In her book, Reham Khan writes about Imran Khan’s long-term live-in relationships with several men.
Zakir and Imran had been inseparable since their cricketing days. On every little holiday that Imran took, Zak would be a fixture. I could clearly see Zak was as popular for his looks with the ladies as he was with Imran. The long-term, live-in relationship with Moby was odd too. Imran would refer to him as his wife. Moby, while married for a third time, chose to live with Imran and not his own wife. I found these connections hard to understand but chose to dismiss them, deeming it paranoia. However, while cleaning the bottom-left drawer of my husband’s side table, I found empty cigar cases and huge tubes of KY jelly. When I asked what they were for, Imran explained that the lubricant and the metal cases were used together. His ‘preferences’ became clear. My look of horror produced peals of laughter from my sexually liberated husband.
I had caught my husband ‘admiring’ male genitalia through his impressive DVD collection several times. It was embarrassing to walk into the bedroom of a husband who was pleasuring himself to images of male bodies while his wife was busy cooking in the kitchen. Initially, he would cover it very well by saying that he was seriously thinking of having surgical enhancement as he felt he could do with another two inches. This was a recurring conversation. Apparently, he had also done some research on it. I didn’t quite know how to respond to such a delicate matter in diplomatic fashion. I was genuinely shocked at his obsession, particularly at his age, and dismissed it as silly nonsense. But his insecurities lay deep. I found it sad and depressing. If Imran Khan, the much-loved, much-imitated, and much-idolised icon for several generations, could be so insecure then what hope did an ordinary man have?
