
Cheers to 2025
Every New Year holds promise, as though it is any different from the turn of
““But the husband cannot be guilty of a rape committed by himself upon his lawful wife, for by their mutual matrimonial consent and contract the wife hath given herself up in this kind unto her husband which she cannot retract.”
Sir Matthew Hale; History of the Pleas of the Crown (1736),
Please read the second part here
Part Three
Alex couldn’t reach his wife on her mobile phone. It rang unanswered and this made him anxious.
“Mobile phones are for answering calls” he swore quietly.
He had been worried sick since she left the house that morning in a fit. Her tantrum began as her breath turned from quiet and regular to a panting gasp the moment she rose from the bed. She sucked at the air like it had suddenly become thick and was now almost too difficult to draw in, before she threw a near empty plastic bottle at his face. He was lucky it merely grazed his cheek. He had only asked her why if she would like him to drop her off at work.
She had been acting erratic in the last few months, but it had gone even worse in recent times. She moved out of their matrimonial bed into the other room and locked him out at night despite his protest. This happened after she returned from the hospital.
Salewa had changed since her miscarriage two years ago. She was six months gone when she lost their first child. She had been spotting blood from the very first month and it was a difficult pregnancy. Losing it changed her, every bit of her. It felt like she turned. She blamed him for losing their baby.
“You caused it!” she would scream back at him.
When she came back from the hospital, she stopped cooking his meals too and blatantly denied him sex. Every time he made overtures, she turned him down like he was leprous. She kept to herself on the days she wasn’t at work and turned the room to her haven.
This wasn’t the Salewa he had married. It felt like hatred was all that was left when she saw him- a subversion of everything good they ever shared. It felt like it was the fuel that kept her heart pumping and brain ticking over. Revenge was coming, he could sense it.
At first Alex wasn’t really worried about her seclusion in their home. He put it down to the shock of losing their baby. But he hadn’t expected it to persist for weeks and now months. How were they to have children if they weren’t having sex.
When Alex’s sex drive was at its worst, flooded with endorphins, he was left with little choice but to seek release in random women he met at clubs after work hours. For the hours he spent drinking at the different lounges in Victoria Island with his friend, Bayo, he concluded it was easier to being with Salewa than apart.
The girls at the lounge took advantage of his drunken state. At first they made him pay more for the bottle of whiskey they sold to him. And then offered themselves to him after they noticed his roving eyes every time they walked back and forth. It wasn’t long before he took interest in one of the voluptuous waitresses and hit it off with raunchy sex in his car, rest rooms, dark corridors and alleys within the neighborhood. He couldn’t bring himself to pay for a hotel room as it would validate their tryst.
As far as he was concerned, Maria was just his source of sexual release. She was young, naughty and sexy. That was good enough for him. He could only have fun with her when he was drunk and numb, otherwise the guilt of the act wouldn’t let him see through the act.
Salewa never questioned his late-night hang-out nor asked questions even when he suspected that she would have noticed the lip-stick stains on his shirts. She acted like the dutiful wife that she was.
But there were times when Maria was off-duty and wasn’t available at work. Sometimes she would travel to see her parents in the village at Onitsha. Even though she gave him enough notice, it wasn’t enough to prepare him to fight the sexual addiction that they both shared.
What he didn’t realize was that Maria had two other boyfriends she shared her luscious body with and every now and then she suffered sexual infections so often she would stay off work to get treatment.
Maria liked Alex and she understood that he treated her as his plaything. Their sexual energy was great, but it was nothing but transactional. He gave her money generously. But she wanted more, she craved for an emotional connection with him despite knowing he was married.
“His wife must be such a loser” she thought. “How could she leave such a charming man to starve of sex. Her loss was her gain”
When he returned home those nights when Maria was unavailable, he would demand for his conjugal rights from his wife, forcefully if he had to.
“What does she mean by not being in the mood?”
The first time he forced himself on her, it felt oddly strange. He tried to imagine that Maria was the one lying face down on the bed as he heaved himself into her. She winced at first, but in his drunken state, he couldn’t tell the difference from pleasure and pain. When his sex drive was at it’s worst, it would commandeer his imagination, turning her body into that of a pornstar as he ravaged her body brutally, emotionless and without a care in the world.
He would regret it afterwards. He would even beg for her forgiveness. He felt horribly sad and repentant watching his wife cry at the corner of the room with pieces of her night dress strewn all over the bed.
She would tell him;
“It is okay. I understand. I forgive you” before he would pull his trouser pants up drawing the zipper to hide his shame.
This happened only when Maria wasn’t in town for long periods.
****
Now he had been calling her mobile phone all morning, it rang unanswered. He would have to go see her at her office. They had things to talk about. He wasn’t prepared to let her go and he feared she may take a hasty decision that would put their marriage at the verge of collapse. Salewa could be erratic. He had to react quickly.
He found the fob for his ford SUV nestled in his pocket as he walked briskly to the car.
He hoped she hadn’t hurt herself.

Every New Year holds promise, as though it is any different from the turn of

In an era that increasingly demands hyper-specialization, Akin Akingbogun stands out as a refreshing anomaly. He is a man who refuses to be confined to a single box.

