Confessions of a Cheater
I told someone the other day that I had the soul of a cheater. She said that was an oxymoron because cheaters have no soul. Which is an understandable point of view I suppose, if you're someone who has had their heart smashed open by infidelity. She said she could never, as long as she lived, understand what the fuck someone is thinking when they decide to cheat. So here it is my friend - what goes on in the mind of a cheater. Or at least what went on in my mind when I did it.
It started with just talking, as it always does. Harmless conversations that would have remained so if only I’d taken care not to cross the line. But the truth is that once in, there is no out. I wouldn’t have started down the cheating path if I didn’t aim to finish. And so the conversations continued. They stretched longer, they ran later. They moved from me saying things I probably shouldn’t have said to me telling secrets. Blurting confessions. Making plans.
The day, when it came, was just like any other day. I hugged and kissed my mister. Sat at the table over lunch and laughed at his jokes. Admired his face. Made plans for next week. Laid down open under him and told him he was the only one, that my pussy was his.
On the surface I was just like any other woman actively loving her man. But one corner of my brain was on Him. Knowing I would see Him. Plotting what to wear, planning what to say to get away. Taking care to shower in between so I would be fresh for Him. Just in case, I told myself. As if I didn’t know what was going to happen. As if cheating was not a foregone conclusion.
On my way to Him I was hot all over. Hot with shame, hot with nerves, hot with wetness and anticipation. My mouth dry, my heart pounding, I was as clumsy and inarticulate as I’ve ever been. Just as His face had flashed behind my eyes all morning as I prepared, now all I saw when I looked at Him was the face of my mister; trusting and open as a baby. My mister who would never in a million years think I was on my way to lie down with another man. My mister who would be crushed if he ever found out.
They say that when you’re dying you see your whole life flashing by you. But did you know that when you’re about to cheat your whole relationship flashes by? You see how you met, when you knew he was the one for you. You hear him telling you he loves you for the first time. You see your future; the plans you’ve made, the wedding you daydream about, the children you hope to have. You see everything and you’re so filled with love for your mister that you think you might burst with it.
But that doesn’t stop you. Or at least it didn’t stop me. For me it seemed that cheating was a train I’d long since boarded. No stops, no layovers, no refunds. And so on and on I rode toward the meanest and worst thing I’d ever done with only one thought in my mind: if he finds out, he will leave you.
I walked in there completely torn. Half believing that there was still a chance that this could be nothing more than a friendly visit. But knowing that I was really there to fuck. Mentally reviewing my list of justifications – “my mister doesn’t pay me enough attention. Him and I have unfinished business. I’m not wired to be monogamous and besides, monogamy is nothing but societal brainwashing. This has nothing to do with my mister. It’s not taking anything away from him. He’ll never know. This has nothing to do with us”. And beneath all of that is the deafening voice of my conscience screaming “You’re cheating. You’re cheating! You’re CHEATING!”.
And all of a sudden I knew. I didn’t want to do this. I didn’t want to be there, with Him. I wanted the earth to swallow me up and put my back next to my mister where I belonged.
But I was there and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I didn’t want to be the cheating girl, but I didn’t want to be that girl either. The one who talks big but doesn’t follow through. The cock tease. I didn’t want to jeopardize all I had with my mister but I didn’t want to lose Him either.
And so I began to bargain. With God, with the universe, with the holy spirit. With whoever or whatever was listening out there. With whoever or whatever could tell me which side of my brain I should be listening to – the side that wanted Him so badly or the side that warned me that I was sacrificing too much to have Him. I said to myself “if He doesn’t have a condom, that’s a sign I shouldn’t do this” but He did. And so I said “if my phone rings in the next five minutes, it means I should stop”. But my phone was stubbornly silent. And on I went; asking for signs that I should stop. And in the absence of them, believing it meant I should continue.
The truth is, a part of me resented my mister for letting me get this far. For not being careful enough with me. For leaving cracks in our relationship that He could worm his way into. For not noticing that something was up with me beneath my clumsy facade. For not calling or texting me at the exact moment that he could have stopped me. In a way that I know now was completely fucked up, I blamed my mister for what I was doing. For not protecting me from my own lust and stupidity.
And then He was on me. Stroking me. Moving me. Pulling me to Him, parting my legs. Making me moan even as I tried not to like it. Tried to keep my mind focused on my mister at home waiting for me. It was good when I wanted it to be bad. I wanted to stop as I wanted it to go on and on.
Then there was the moment. Every cheater knows the moment. Just after you’ve quieted your racing mind and succumbed to what is happening. Just as you begin to pant and moan. Just when you decide to forget the moral implications of what you’re doing and surrender to the feeling; there is a moment. Your brain becomes totally clear. The lust dries up. You look at Him, you look at yourself, you look around you and you see just how wrong you are and the guilt crashes over you like a tidal wave. It’s the moment in the movies when the hero or heroine jumps up, hastily shoves their clothes back on, and runs out the door with a hurried “I’m sorry. I can’t do this” tossed over their shoulder.
But this was my real life and there was no stopping. No jumping up and flinging on clothes. With dogged determination I put my head down and finished what I started; figuring that every bad feeling I was having – the shame, the disgust, the fear, the guilt – was the least I deserved for the wrong I was doing. I grit my teeth and prepared to suffer through the rest of it. But still I liked it. I moaned. I panted. I came.
When it was over I went back to my mister; freshly washed and smiling. There were no anguished faces when I thought he wasn’t looking at me. No long suspicious silences to make him ask me what was wrong. I didn’t drop hints or assemble a council of girlfriends to dissect what I’d done and pinpoint the reason why. I didn’t call Him and say “I love my mister so this can never happen again”. I didn’t confess. I didn’t do any of the things that cheaters do to make themselves feel better. I worked. I lived my life. I loved my mister. And while I eventually told people that I cheated, I never told anyone what it was really like. Until now.
Anyone feel me?