his head before he jumped on a commercial bike heading home. He was a wealthy man. No one expected Joe to ride a bike home, not even after bidding his wife farewell. When he got home, the gate to his compound was flung open, same as the door to his living room. He passed through. Then he noticed on his couch a mechanic coat of light blue with yellow stripes. Same coat also worn by Lagos Vulcanizers. He walked past the coat, past the dirty pair of male shoes left at the entrance to his bedroom. Joe headed straight to the room he shared with his wife. Shocked! Stricken! Dead! ****** Joe came alive again. What he saw would change his life forever. His family life. His working life. Everything that had to do with Joe. None would remain the same again. Right on top of Joe's wife was Ahmed, the Vulcanizer across the road. Ahmed had fixed Joe's car tyres several times and Joe had given him generous sums more than his actual bills. Joe was particularly happy with Ahmed because he was always respectful. He would greet madam deferentially with his head bowed and would collect whatever money Joe was paying him with both hands. But this time, Ahmed was fixing something else. He was fixing Joe's wife; he had always fixed her and Joe was always paying for this service directly or inadvertently. And there was madam, with both hands holding Ahmed's head and legs raised so high, one resting on the wall, the other hanging in a balance, she called Ahmed's name many times over as she showered praises on him: "You are a man. You give it to me like no one else does. You are my life. You own me. Whatever you want, tell me. I will do it for you. You own this Punani. Oya, harder, faster, harder. Yaaaaaaaaaah". She Climaxed. Joe was transfixed. Standing on the same spot, watching this scenario and listening to his wife moan and sing such mouth-watering praises of a mere Vulcanizer across the road, Joe died again, and blinked his eyes open. He attempted to move his left leg but it was too heavy, feeling like the leg was glued to the floor. Joe managed to move his feet, walked to the only table in his room and picked his Compass. It was the squeak of the Compass against the wooden table that alerted Ahmed. But this time, Ahmed was helpless. He was already emptying his spermatozoa into madam's Puna when he heard the noise. His soul, body and spirit were pouring out now. Madam became noisier. Such a Climax! Ahmed looked up, saw Joe eyeball to eyeball. He attempted to stop the ejaculation and jump up from that damned bed. But he couldn't. He was not in charge anymore. His d**k was. Ahmed screamed loudly: “Yeeeh!”. Madam jerked to consciousness and looked up. Six eyes looking at themselves. Two unequal adults, naked and holding themselves together. Madam's glittering fair skin was nothing to compare with Ahmed's battered, oil-stained black skin. And there was Joe, flummoxed and standing like a complete gentleman. Then Joe apologized: “Sorry guys. Hope I'm not interrupting anything?”. Ahmed was in bed, panting and gasping for breath from the exhaustion of this ejaculation. Madam covered her face with a pillow and Joe, holding tight to his Compass, reached for the door and walked out of the room, leaving behind two naked adults not knowing what to do or what to expect next. By the time Ahmed gathered the courage to tiptoe to the living room, Joe was halfway to the airport urging his bike rider to move faster and faster still. For its worth, Joe must catch up with his flight just in time. He got the flight and headed for the Deltas just as the bike man smiled home with more tips. For the better part of three years, this show had been on, completely hidden from Joe. For every time Joe was away, Ahmed ate three solid meals in this house. Madam served him the biggest meats from her pot of soup, cooked with Joe's money. Every so often, Madam would send generous sums of money to Ahmed's bank account, from monies sent by Joe for home maintenance. As Joe worked the rigs for money, Ahmed worked the c******s back home also for money. Believe what you can, the Ahmed who worked the c******s was more valued in this home than the Joe who worked the oil rigs in the Deltas. Joe thought all the way through his trip. He couldn't possibly connect the dots. 'A Vulcanizer?', he said to himself as though he could have felt better if it was a wealthy Bank Manager that was cruising his Punani. 'He owns you, owns your Puna? No. Not my wife.' Joe reassured himself. For how long had this been going on under his roof? How many people knew about this? How many men was she making out with? Could this have been his own fault? How many of their two children truly belong to Joe? Definitely she didn’t do this for the money! Joe couldn't figure out anything now. He simply shut his mind dead and chose to watch the Television screen in front of him. But this too was an effort in futility. He watched but saw nothing. His mind wouldn't just record any image of meaning. Joe then decided to stop being the man he had tried to be. He decided to let out his emotions from their trap and cry his heart out. Then the first tears rolled out, chilled against his hardened face. Joe must be the 'man' he was known for. People must not see his tears, not these total strangers. He bowed his head to his knees to cry some more and conceal his innocent tears. ****** By the time Joe lifted up his head, his tears all dried and drained, the Plane had touched down and passengers were beginning to alight. He picked his bag and his Compass and headed down the plane, over to the high sea, to his rigs. Back at work, Joe had become a shadow of himself. How was he expected to work these rigs for the next two weeks with the killing thought that Ahmed was in his home, in his own bed, working his wife's c******s? The thought killed him the more. But man must work if the money is to keep coming and more importantly, if he must sustain his rich status. Joe hit the rigs. He worked a little, and thought a little, completely absent minded. Suddenly, the Lead Engineer talked to Joe: "Do you think we can meet up with the Government target of 2.2 billion barrels this month, Joe?". No response. The Lead Engineer looked up to Joe only to see the tears pouring down his cheeks. The Lead Engineer, with deep concerns, asked Joe what the problem was. He told Joe how he had not been his cheerful self since he returned to work. Joe saw his sincerity and narrated his ordeals, exactly what he saw in his bedroom: his wife's raised and opened legs, the moaning, the collision of his wife's succulent, shining and ebullient skin with Ahmed's sharply contrasting, disgusting, irritating, oil-stained skin in the most violent eruption of emotional intrigues he had ever witnessed. More tears rolled down his cheeks as he narrated his sadness. Listening to this, the Lead Engineer quickly arranged for Joe to return home and put things right. Joe left the rig immediately, put his bags together and headed for Lagos. On his way home, ideas formed in his head. When he gets to Lagos, he would ask Madam to stay away for some time, until he comes up with a plan for the family. As for Ahmed, Joe would have to frame him up in a robbery attack on his home (in fairness to Joe, Ahmed's crime was beyond robbery. He took his entire Punani to himself and earned all the accolades and praises his wife had left for a man) and ensure he rot in jail. Joe was satisfied with this plan. Getting home, Joe met the entrance gate firmly locked, same as the doors to the house. He used his own pair of the keys to gain entrance. Indoor, Joe was not surprised. Madam was long gone with every little thing she could call her own. Ahmed was not spared either. He took his pumping machine, his tyres, rims and irons, and went far away from across the road. Engineer Joe was now free to start a new life with any lady of his choice. He could possibly choose a Slay Queen with a large back and sumptuous breasts standing solid – the exact product he had always wanted, just as Madam starts a new life of her own, possibly with Ahmed. If we could turn the table and fix Ahmed in Joe's shoes, catching his wife under the heavy d**k of a Co-vulcanizer, one soul or two would be gone to heaven and Ahmed would not be one of the victims. Wouldn't you just like rich men? Joe was one of them, a perfect gentleman.