There is a particular kind of silence that falls on a man when the phone stops ringing, the proposals go unanswered, and the diary that once groaned under the weight of appointments sits quietly — almost mockingly — open. If you have ever been there, you know it.

Let me tell you something uncomfortable: the most generous person you know — the one who volunteers every weekend, donates quietly, never asks for anything in return — is probably getting something out of it. Not money. Maybe not even recognition. But something.

Adaeze had been awake since 4 a.m.
Not because she was anxious — though she was — but because this trip felt different. After eighteen months of follow-ups, phone calls, and PowerPoint presentations polished to a mirror shine, the deal was finally ready to close. An investor meeting in Abuja. A partnership that would change the trajectory of her small but gutsy consulting firm. She had triple-checked her flight, her documents, her outfit. She had prayed. She was ready.

When he told his father, Dare’s first response was a sigh. Then: “I told you to practice more. I told you months ago. You don’t listen. You never listen.”
There was no “I’m sorry, son.” No pause to let the boy simply feel the loss of the thing he wanted. Just a swift, seamless pivot to what Temi had done wrong — and, by extension, how Temi’s failure was evidence of Temi’s failure to take his father’s wisdom seriously.

I want to tell you something that took me embarrassingly long to learn. Not because the idea is complicated — it is not. But because it cuts against something deeply wired in us, something we are rarely honest enough to admit.

You are somewhere between forty and fifty-five. You looked in the mirror recently and had a thought you immediately dismissed. Maybe you googled something at 2am that you would never say out loud. Maybe you bought something expensive and impractical and told everyone it was an investment. Or maybe you just feel — quietly, persistently — like the life you built was supposed to feel better than this by now.

Anton Chekhov was a Russian physician and playwright — a man trained in the discipline of diagnosis before he became one of the most precise storytellers in the history of world literature. That combination of sensibilities matters, because the principle he articulated in the late nineteenth century was not merely a rule of dramatic craft. It was an observation about the nature of significance itself. About what it means for something to be present. About the relationship between introduction and consequence.

There is a prison that has no concrete walls, no iron bars, no guards posted at the gate. Nobody built it for you. Nobody sentenced you to it. And yet, for many people, it is the place they spend the better part of their lives — circling its perimeter, brushing their fingers against its invisible boundaries, and quietly retreating each time they feel the edge of something that might require more of them than they believe they can give.

Picture a hand holding sand. The tighter the grip, the faster the grains escape between the fingers. Ease the grip — open the palm, allow the hand to become a vessel rather than a vice — and the sand stays. This is one of the oldest paradoxes of leadership, and one of the least learned: that control, pursued too aggressively, produces the very loss of control it was designed to prevent.

There is a version of ambition that builds. And there is a version of ambition that consumes. From a distance — and especially from inside it — they look almost identical. Both are energetic. Both are forward-moving. Both speak the language of vision and possibility. The difference only becomes visible later, usually at the point of fracture, when what was built begins to come apart under the weight of what was promised.

There is a particular kind of organisational absurdity that most people who have ever worked in a company will recognise immediately. It is the policy that was clearly designed by someone who has never had to implement it. The restructuring that looked elegant on a slide deck and chaotic on the ground. The customer-facing process that was overhauled by a committee that has not spoken to a customer in years. The directive that arrives from above, fully formed and non-negotiable, that causes the people closest to the work to exchange a look — the kind of look that says, without words: they have no idea what we actually do here.

We have built an entire mythology around exhaustion. In boardrooms and business culture — perhaps nowhere more so than in the high-pressure, always-on professional culture many of us inhabit — busyness has become a currency. To be tired is to be serious. To be overwhelmed is to be important. To be burning out, quietly, is somehow proof that you are fully committed.
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
Subscribe now to keep reading and get access to the full archive.
Just write down some details about you and we will get back to you in a jiffy!
12 thoughts on “Against her will (Part 3)- another short story”
Pingback: Against her will (Part 2)- another short story – Akin Akingbogun
Pingback: Against her will (Part 4)- another short story – Akin Akingbogun
Wow!!! Two sides of the story
They both need counseling.
Hmmm.. I fear Salewa would so shock Alex that he may quit drinking without help, just on a rethink. Can’t wait for the next chapter
May I first wish you a Happy Birthday. God bless you real good.
The husbands and wives are counselled not to deny themselves. Denying sex will lead to promiscuity. That is exactly what happened between Alex and Salewa. Waiting for part 4 of the he story.
Pingback: Poisoned Darts- another short story – Akin Akingbogun
Pingback: Against her will (Part 5)- Final Piece – Akin Akingbogun
Kind of complicated on both side. They need some mentorship. Welldone boss always. More knowledge and wisdom
I love the creativity in your writing and the fact that you are able to bring life into your stories. As I read, the script plays in my imagination. It almost feels like I am watching a movie. Keep up the good work
Exactly
Thank you, Kenny. I appreciate you as always
Hmm
Everyone’s a victim on their own side of the story.