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THE LAST LETTER.

THE LAST LETTER.

By kefa

He fumbled with the gold coated ring on his left hand, from the door of the huge well spacious office you could make out a clear view of the middle aged man who sat on a high back swivel chair. On keener observation you could tell he was deeply engrossed in thought, for his deeply furrowed oval face with a sharply demarcated hairline and stubby beard was hard set into a stare .A thick dark mahogany desk lay in front of him partly concealing the shiny leather executive swivel chair he would momentarily swing on . And also partly concealhis tall, well-muscled physique.On it lay a letter that he had just finished reading.

It all started about a month ago, on a Friday morning, John had scheduled the morning hours to be occupied by an interview session. The company had advertised for the position of a new company secretary and he hoped that today he would manage to get someone capable of assisting him clear the backlog of paperwork that had accumulated since the last secretary left over a fortnight before. As a matter of fact he was not the person conducting the interview rather it was to be performed by a team from human resource department. His role was majorly complementary in nature and of course anyone who understood the administrative running of the company knew that the company secretary was better known as the C.E.O's secretary because much of the time he accompanied the chief executive officer to various business meetings and did his paperwork, as such he always ensured that he had a personal input when it came to selection and employment of such personnel.

She must have been the fifth or so candidate, by then John had grown tired of hearing the same questions over and over again and limp answers from some of the applicants. Occasionally you would catch him yawning in a bored body tone, sometimes taking a moment to stretch out in between candidates.

She walked in elegantly like she was walking on a runaway, her free flowing dark shiny hair curly hair dancing in twirls briskly against her silky-smooth chocolate toned slightly exposed nape of her neck in rhythm with the movement of her curvy lower torso, so slightly yet magnificently enhanced by the pair of sharp heeled shiny black stilettos. The slight red tone of lipstick on her luscious African full lips left a glistening feel that left you with a warmly soft reminisce of a succulent apple. The warm glowing smile that emanated from her face somehow illuminated the whole room, John was not sure whether he was the only person seeing this, in fact as far as he was concerned the interview was over.

"Please have a seat and tell us your full names" the human resource manager who was heading the interview panel started off.

"My name is Irene Mueni" she replied.

"Tell us about yourself" the manager continued.

And that was all that John could recall about that interview for henceforth his imagination run wild.

So on Monday morning when he was presented with a list of three names from which he was to select the successful candidate, without blinking an eyelid he choose the third name in the list. And that was Irene Mueni. And further to that he took the pleasure of calling her himself to convey the congratulatory message.

A month after she reported to work, on a sweltering hot Friday afternoon John and Irene were in his office.

"I have already made preparations for that dinner you promised to accompany me to" John kicked off a conversation meandering away from his usual business language.

"I can't remember promising you a dinner date" Irene replied, an enticing smile hanging loosely on her lips.

John took a moment from the file he was scrutinizing to try and read the expression on her face as she said that.

"Ha! I knew you would deny promising me that, but remember ahadi ni deni" he said hoping that today she would agree to the dinner date. He had been coaxing her for almost the last couple of weeks however he could tell while the feeling of attraction to each other was mutual, the work environment and the ring on his finger for obvious reasons made his work harder.

"Utaniweza kweli?" Irene teased him while secretly stealing a glance at him from the corner of her left eye. At the same time she attempted to feign unsuccessfully, disinterest in him, it was impossible for her not to feel his stare, it almost made her feel like a specimen under a microscope. The authoritative presence of his huge paragon like masculinity, weakened her body .She could feel her heart race at the thought of his huge arms squeezing tight against her body, his throaty deeply hoarse voice sent electrical waves down her spine that easily manipulated her thoughts making her, even without considering his charm, follow his cue, like a lost puppy.

"Kwa nini nisikuweze?" John asked

"Which fingers will you put the second ring?" Irene replied, with obvious reference to his marital status.

"That will be part of the discussion; we can always find a solution to that."

The blinding duvet of darkness that covered the huge mansion located in a prime area a couple of kilometers away from the city almost cheated one to assume all was well with its inhabitants. Only one room seemed to be lit, with the obvious effort having been made to put off the myriad security lights that otherwise lit the compound to almost daylight.

Behind the window curtains of the lit room, she sat beside the master bed. Her imagination running wild, she could almost smell the deeply musky scent of his cologne, the rough stubby beard rubbing against her smooth silky cheek as he stroked the nape of her neck, his warm, moist lips slithering along the corner of her jawbone slowly and tenderly moving along to her chin and eventually to her lips.His tongue slitting open her lips and eventually culminating into a deepkiss that almost exhaustingly drewthe reservoirs of breath from her lungs, she visualized his left hand gently moving in a synchronized way to open the buttons of the light blouse that barely covered her bosom. The feel of his body against hers overwhelming her making her heart race as it responded to the testosterone gush in him. She could almost see his hand lift tenderly the short skirt and massage her inner thigh, slowly making its way up the smooth skin in tender circular rubbing motions. She could so clearly visualize his well-trimmed fingernails tenderly lingering on the edges of her lingerie, gently seeking the warmth of her soft womanhood.

Her soft moans of pleasure punctuated with short gasps for air pierced through her imagination searing her soul and setting it ablaze in a hellfire like intensely scotching sensation.

Oh, No! No! No! The woman cried as she bundled herself into two by the bedside. It was almost impossible to believe that this woman was the same lady who during the day runs one of the largest public transport companies as a managing director with her husband as chief executive officer. While at work she managed to wear a tough hide, but at this particular moment she was vulnerable, shaken and traumatized by the thousand stares and whispers that followed her every movement as the workers in the company discussed her husband's insatiable desire for extra-marital affairs, rumors even claimed that she was cursed that is why she had never managed to bear children, yet no one questioned the fact that in all his philandering John had never managed to sire a child even outside wedlock.

The throbbingpain of imagining her husband with the new secretary was more than she could bear; today from her office she watched them walk hand in hand unashamedly into his Mercedes car after work and up to now an hour or so past mid-night his husband was not yet home. She knew it; she did not need to be told or to see, and the tell-tale signs were all over.

Mrs. John slouched against the king-sized bed and walked to the end of the room; she opened one of the cabinets and removed the shiny nylon rope.

John received the call early next morning as he was driving home to change clothes. Hoping to start off another usual working day, it was the house-keeper calling, her voice was shaky and she barely managed to converse the message, John madly raced to his home arriving shortly before the police did and when he got to their bedroom there she was hanging limply from the metallic chandelier at the center of the room, a stream of blood drooling from her mouth to form a crimson spot on the otherwise spotlessly white sheets of their marital bed, besides which lay a piece of paper addressed; To my dearest husband John.

As John fumbled with the ring on his finger the contents of the letter that lay on the dark mahogany desk before him gnawed him like a rabbit does to a carrot. The sudden sense of loss was unimaginable, in his mind thoughts were overwhelming, the gravity of shame he had brought upon himself could only be compared to the level of betrayal he had shown his wife.

As he sat there not knowing whether to cry or not the last words in the letter before him kept ringing in his ears; Darling even in death I love you still, my only wish is that you keep my ring on your finger and do not remove the one on my finger.

Author Notes: comments can also be addressed to [email protected].

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About The Author
kefa
kefa
About This Story
Audience:
18+
Posted:
2 Jul, 2013
Type:
Sad
Words:
1,640
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Views:
3,106

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