HUMOUR | Sean Oseku’s escapade with his neighbour’s wife would lead many a Anselm of this beach pose straight to Luzira Prison via Buganda Road Court but for now he gets away with it. Here’s how…
We had struck a chord after an awkward moment a week before at her house and almost seemed like bosom neighbours from time immemorial. Every time I saw her, it felt like I had been in a bar longer and her plain faced look seemed to turn into a Halle Berry look.
That’s what proximity does; makes things look better or normal. Don’t get me wrong. My Neighbor’s wife has the perfect body, well curved hips and backside and the universe rewarded her with that, even though we call her ‘local talent’.
I also got to learn that her hubby actually worked in the intelligence circles of the state; no wonder he was like an iPhone (not user friendly). He wasn’t home most of the times and it was just his wife who had become my friend. She even told me to tell Mama Safina (my laundry lady but also my side thing when my slay girlfriends act up) to stop coming because she could help me with my laundry. Of course that’s hard because Mama Safina has been ‘serving me with loyalty’ even though she’s also married to Ssentongo, the boda boda rider in the hood.
For the next three weeks, my clothes were washed at no fee but just me making my presence at my neighbour’s wife’s house and telling jokes copied from WhatsApp groups. The laughter became louder that she nudged my shoulder in a playful manner, “you’re so funny, my tummy hurts. Maybe you give me a massage!”
Now that, that was my cue to showcase my lack of skills on her. I asked her to drop her dress. She looked at me like a lunatic. “What, I can’t do that, I’m a married woman. Can’t you just do it with my clothes on?” she exclaimed. I told her that she won’t feel the impact if her clothes remained on. After a minute of thought, she obliged and laid on the floor and let me assume my position on her back.
Soon she was moaning in delight, as my hands rubbed around her back gently. And then there was a knock at the door. Not only was I sweating from the tension built from my blood boiling around the “southern bypass”, but from also the fear that my not-so-user-friendly neighbour had finally caught me making his wife moan sweetly and saying ‘there, right there… oushhh keep it there.”
I jumped off her back and shot for the back door. Gently opened the door and made it round the house to peep at who was at the door. Phew, it wasn’t him but Mama Safina. But I stayed put and overheard her asking if my neighbour’s wife had seen me because she hadn’t heard from me in more than three weeks. On confirming that I wasn’t around, I went back into my neighbour’s house and we both burst into laughter. This time our lips ended up shutting together, like they were designed to be that way.
It was not our day, Mama Safina just budged past the door and almost rained punches on my neighbour’s wife. She was furious and shouting on top of her voice like as if I had cheated on her. Well technically I had; but hold on, No I had not.
Anyway, I grabbed her mouth and begged her to keep it down. It was a battle but she somehow managed to collect herself together. “How could you sleep with your neighbour’s wife?” She angrily asked me. “Ëxcuse me, when you slept with my husband, did I try to fight you?” my neighbor’s wife also shot back. Ooops awkward moment it was for me. I was entangled in a triangle of what I don’t know. Did I?
Calming down two “local talent” women is like being the Speaker of Parliament with Odonga Otto and Allan Ssewanyana on one end and Minister Kibuule on the other. I somehow left them to tussle it out with war of words, as long as there weren’t saucepans flying like in one of those Harry Potter series.
Finally, the sound of the gate swinging open. Peering through the window, it was my soldier neighbour who happens to be the owner of the house where the argument was taking place. How worse could it get?