I have spoken of me cheating and the clusterfuck that was.I have spoken of being cheated on and the swamp of sadness I built a summer home in.
Once upon a time, I was the mistress.
I was 24 the first time I slept with Jesus.
Not the real Jesus, everybody gets a nickname.
The sex was mind blowing. Of course I wanted all of the More.
He was my first Libra and I blew it.
I had been seeing someone else on and off for a year. That whole thing was a twisted train wreck. I ran to Jesus for salvation. He had just gotten shredded by some girl and was not ready to get locked down.
Instead of saying ‘okay, I like you, let’s keep things casual and see what happens because epic sex’. I stormed off back to the train wreck, and played among the rubble.
By the time I freed myself from the wreckage, Jesus was in a relationship with a girl my friends referred to as ‘the cardboard cut-out of you’.
I was 26, cell phones were new and Facebook didn’t exist. So it took a week to find him. I “accidentally” bumped into him at a bar and flirted with him like my life depended on it. It was summertime, hot and muggy, I was barely dressed. He drove me home with his hand on my leg.
I said “stop teasing me you are making me wet.”
He said “I think you are a liar.”
We managed to hit every red light between where we were and where I lived. I opened my legs like the whore of Babylon and put his hand where I wanted it. He played for a bit and after he put his hand to his mouth and sucked me off his fingers.
Afterwards I turned to him and said “are you in love with her or something?”
Filter? What’s a filter?
He said yes. My hands flew to my face as though I had been hit. I said “why didn’t you just tell me that in the first place I would have just left you alone”. I lied, for nothing more than dramatic effect. It worked. He stopped the car. I ran. He chased me.
I got my movie moment.
I fucked him after that. I presented my body to him in a thousand pretty ways and my tongue dripped with honey coated manipulations, I let him do all things she wouldn’t and I did all the things she would do, better. This went on for years.
He proposed to her one morning, hair damp from my shower. That is a story all of its own.
It was 5 years before I saw him again.
The next time I was hovering precariously on the edge of single…no, I didn’t go looking for him. He came looking for me. I saw his name on a friend’s notebook and he said “oh ya, Jesus got divorced, he’s looking for you”.
Cue karma.
The one that punched me repeatedly when I said ‘I haven’t cheated yet but I am about to’, ya, I left him for Jesus. I was the Queen of Monkey Bars.
Guess who I left Jesus for? Ex hubby. The relationship wherein I got cheated on within an inch of my life.
Oh Karma, you clever bitch, well played Madame.
Cheating is bad no matter what position you are in, driver, passenger or locked in the trunk. Karma is the cop just itching to pull you over, and yes, that gun is loaded.
