Confessions Of A Serial Cheater
By Jon Harris
Part of me is madly in love with you. That part is completely enamored with your laugh, your smile, your big, green eyes, your hair, and the way I feel like I can be myself around you. I like that part of me. That part of me is in a lockbox in a vault that I kind of forgot the combination to. But it’s there and there’s a little window so I can see it whenever I want. Unfortunately there’s a lot of other parts to me as well.
For example, there’s the part of me that’s still screwing my ex-girlfriend. I mean, not my last ex-girlfriend. I’m talking about the one before that. Yeah, you see I realized toward the end of that relationship that all we really had in common was that we only liked each other for the sex; so that’s all we’ve been doing for the last eight months. Yes, that includes the three months that you and I were flirting and getting to know each other and when that part of me was falling deeply in love with you and when you were thinking that I was going to be the perfect guy for you. But don’t worry, that part of me is locked away and isn’t getting out anytime soon. That is, unless my ex calls me back.
There’s another part of me that is still screwing with my recent ex-girlfriend. This is the one that I cheated on the other one with and that I’m currently cheating on you with. The funny thing is that she has thought for the longest time that I was being faithful to her when in reality that was nowhere near the case. You see, she’s now been the “other woman” for the last few relationships, including you. That’s got to make you feel better, right? And don’t worry, I don’t feel anything vaguely emotional when I’m with her — it’s just sex. She doesn’t think it is and I tell her it’s not, but it really is. But it’s okay because I keep that part of me completely separated from the part that loves you. They don’t speak, because if they did it probably wouldn’t be a very fun conversation.
I guess I should tell you about the hair I just cleaned off my pillow that doesn’t belong to you right before you got to my place. Yeah, you see, there’s this other girl that I’ve been in this “will they or won’t they” song-and-dance with for quite some time and it finally culminated that night I threw that party the night before you had to get up super early for work so you just stayed at your place. Yeah, had you stayed at the party that night you probably would have caught me getting really drunk and finally sealing the deal. Remember that time I told you I was going out to the bar with my friends and was probably going to be out late so you should probably not plan to spend the night? That’s just because I was having this other girl over instead. I don’t go out with my friends nearly as often as you think. But this part of me — the part that actually enjoys being around this girl and finds her more attractive than you in some ways — I keep that locked away as well so it doesn’t talk to any of the others.
Look, I know this all comes as kind of a shock to you. You probably didn’t suspect a thing because you still spend most nights at my place and you’ve never found any girl’s underwear or condom wrappers or any evidence like that. There’s a part of me that feels really awful about all this. There’s a part of me that feels like a total scumbag and knows that I’m the lowest form of life on this planet. There’s a part of me that knows that if we were just friends or whatever and you were telling me about this boyfriend you have that was doing all this stuff to you that I would curse him and tell you to dump his ass pronto because you deserve better. And you do. And part of me knows that. But I keep that part locked away too.
So I’m probably going to have you over tonight and we’re going to lie down together and I’m going to kiss you goodnight, tell you that I love you (because part of me really does), and hold you like nothing’s wrong — like I haven’t held another woman in my life much less last night. I can do that because there’s a part of me that is all yours and lives only for you and I keep it separate from the part of me that can’t stop wandering. Maybe it’s because the thing that all these parts have in common is that I wasn’t loved enough as a kid or am harboring this festering self-consciousness under a façade of confidence and it makes me need to fill some emptiness with every woman that gives my genitals any attention — or something Freudian like that. It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s just that for whatever reason, that love isn’t enough.
Part of me is screaming the truth that these excuses aren’t enough and that you need to actually hear all this for yourself. That particular part of me I keep locked away as deep as I can — deep enough so that in the silent darkness, no matter who I’m lying with, I can’t hear it.