St Albans Secret
"Cathedral guide Adanna gives tours of sacred history—until a thick Ugandan minister's wife starts attending regularly, seeking something decidedly unholy."
Reverend Nakamya's wife was a model of propriety.
But Esther's eyes told different stories.
She attended Adanna's cathedral tours weekly, standing too close, asking questions with double meanings.
"Where did the monks seek... privacy?" she asked once.
"The cloisters. Away from public view."
"Show me."
The cloisters were empty that afternoon.
"My husband serves God," Esther said. "I serve my husband. But who serves me?"
"Your marriage—"
"Is duty. Twenty years of duty." She stepped closer. "I'm forty-five. I've never had an orgasm. Never been with someone who wanted me, not my position."
"Esther—"
"I saw how you looked at me. Please. Just once."
Adanna knew she should refuse.
Instead, she led Esther to a private alcove where centuries of secrets had been kept.
"Just once," Adanna agreed.
She showed Esther what her husband never had.
The first orgasm made Esther cry.
The second made her laugh.
The third made her grab Adanna's hair and demand more.
"Where did you learn this?" she gasped.
"Life. Desire. Paying attention."
"My husband never pays attention."
"Then he's a fool."
Once became weekly.
After each tour, they'd find privacy in the ancient spaces.
"This is sin," Esther said without conviction.
"This is humanity." Adanna kissed her forehead. "God created desire too."
"Did He?"
"You're a minister's wife. You tell me."
The arrangement continued for years.
Reverend Nakamya never suspected.
Esther became radiant—everyone noticed. They credited her faith.
Only Adanna knew the true source of that glow.
"Best tour guide in St Albans," Esther would say publicly.
Privately, she said other things.
Things the cathedral walls kept secret, as they'd kept secrets for a thousand years.