It’s been two years of being with my boyfriend, and in those 24 months, he has been cheating.

In all of these, I strangely feel a quiet calm, some sort of resignation. It almost feels as if this is how it's meant to be. I feel nothing close to what I’ve heard people feel when being cheated on.

No indignation, no furore, no annoyance.

I have actually tried to work up one of those emotions, at least. I mean, I should somehow be angry, right?

Disappointed, maybe?

A rush of bile should have risen to my throat on the night I made that discovery. My eyes should have clouded and tears of bitterness should have rained.

I should have shaken him awake and ordered for an explanation right there and then, not minding that it was few minutes before 2am.

I should have. I really should have…

Even as I type this, I still feel weird for having felt nothing for being cheated on.

I still feel nothing, even though I'm fairly certain that he’s orchestrating a fresh booty-call for this weekend as I calculatedly share my story with you right now.

A delightful love story

I was serving in Nasarawa when we met. I still see that night in my mind as clearly as a cloudless, sunny afternoon.

I'd been between sexting my ex and silently patrolling timelines on Twitter, looking to get some of the numerous gist and laughs the app has to offer at any given period.

I came upon his profile after reading a comment under one of the random tweets I’d quoted with “LMFAO.”

He had pink lips, the type I could never say no to till this day. His location said Abuja and his bio read ‘Lawyer’; one more thing that probably triggered a sense of faux-familiarity in me. My father and two brothers are lawyers.

Without thinking twice, I slid into his DM with some improperly-thought opening line I can no longer remember.

And really, that was how the first months of our relationship went – in the speediest blur.

Between fearfully visiting him for the very first time for a whole weekend in his apartment, going places and sightseeing, enjoying Abuja’s nightlife, having great sex, bonding over little things and returning to Lagos after NYSC, I really can’t remember specifics of those first six months; but by then, we were already so deep into the relationship and I was already in love with him, I think.

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Along came distance...

Then long distance stepped in with its long legs and booted us apart.

For the next months after ending NYSC and returning to Lagos, it was one painfully boring day after another.

Not only was every morning an agonising reminder of my inability to spontaneously backpack into the warmth of my boyfriend's bed and the refreshing assurance of his presence, I was also finding it hard to get a job!

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...and a blast from the past

Oh, and there was the extra little problem of my ex who knew I was back in Lagos and had resumed his charm offensive to try to get me to sleeping with him again.

If there was anything about that one, it was that he had a way with words and seemed to know just what to say to get into my head.

I’d broken up with him before I left uni but the sparks never died. I knew it and he knew it; so he never passed up any opportunity to wield his magic spell on me.

It often worked. And again, it seemed to.

Being between jobs and having lots of time made it almost impossible to guard against the barrage of sexy talk, erotic, colourful promises from him.

I and my boyfriend remained in contact. Long phone calls, chats, video calls and to make up for the lack of sexual intimacy, we sexted a lot, especially on weekends when he had more time.

With all that, I still managed to fall back into a pattern of sexting with my ex; because somehow, his brand of desire was more intense; an intoxicating cocktail of the dirtiest slutty talk mixed with nostalgic flashbacks which lowered my guard and awoke the basest of needs I never knew I could possibly ever feel.

They always left me giddy and powerless against him.

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We had had some very wild nights while we were together in school, and I had to reluctantly agree with myself that he still held a better understanding of my body and its needs that my long-distance boyfriend had yet to stumble upon.

I was soon sending him the same thirst traps I sent my boyfriend, just to have him feed me more details of how he was going to devour me whenever he took time off work and I had time to go visit him at home.

I would always send him eye rolling emojis; prolonging the chase, but of course, I was sold. And after every time I sexted my ex, it felt like I’d slept with him already.

His words always stripped me naked and caressed my most intimate parts.

I hate to admit that even now.

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A moment of truth

Four months after I left Nasarawa, my boyfriend came to spend the weekend with me in Lagos and in one moment of great discovery, I saw the things he had been up to in my absence.

We’d just finished having one of those mind-blowing sessions of sex that only happen when you’ve been holding in so much sexual energy that needed release. I rode him to some levels of bliss he’d never been all his life.

I’ve always known his phone password. So as he was cuddled up, fast asleep on my chest after the sex, I used the code, read through his messages and saw every girl’s biggest fear - this n*igga had been out there wilding!

I read up about six chats that provided enough details about hookups, one night stands at his apartment, hotel meetings. Some even had subsequent post-coital reviews. There were nudes, and some more were still in the works. He was returning to Abuja to continue his ways when he was done with me on that weekend.

I just felt… blank.

I did not feel anything as I read through till I felt I’d seen enough. No anger, no disappointment, no remorse, no emptiness.


Probably because I had never been cheated on before. Or because, somehow, deep inside me, some reassuring voice kept telling me that boys will always be boys and that even though he was doing things with those women, I was still the real one.


It’s been several months and more time spent together after that weekend and I know for a fact that he still sleeps with other women. Still, I remain indifferent.

We have never talked about it. I doubt I ever will bring it up.

I remain fully, if bizarrely, secure in the knowledge that those other girls are just there to gratify his sexual needs till I step fully into his space and fill my role.

I’m not particularly thinking about it, but the few times I do think of walking down the aisle, I can only imagine myself doing it with him.

I see myself as his wife.

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In the meantime, he’s still allowed to do as he pleases. I think my emotions are stable enough to grant him an extended hall pass without being rattled.

To an extent, however, I suspect that it’s the rough sex I’ve now resumed taking from my ex-boyfriend that make it easy for me to detach from the grim reality that my boyfriend has been cheating on me for more than half the time we've been in a relationship.

It could be something else, but really, I couldn't think of any more logical explanation for why I'm this cool with my boyfriend cheating on me.

Or could there?