He still texts me from time to time, and I wonder if his girlfriend knows. I wonder if she knows about all the incoming text messages I receive and to which I aloofly respond. He posts about how much he loves his girlfriend on social media, and then when no one is looking, I see the things he says to me about how much he misses me. I wonder if she knows.
Several years ago, I was in the habit of fucking other girls’ boyfriends as some backwards, sick and twisted effort at my fucked version of feminism. The basic idea was: all men are cheating dogs, your boyfriend is going to cheat on you, but if he’s gonna cheat on you with someone it might as well be me because I throw fish back in the water after I catch them, but hopefully you and I can come to the understanding that this guy is a scum bag piece of shit. So if you want to fuck him, go for it. But you should know where the lies end and the truth begins: right where his dick hits my g-spot. I tried explaining this to my therapist, but she didn’t really get it. She didn’t understand how a girlfriend could come to terms with the woman who had fucked her boyfriend, but this (like most thing) is something that I have seen men do time and time again: they form solidarity over being bang bros. Women? Not so much. And in my failed experiment at testing the limits of feminine solidarity (spoiler alert: it barely exists) as well as in my attempt to disprove the idea that if you’re in a relationship with someone that person becomes your sexual property, I realized that fucking other people’s boyfriends out of malice was more trouble than it was worth. I view dick as communal property. Apparently I’m the only one.
So now, here we are, years later, and I’m still at the point where someone’s boyfriend wants to fuck me. I’m feeling disinclined to fuck him, mostly because meh. And part of me is wondering if I should tell the girlfriend what her boyfriend is doing, but I’m smart enough to know that snitching on her boyfriend will yield the exact same effects as fucking her boyfriend: I’ll get blamed and then socially ostracized while she finds the quickest, most aggravating way to take him back. I resent this fact, but I also know what I’m working with. The fact of the matter is, it’s the same now as it was then: if not me, then someone else. If it’s not texting, fuck it, he’s probably hollering at some chick at the bar. I can do nothing, or I can do something, but regardless of what happens nothing I do or don’t do is going to change the fact that he’s fucking around on his girl. My personal role is irrelevant in the grand scheme of him wanting something extra on the side and lying about it.
That’s fine. I want to feel bad for her, but I can’t because I’ve known her for a long time, and (if I may be perfectly honest) she has never been nice to me. Of course, my life mantra is “sluts before fucks,” but I also really get off on being unnecessarily petty, so when those two tenets are pitted against each other, I find myself in a bind. Luckily for her, I’m in a “hold true to my life mantra” kind of mood today, which is why I’m making the decisively diplomatic decision to fuck with his head. It is going to take very little effort on my part. This is for you, baby girl, even if you’re probably going to try to kick me out of the club the next time I see you. Whatever. I hope that this works in my endgame of ensuring male misery at his own hands while also opening up the possibility for a woman to liberate herself from the doldrums of unrequited male love. Because that’s what this is all about: not falling into the trap of monogamous romantic relationships as the ne plus ultra of our human experience of love. Let’s try something better than asking some half assed dude to make everything right in our lives. Let’s turn to ourselves and to each other instead. It’s going to be a painful process, but it might be worth it.