My dear reader, I am a human of endless possibilities. Only when you explore and grow interest in those possibilities will I reveal them to you.

Trust me, there is so much about me, or rather, so many dimensions in me, that would get you high on ecstasy naturally. I just have never had anyone explore me in such a way, you know, and as time goes, you will get to understand so much about me.

I am only 35 years old, but I feel like I have been on this earth longer than I am supposed to be. This dimension of my life is not for the faint-hearted because they are likely to take offence.

It was a cold evening, associated with strong winds. Trees were not stable, neither was I. My husband, Lutheran, who is a lawyer, came home with a friend. A friend whom I didn’t know he had.

“I am glad you came back home safe, my darling,” I said, as I was making my way to the sitting room.

“You have no idea, Wendy, this gruesome weather almost killed me,” he said, as he followed me.

His friend also came along to the sitting room. They both sat down, shaking because of the cold weather.

“Excuse me for being rude, Wendy. This is my friend, John Whitman, he is a lecturer at the University of the Free State.”

“Nice to meet you, John,” I said, looking at this strange man, trying to figure out where I knew him from.

Suddenly many thoughts accumulated my mind, with emotions of distress and frightful images. I looked at the man again; he was in his late fifties. His hair was ebony black, he had a sharp nose and blue eyes. He was a white man; above his eye, he had a hideous scar.

“Nice to meet you too, Wendy, Lutheran has told me a lot about you,” said the man, looking straight into my eyes.

There was something off about him; he gave me a wicked smile.

I made my way to the kitchen and made tea for both of them. I put sleeping pills in their tea. I gave them the tea and they both drank. Within a few minutes, they were both asleep.

I played Kenny G songs, and then I tied both of them to the chairs that they were sitting on. I went to my bedroom, I opened the safe and I took out my gun. I went back where I left them, took a voice-recording tape, and placed it on the table.

By the time they opened their eyes, they were surprised.

“Wendy, what is going on?” my husband asked me.

“Ask him.” I said, while I pointed at John.

“What do you mean? You just met this guy, is this some kind of a joke?”

“No, dammit, this is not a joke. See, you are a lawyer, I want you to make this guy confess to all the things he has done to me.”

“Wendy, calm down. I don’t know what you are talking about; all I know is that you are going mad.”

“Mad, is it? Let me tell you, this old man on your left raped me, he tormented me, and here you are telling me that I have gone mad,” I said, as I gave John a hot klap in the face.

“But Wendy, you never told me you were raped,” my husband said, looking confused.

“That’s because you never bothered to ask me about my past. All you do is work and work. So tonight, you will do your work for me!” I shouted. I rubbed the gun on my head, and then pointed it to John.

“What do you have to say for yourself, Mr. Whitman?” I asked.

“I…I…Don’t know what she is talking about! Please, let me go. I promise I won’t tell anyone what happened tonight,” said John, mumbling and grumbling.

I clapped my hands, and then I pulled out a taser. I shocked John, he screamed like a baby.

“Outstanding performance, John. You don’t know me? Well, let me remind you. 1989, Free State. Don’t you remember?” I asked him, as I placed the gun to his head.

“No I don’t reme…”

He didn’t even finish his sentence, I hit his head with the gun. He fainted immediately.

“Wendy, what have you done? Please untie me so that we can solve this matter in a civil way,” my husband said, as he tried to be calm.

“No, I won’t untie you, or him. All I need you to do is to ask him questions, about what happened on the 22nd of November 1989.”

I poured water on John’s face, with the hope of waking him up.

“Wake up, bastard; if you don’t confess, I am telling you, hell will break loose for you, Mr. Whitman.”

John opened his eyes. “I am not going to confess to something that I didn’t do. You are just sick woman,” he said, as he spat on my face.

“I will show you a crazy woman,” I said, taking my taser.

I shocked John until he became weak. I took a belt and beat him up.

“Please stop, I…I…want to pee. Can I go to the toilet?” asked John, with a disillusioned face.

“How pathetic, just pee yourself,” I said, while hitting him with the belt again and again.

“OK…OK…Please stop, I will confess,” said John.

I started the recorder, and told my husband to do what he was paid for.

“John Whitman, do you know Mrs Wendy Hopkins?” my husband asked, looking into John’s eyes.

“Yes, I do.”

“How do you know her?”

“She was a student in one of my classes. A bright one, I can say,”

“What happened on the 22nd of November 1989?”

John started crying crocodile tears, and then he cleared his throat.

“If I can recall very well, it was a warm evening. After class, Mrs Hopkins came to my office and asked for help. I told her that she should come to my house, that way I could explain everything to her. We left, and went to my house. That was where I drugged and undressed her. I tied her up on my bed. I kissed her body. I used a cigarette to burn her breasts. She woke up and she screamed. The more she cried the more thrilled I was. I beat her up with a belt, and then I forced myself on her.”

My husband was shocked when he heard John confess.

I stopped the recording tape. I was crying, however, I was glad that I had the tape so I could get justice for myself.

Tell us: What has this story taught you?