My Latest Post on TwoMangoes.com

Shut it down and move on!

So I've Been Sleeping With This Guy...

So I’ve been sleeping with this guy who has a girlfriend of 9 years.  One afternoon, after we fucked our brains out for five hours (because who doesn’t waste their time fucking for five hours on a Sunday afternoon?), I did the PSYCHO-logical thing and asked him why he didn’t want to spend those five hours fucking his girlfriend instead.  And to my surprise, the poor thing could not give me a reason.  In fact, he simply shrugged, looked away, and said, “I don’t know”. 

Of course, in the meantime, I knew why.  It wasn’t because he didn’t “love” his girlfriend or because he was trying to see if there is something better out there.  No, none of that.  It was because he’s a male who was trying to genetically perpetuate.

I get a lot of letters from females who want to know why their boyfriend/husband/friend cheats and it’s sometimes hard to give an answer.  There are several reasons a male could cheat, and it doesn’t necessarily mean because they’re want something else.  Whatever.  Wish I fucking cared.

In any event, this dude in particular clearly just wanted to get his sperm out there.  He “loved” his girlfriend, and I knew he wanted to marry her.  He just needed to get it out of his system, because that is how we are built.

Just for the record, I’m not totally against marriage or relationships.  I mean, maybe at one point I was, but I’m not anymore.  I just can’t for the life of me believe a genetically superior couple is 100% happy being in a monogamous relationship.  So while my friends are off doing the tired cliché thing and getting married, I offer them the best advice I possibly can and that is to give in to the temptation, should it come along.  Sure, they can stay married, but why not try the open relationship?  At the end of the day, you’d both be coming back to each other anyway, right?

So while some of my friends are married and many are in relationships, I don’t want them to think that I’m totally against them being together (which I know I act like).  I’m actually totally supportive.  I just hope that when problems arise, they realize that it isn’t necessarily one person’s fault or the other, and in fact, its likely that its just a biological need to spread their wings.

Moreover, while most of you are judging me because I’m sleeping with someone who is in a relationship, I know I’m helping this guy get it out of his system and so I never blink twice when I hear about this one or that one having an affair with so and so.  I hate to be glib, but better me than some other female out on her competitive prowl for the perfect mate. 

After I asked him why he was fucking me, he stopped coming around so often.  It is probably better that way in the event that his “holier-than-thou” girlfriend find out that he’s fucking a fucking legend (pun fucking intended). 

Editor’s Note:  I realize I’ve been writing a lot about cheating and cuckoldry etc, but I just find the need to validate the reason why these things continue happening (as I continue getting letters upon letters on the phenomenon that is cheating).  These things aren’t a crime and people shouldn’t treat them as such. 

Yikes! - **Guest Blogger**

**Note from Editor:  Please indulge in the latest post from my colleague, "Ralph", and her adventures in finding "The One"** 

Today I had a date.  I left work on time for a change, took the time to add a touch of lipgloss, a shimmer of blush and a pinch of Chanel No. 5 and off I went.  I was actually optimistic and looking forward to this date – this very blind date.  I barely knew the guy, had met him at a party briefly months ago and we finally reconnected.   I needed to go.  Needed to forget about Guy #1 - the one I thought was the person I was going to live happily ever after with.  And so – there I was, my lips coated in shimmery lip gloss and my broken heart full of high optimistic hope.

We spoke over wine and candlelight and it was fine.  At the moment, fine was better than heartbroken.  Fine filled the proverbial holes in my heart.   And then there it was, that moment when you realize that you are going out with a complete stranger and so obviously there will be things you don’t know about him that will come up in conversations, things that you aren’t accustomed to, things that may actually freak you out.  “You may know my younger sister...she’s 6 years older than you.”  I did the math in my head, and asked with trepidation, “So if she’s 6 years older than me – would you mind my asking how old you are?”  “Um...I’m in my mid-40s.” he said cautiously, while proceeding to analyze my facial expressions for a sense of shock or dismay.  Luckily for the both of us, I’m good at keeping my feelings to myself and I just nodded and said calmly, “Oh cool.”  He continued the conversation with, “You know – you would really dig my friend...well, except he’s divorced with 2 kids.”  My eyebrows raised and I said, “It’s interesting that I’m out with you and you’re trying to set me up with a friend.”  “Oh...no...I didn’t mean it like that.” he stammered.  And then there it was, the first time in my life that my eyes began to tear up on a first date.  I thought about the dozens of men I had rejected based on reasons I thought important at the time, I thought about Guy #1 and how much I missed him and the lower age gap between us, I thought about the decade-plus age difference between me and the reasonably nice (yet semi-clueless) man across from me and I was devastated.  Shallow? Maybe.  Overly Dramatic?  Probably.  But who is anyone to judge the feelings of another?

As I walked home from my reasonably nice evening with a man I would be more comfortable calling “Uncle” than “Boo” – I felt the space around me get dizzy and I bent down and literally began to bawl on the corner of Astor Place and Broadway.  I cried for Guy #1, the sweetest soul I have ever met who everyone told me wasn’t right for me, I cried for all the past males in my life who, for some reason or the other, I deemed not compatible...and I cried because I was a lonely, freshly-minted 30 year old girl who wasn’t getting any younger and may actually, sooner or later, just have to settle for something that isn’t what her 13, 16, 20, or even 27 year-old self had hoped for.

I went to sleep that night with a simple prayer – not one where I asked for true love, or that quintessential giddy feeling known as the “za-za-zu”.  I asked for simply this, “God.  Please help me be practical, help me be happy with whatever I end up getting.”   

And that, my friends, is what turning 30 with way too many past heartaches, has done to your once optimistic guest writer.