On my birthday, I decided to do an “about me.” So quaint, I thought. All these nice writers telling the 100 million average monthly readers about themselves in earnest tones. Why they are special. Why they write. Why we should read them.
Nope. Not me.
This is the ANTI version of an “about me.” I’ll reveal as little as possible.
Because I’m an adulterer.
I’m not a good person. I know. I know. Despicable. Like the guy in black with a pointy nose, but less lovable.
That bad girlfriend, the disloyal wife, the…
I don’t watch the Kardashians. I refuse to.
It’s my line in the quicksand. I won’t sink to “junk” reality television. I’d rather watch YouTube makeup tutorials with Nikki or silly dog videos.
But even Kim’s been cheated on.
She, of the tiniest waist and the most enormous ass, has been a recipient of this “lifestyle.” Yet, her perfect skin, hair, body, clothes, money, house, children, etc., didn’t shield her from adultery.
In the song, “Hurricane” West raps,
“Here I go actin’ too rich
here I go with a new chick and I know what the truth is
still playing after two…
I’m your adultery fairy godmother. Since cheating for the past five years, I’ve learned the hard way what I want. And what I will and won’t tolerate from men.
My lady friends stepping out in this lifestyle deserve some respect.
Men, here are some tips:
We aren’t sluts or dirty whores. Most of us have reasons to be looking to get laid “out of network.” It could be a dead bedroom, lousy husband, depression, or seeking thrilling side action. Whatever the reasons, we aren’t your personal porn star. Our sexy feelings don’t make us lower than you. We are sexual…
How am I going to do this? I can’t get through a day, let alone a week without texting you.
Resolve. I can. I will. I’m strong. I can forget about you.
How can I forget?
Clean break. Clean break. Clean break. I can do it. No contact. Just delete everything.
I can’t delete.
Please, oh please, reach out. I will him to start typing on Telegram. Doesn’t he miss me at all?
Look for someone else. Distraction. Nothing else is going to work.
“I miss you so much,” I text.
Should I delete? Yes? No? I want him to…
When is Tinder too good to be true? When you see a hot woman and are lured in by the pics.
Men, don’t think with your willies.
Mr. Trick on Reddit wrote:
“So, what do you do?” “Like for a living?” This guy adds.
“Oh, I own a small business. Design related.”
“No, part-time. That’s how I fit in adultery into my schedule,” I texted.
“Do you enjoy it?”
“My job? Or fucking around?” I laugh. This guy is either clever or an idiot. I don’t know which one yet.
“Yes, to one. Maybe you can guess which.” Or, maybe not. I haven’t been exactly lucky to find lovers who were bright. And the endless lol’s were a clue.
I usually try to steer the conversation…
I got in too deep with my last affair.
I broke the AP (affair partner) code. I fell hard. Could-see-myself-with-him hard. Fantasies-about-running-away hard. Chucking-my-life-behind hard.
It wasn’t going to happen, of course. I wasn’t quite that stupid.
Now I’m here. In heartbreak adultery land.
Struggling to not reach out on Telegram or Kik. Struggling not to open his pictures on my phone. I know I should just delete it all, but I can’t. It’s too soon. The wounds are too fresh. I’m still bleeding out.
We were together for a year.
“I’ll be with you as long as you’ll have…
It’s obvious, right? But my hubby would be shocked if he found out. What would he do? Would he “revenge” cheat?
That’s the normal operating procedure. Tit for tat. Make sure you even the score.
Illustrate that you can be just as dastardly.
“You made me cheat.”
“Why not? You did.”
Your marriage has slid into toxic sludge at this point. It’s beyond saving. Just leave. All the hurtful words can’t be taken back. You will never be able to unhear them.
Rub it in your spouse’s face. Anger is…
“Oh, I can’t keep him off me. So, I have to come up with excuses,” my friend said with a knowing wink and a delicate sip of her wine over the dark wood table.
Of course. She can’t keep him off of her.
“Oh yeah…” I mumbled.
Except I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had that type of sexual connection in all the years of our marriage. Not even in the very beginning.
Tired of the endless pretending to have a decent sex life with my hubby when it was beyond life support. I lied, of course. …
Everyone knows affairs have a shelf life.
You stop having fun. It becomes routine. The excitement fades. Scheduling becomes more and more cumbersome. The lies are increasingly challenging to navigate.
“How much do I want this?”
I don’t know how much more I can take.
Why aren’t they communicating?
Daily texts become every other day and then weekly and fade to nothing at all. “Could we talk more?” becomes a cry into the internet void. Apologies that change nothing.
“Are your feelings changing?”
“No, it’s all fine.”
An “it’s fine” answer means it’s NOT fine.
Dumb excuses that get dumber.