When someone has cheated marvelously on you and you are as unaware as a child getting holy communion while your family is outside the church getting drunk… something inside you goes POP!!!!
I’ve read so much Cosmopolitan and so much Askmen.com or anything that resembled “Top 10 Reasons Men Cheat!!!” (Thank you Huffington Post for reminding me why being single is sometimes better. And oh, let’s not even get started on the Pat Robertson lecture that outlines that I basically must’ve SUCKED as a partner.) I don’t even like reading that stuff… it feels so… obvious. But at the same time, why am I the cheated-upon idiot that didn’t see the ‘obvious’?!?
So to celebrate my new-found single-ness and to vindicate my thrown-away ass, I texted a friend of a friend of a friend. One of those people you have seen at parties, have had a drink with, and basically called it quits since really, he’s just a friend of a friend of a friend.
I texted: “Two propositions: 1) help me move next week 2) make out with me. No strings attached. I’m in mourning and I need touch.”
Silence. 1 hour later: “Yes to both. I understand.”
So… I grab a $10 bottle of wine from Von’s and drive myself over.
I’ve never been to his house. It was very… male. Very “I have an X-Box but I only use it for watching movies”. Very “I have a great audio system but no where to sit”. No matter! I’m here to fuck around! I’m here to get my Stella Got Her Groove Back!!!!
We sit and talk about the funeral a bit. This is a joyous 7 minutes. How my fiance looked in the coffin, how he lookd like he was poured in without a skeleton, how the coroner missed a spot and you could see the bright blueberry color of his real skin peeking out from behind the make up.
Then… he lunged at me. I suppose he had to get to that. Alrighty!!! Lunge away!!!! I am an attractive female ready for lots of wiggling and jiggling!!! Calgon, take me away!!!!
He lunged at me… with the sword antics of a squire holding a tongue as his weapon of choice. Poke poke poke lick diddle diddle thwack!! went his tongue. Okay….. I can do this…. this is sexy… to someone….
Rip rip rip goes the clothes…. whoa… I guess he didn’t get the part of the text that said “Make out with me”. Because if anything, the making out took much less time than the awkward conversation.
Great… now we’re naked. And I see the penis.
Let’s pause for a moment.
Why are penises… somewhat… inherently…. curious? I know I don’t own one, but there are so many varieties that honestly, I wish people would just slow down so I can observe and/or admire this strange appendage of male virility. But NO! The mighty penis must be SATIATED! After all, we are now in our 40′s and god knows how long we can keep this hard-on up!!!! One wrong word and game may be over!
So here he is, this friend of a friend of a friend who only knows me as that poor girl who lost her fiance in an accident and who likes to drink vodka/cranberries at parties cuz it’s cheap and doesn’t taste like carburator fluid… he is now climbing on top of me like a Sasquatch about to make his kill on the lowly squirrel! Okay okay… somehow, this is supposed to be fun… this is animalistic fervor, this is grunt-o-mania!
But then my hands caressed his shoulders down to his butt…. and I had the piercing realization… he is NOT my fiance. He does not have the same body, the same bump of a taut ass, the same sinewy shoulders, the same musky scent of oceanic and earthy skin. He is simply another man… of whom I have absolutely no interest, no desire, nothing.
I stopped it. (As a woman, who doesn’t feel bad when you know you’re giving someone blue balls?) I rolled over so I was now on top of him. I stared sadly into his eager and confused eyes and ran my hand along his jawline…. no, he is nothing like my fiance.
And my fiance is not coming back to tell me why he cheated, or tell me what was broken between us that would drive him to do something like that.
And I am still too broken to enjoy sex… with anybody.