Dr. Mboku's office is located in a luxury highrise across from the old stadium. The dust of the diehard fans that blew across town to the shiny new stadium was replaced by the regality of today's overpriced clubs and self-important digital tycoons. The maze of cobblestone streets are littered with the indulgence of electric powered radiance that would dwarf any futuristic movie set. Those that choose to walk the neighborhood do so in $400 sneakers. The money here is excessive and repressive.
That somewhat describes my wife, Gwynn, and myself.
From Dr. Mboku's 7th Floor window you forget the sea of delinquency and beauty for an hour. The ocean is to the left. The other recently developed highrises to the right. This oasis within the debauchery was our healing place. The African vibe that resonated on the 32nd floor could be felt by the modern rhythm of everyone that got off the elevator. Our troubles had been resolved years ago, but we remained clients for the occasional tune-up.
The early days of our marriage were filled with angst and fear because we hadn't really explored the world as individuals before we became a couple. Money and fame had brought us together but we were young. Our families were so happy to see us together that our friends thought that the marriage was arranged.
We were happy together but something was missing. We weren't looking for anything outside of what we had. We just had little clue as to what to expect from one another as husband and wife. From the dishes to the dildos, we weren't sure where responsibility and reality made sense.
My boss at the time recommended Dr. Mboku after Gwynn ran away for three months - home to Brazil. Her mother promised me that she was on the beach everyday but I feared the worst. When she returned, we opened up on Dr. Mboku's white leather couch for an hour every week for three years. I found out that she was faithful to me on that beach, just as I was faithful to her at our house. But Gwynn had desires she was afraid to share.
I did, too.
Dr. Mboku got us to work together as a team. She was our coach, our referee and our biggest fan.
Along the way she prescribed an offbeat concoction of meditations, exercises, foods and tantric play that taught us how to trust and enjoy each other in ways that we would have never tried otherwise. Our backgrounds of repression and religion had closed us from experiences we desperately needed to help us evolve.
In that first year with Dr. Mboku we ventured wildly. We visited 12 religious ceremonies of joy in one month. We ate every meal naked for a week. We read each other's email for a day. We watched homemade videos of each other climaxing.
We learned new things about each other, our selves and the world around us.
Dr. Mboku taught us that the experiential component of our relationship was the part that embodied trust and captured happiness. We did anything her office recommended for us to try because we always knew we were better for it in the end.
While I call her advice 'recommendations', Gwynn refers to these whimsical approaches to life as 'prescriptions' - as though the medicinal value is lessened if the title is not respected.
These 'prescriptions' are loosely thrown about during our formal sessions as well as around the office by her staff of trusted researchers and assistants. The vibe from Ghana was disconcerting in the beginning because my family is Nigerian - direct, but I soon learned to accept the subtle ways in which they gave us direction. As Gayle, the receptionist, would schedule our next appointment she'd enquire what our next 'adventure' would be. If we were unsure, she would just happen to recommend a place that synched with Dr. Mboku's 'prescription'. Everyone was always on the same page, the same rhythm, the same note.
The rest of the staff was equally knowledgeable and curious with all aspects of our life. You assumed that they were all listening in on our sessions and getting a commission on each client they bagged, because they were never wrong. Carl was great for his bookstore recommendations. Liam knew the best restaurants in the city. Angela specialized in clubs and parties. Tonya knew where to get a workout and a massage. Gayle was into religions of every kind. In seven years our relationship went from hungry caterpillar to brilliant butterfly in every way. From renewing our vows at a Thai monastery to sex in a helicopter over the city, we found life through their network.
When we'd return for another appointment we'd offer an acceptable amount of embarrassment for each adventure, before discussing where we were in the moment. Dr. Mboku knew we weren't really shy about talking about the anal plug Gwynn wore to the ballet that her fundraiser had supported, but looking uncomfortable before sharing every moment was our foreplay.
So we eased into our last session with trepidation as we explained the fear we had about exploring our fantasy of a threesome.
During previous sessions we had dropped crumbs along the trail of our mutual interest in Gwynn fucking me and another guy at same time. Though the internal fantasy was an easy #1 on our list of adventures to experience, our lives had too much to risk by sharing that much with an outsider. We agreed that having one unresolved fantasy was something we would keep as dirty-sweet talk. Dr. Mboku trusted our judgment and didn't push or pull in any way.
Her staff, however, all seemed to have points-of-view on the matter. Liam did not condone any act of more than two people, while Gayle surprised us with an unsolicited 'spitroast' comment and wink when we innocently asked her about her upcoming weekend.
While thoughts on the topic were abundant, the usual 'recommendation' on how to fall into such a scenario never materialized in the two years that it was discussed in our home and in our sessions.
But after our previous session, the front desk was being manned by Dr. Mboku's nephew visiting from London. Gwynn was busy booking our appointment while Angela was giving me a scoop on a dinner party that we might enjoy in a couple of weeks. As I began to place the information in my phone, Gwynn grabbed me by the arm and pulled me out of the office as though she had just stolen the company safe.
Given our history of embarrassing antics, I knew the signals and moved quickly into the elevator. I sensed that she was about to burst.
"I have something for us to try," Gwynn blurted as soon as the elevator door shut. "A threesome!"
I was caught off-guard as I tried to remember the nephew at the front desk. I didn't get a good look at him going into the office or leaving, but my mind was trying to assemble what little information I had to imagine him fucking Gwynn.
"Not her fucking nephew, you idiot!" she yelled as she gave me a not so subtle punch in the arm, realizing that my brain took an understandable leap.
"Then what are you talking about?" I asked as I reached for my bruised arm.
"I don't know yet," Gwynn answered, realizing she wasn't certain how to explain what she had just learned. "He said that he'd just had some weed that that gave him and his girlfriend an out-of-body experience that felt like threesome."
"What in the fuck are you talking about?" I asked in the calmest way possible as the elevator reached the garage.
As an Asian couple replaced us in the elevator we rushed to our car as I sensed our getaway wasn't quite over.
If I was the calm and collected type, Gwynn was a bundle of nerves. While I lived by 'what's the worst that could happen?', she thrived in only imagining 'the worst that could happen'.
When Gwynn was 7 years old her parents were kidnapped by a gang in Rio after they had finished a family brunch. The episode occurred without incident as the young kidnappers were quickly paid before nightfall, but the fact that her Afro-Brazilian family treated it as an expected hazard of daily life kept her on her toes. The guns, the swearing, the force, the hostility - all scarred her for life. She won't watch action movies. She hates all forms of violence.
The bruise on my arm begged to differ.
But the adrenaline rush of any act that might get her swept up is like foreplay to Gwynn . Every public act of indecency was followed by loud and violent orgasms that ranged from exhilarating to exorcism.
For example...
After the anal plug ballet three years ago, she unconsciously reached under her dress and pulled off her panties in the parking lot. By the time my tires hit the street she was rubbing her clit and grabbing my arm to hold onto. I raced to a backroad and turned the music up to cover up the song she was about to sing. As her writhing became too aggressive, I pulled over so she wouldn't accidentally kill us both.
I'd watched her masturbate before, but the speed and veracity at which she worked her clit that night made me question if I had been too delicate with her over the years. As she arched her back and rubbed herself she moaned so loud that the occasional car that passed by had to hear us.
