The wickedest twist

I'm a man who learnt the hard way. I'm not proud of what I did, but I'd be lying if I said I regret the thrill of it. What I do regret, though, is not realising that my wife plays chess while I was out here playing checkers.

It all started with a little white lie.

I have lived in Florida with my wife for two years. I told her I had a business trip to Nevada, scheduled for April 7.

In reality, I was planning something much spicier than PowerPoint slides and hotel lobbies.

You see, for years I'd been hearing about Jamaica Carnival -- the freedom, the energy, the women. The kind of vibes that Beenie Man swore could rearrange your soul. I needed to find the thrill that all the carnival songs promise. I needed that. I craved it. I was drowning in responsibilities, meetings, and a boring relationship. I needed fire!

So I booked my flight for April 6 to Kingston.

My friends and I were set to experience the kind of liberation only Carnival in Jamaica could offer.

Fast-forward to Carnival Sunday.

We got ready, slipping into our bands like seasoned vets. I knew nothing about YardMas but I heard the band was good, so we decided to jump with them.

I FaceTimed my wife earlier that morning, fed her a sweet "Good morning from Nevada, babe", and even showed her a fake Zoom meeting screen I'd pulled up. She was busy running errands but looked so sweet and innocent.

I hit the road.

Road march was madness. Flags waving, trucks rumbling, girls in feathers whining like their hips were made of oil. And the smell -- Campari, rum, sweat, perfume, street food and irresistible vibes all around. My boys and I were living. I danced with every woman in a 10-foot radius. I was on a mission.

Then I saw her!

Tall, brown skin, waist like a snake, a smile like sin, a real Jamaican goddess. Could this be my lucky day?

We danced. Well...No, she danced on me. And suddenly, the songs I've been hearing weren't just lyrics any more, it was my reality. I whispered to my boys, "Tonight it's on!"

We exchanged numbers and plans were made. I was on a high, floating through the road march like a man who had it all figured out.

Cheers erupted as the DJ hyped up a couple in the crowd, the energy turning electric.

I was on the left, couldn't see anything. But I was curious. I wanted the full Jamaica Carnival experience. I pushed through the crowd towards the scene, laughing, expecting to see some wildness.

And then I froze. There she was. My wife.

Right there, centre stage, wrapped around a man with muscles and cornrows. While the crowd cheered, my soul left my body. My wife was gyrating like a true soca queen and I could do nothing about it.

My jaw dropped and my skin turned red. My friends saw her, too.

I was embarrassed. I couldn't breathe!

She was supposed to be at home, being her usual boring self, waiting for me.

I stumbled back, confused, heart pounding. We had lied to each other. I lied about Nevada. She lied about being home. She beat me at my own game.

I made a plan that night.

I wasn't going to crawl back into my boring life like a whipped dog. No. She played me in broad daylight, and I was going to get my revenge in the shadows. If she could whine on a stranger in front of 2,000 people, then I could take pleasure behind closed doors.

So I wiped the sweat off my brow, texted my Jamaican goddess, and told her to meet me at the hotel.

Carnival heat still radiated off my skin as we walked into the lobby. She was glowing -- curves wrapped in the last pieces of glitter, lips stained red. I was ready.

That night in the hotel room, I took every ounce of confusion and betrayal and channelled them into this experience. I lost myself in the moment -- charged, intense, and all-consuming.

She held me like I belonged to her, while I was trying to forget the image of my wife in another man's arms, and for a fleeting moment, I did. I felt like I had taken something back.

I sank beside her, a weight lifted -- drained of the tension I'd carried all day.

My trip soon came to an end and reality came crashing in. I packed my bags and left. I wasn't sure what I was going home to, but I had to play my role.

I walked through my front door expecting tension, shame, and in all honesty, a fight. Instead, there she was. In an apron, humming, stirring dinner like she hadn't just embarrassed me in the streets of Kingston.

She turned, smiled, kissed me sweetly and said, "You're glowing, babe. The business trip went well?"

I chuckled darkly. "The best one yet!"

Then I turned on the stereo and let Beenie Man's Wickedest Slam pulse through the speakers.

She laughed. "Since when do you like those songs?"

I responded, "Let's just say... I've found myself in that genre."

I paused, then I said, "Oh, by the way... I've got a follow-up meeting in Jamaica next week."

Because one thing's for sure and two things are for certain -- I am no fool, and this game is far from over.