The closest I ever came to cheatin’ on anyone was with Crazy Redhead (the one who called me “Mrs. Tits” and caught me trying to smoke with my vagina) while we lived in Las Vegas.
It was my 26th birthday party. And man was that a pretty good party. We did karaoke at Ellis Island, then hit the Strip, where I drunkenly unveiled the last mooning of my adult life to an SUV full of Japanese tourists who yelled out, “How much? How much?”, then went to my friend’s house for after-party time.
At this stage in our relationship I was pretty over it. I mean, he’d basically told me he’d been cheating, which was just a cheap ploy for attention and one that I didn’t give a shit about; I had totally planned his birthday a few weeks earlier and he could barely show up to mine; and, well, I was tired of playing Mommy to an overgrown Man Baby. And so, while he took my Taurus (yes, how sexy, I drove a four-door, maroon Ford Taurus in Las Vegas until it died) and tried to find my friend’s house, I ditched him and hopped into another car.
At my friend’s house, she told me, “Dutch thinks you are totally cute. He told me so.”
Now Dutch is this totally adorable 23-year-old, dark-haired kid from Baws-ton who has the cute accent and is missing part of a finger from an industrial accident, but he reads books and stuff. White trashy and smart—that is my Achilles heel with men. Anyway, I found myself outside her house, making out with Dutch, waiting any minute for Ye Olde Boyfriend to come pulling up.
Now, Dutch and I talked about hooking up, but he lived with his girlfriend, I lived with Crazy Redhead, and somewhere in-between having access to the most available hotel rooms in the world and being flatass broke, we tried to pull it together for the life of us. I had my mind made up, swear to Gawd, he was the first guy I was totally gonna screw behind my boyfriend’s back.
Cheatin’. It’s really hot right now. Seems hotter than ever. That Ashley Dupre is all over the news—and in Playboy—Jesse James went all Nazi-fetish on Sandy, John Edwards, sheesh. Tiger Woods—perhaps the Most Boring Man of All Time—even scored, multiple, multiple times. It’s revealed this week also that our fair former Gov of New York, Eliot “the Man” Spitzer, spent around $100K on hookers, including three in one day for around enough that could cover my living expenses for over a month. Fuck, man, fucking is getting out of control.
I’ve had a bad stretch of being on the receiving end of someone cheating—I mean, boyfriends have cheated on me, sure. Most of them I really didn’t give a shit about. But I have been the Ashley Dupre, Rielle Hunter, Tits on Sticks that come with a bottle of Cristal and a VIP booth at the Palms. I have been the Other Chica many times over. And let me tell you, not a good idea.
Why am I thinking about this? ’Cause after a nasty little dry spell—and some eyes being made with a certain married man last weekend—I announced to Roommate Jim at the bar, “Fuck it. I swore off married guys or guys with girlfriends. But fuck that. I’m gonna fuck them now. It’s all fair game.”
I’m feeling a little distraught at my moment of weakness. See, I’ve been the Excuse—the chick guys fuck because they want out of their current situation but are too much of a pussy to deal with it—and ladies, don’t kid yourselves, that’s all it is. So, instead of dealing with the problem at hand, they go out, find another sucker (i.e. stupid woman) to fuck them and whine to them about their current relationship, how big a bitch their wife/girlfriend is, blah, blah, blah. Trust me, I’ve heard it all.
These guys are pretty pathetic and, trust me, emotional messes. It’s nothing you want to take on. In a few months they will turn into tedious fucks. And then they’re your problem.
Do I think monogamy is natural? Not really. Do I think it’s a good idea? Most of the time, for most people. After following a bunch of swingers in Vegas, I came to realize that you better have a fucking Rock Solid relationship before you even consider having sex with other people. It’s not a band-aid solution whatsoever. And I agree with the Dan Savage—if you’ve talked to your significant other, etc., about what you need, and they’re not responsive or supportive, then yes, go out and get yourself a professional.
And guys here’s another shocker for you: Do women like the idea of fucking only one person for the rest of their lives? Hells fucking no. I do not like the idea of fucking only one person. I get bored. I want variety. But do I think I can handle the lifestyle? I have no idea. Probably not. That takes a personality of steel and the patience and understanding of a Jesus Christ himself—in other words, not many people can handle it. If I can limp into my 70s with someone who still wants to put his dick in me every once in a while, I’ll consider it good. After all, I’m no Tracy Lords.
And so, did I cheat on Crazy Redhead? Nah, I didn’t. I’ve never fucked anyone behind my boyfriend’s back. But do I want to return to being that kind of girl who does? Not really, no. I’m gonna hold out for someone who can handle sex like an adult.