Just A Taste: On Sex, Sleazebag Cheating and Why Some Men Are Still Nice

“I’m a very faithful guy hey. I’m one of the most faithful guys around” he says to me as we lay in his bed at 4 in the morning.  Words that would please any girl and send her heart beating in her chest, attempting to jump out and hug him for being so amazing.  Except I’m not his girlfriend. My hands wrapped around a vodka bottle as I attempt to taste the citrus that’s supposed to be in it, I say “Yeah..I bet your girlfriend thinks so. Yep. That must be why I’M in your bed right now” and  he looks uneasy. I laugh and we discuss the beautiful things Life tends to hand us that we feel compelled to destroy.

“Why do men cheat?” has been used to sell magazines since before I was born, with jaded women and defensive men alike attempting to reveal the intricacies or simple truths behind the act.

“They all do. They’re dogs” they say.

“They just don’t know how to be with one woman. It’s not you. It’s not him either. It just IS.”

“It’s in a man’s nature to conquer and explore.”

Or sometimes.. probably more often than I’d care to admit “It’s not him. It’s you. What are YOU doing to drive him out?”

I know some very nice men. Decent. They respect their women. They adore them. Their partners are happy and when they’re together, they create images worthy of a thousand Tumblr reblogs. To quote the young ones, they’re “Perf.”

But these men cheat.

Their partners don’t know it. These men hardly ever acknowledge it, and even when they do, would never call it what it is. “Cheating” is sleazy. But they do.

It’s usually premeditated.  It starts off with playful flirting as he wonders whether he actually CAN do this, and possibly fights his feelings of guilt. Because you see, his Lady is lovely, she really is.  She understands him and motivates him to be a better man. She could possibly be the future mother of his kids. But right now, he just wants something new. Something different. This one time, he feels an overwhelming urge to satisfy his curiosity and man, it’ll just be once.  Once he decides, it’s on to the propositioning.

I find they feel more comfortable exploring infidelity with a close friend rather  than a random girl found at a party.  Possibly because said friend would respect their relationship and not slander the “Wifey” or make the act seem more than it actually is: sex.   A friend I guess would be much more comfortable for them, seeing as they could rationalize the guilt away or minimize it using the age old “It was just a friend helping out another friend.”

And wasn’t it though?

I understand.

It’s usually a once off thing.  He doesn’t want to leave her, not even close. He’s happy and so is she. He simply wants to satisfy his curiosity. Look at it this way, I adore Toni Morrison’s work. At some point I read 4 of her books straight simply because I wanted to take her in, all of her.  I then took a break, read Charles Bukowski and went back to Ms Morrison.  Is that an issue? Is it something to be ashamed of? No. I think not.


And yes, relationships are different, I know. But monotony is rather irksome.

The only issue I see here is the deceit, but that’s the way it has to be.

Because let’s be honest, how many of us would believe it if our partner said they wanted to have sex with someone else once a year? Just once. How many of us would accept it?


There’s a difference between a man who wanders once in a while, out of curiosity, and a serial cheater with an insatiable appetite who insists on settling into relationships and dragging his partners through his mess.  Are they both cheaters?  Yeah, sure, but they have different reasons  for and methods of cheating. One isn’t as messy, selfish and sleazy as the other, and I think that matters.

The way a man chooses to cheat says a lot about the kind of man that he is. Which is why when some people do what they do, I understand, and to me, that remorse, even if it’s shame for following your desires, means something.  The fact that that person cares about the consequences of their actions and weighs everything out.  The fact that, to him, it’s not just “Me, Me, Me” it’s “Me, Me, Me, but if I mess up, what about Her?”

I’m not trying to say “Cheating is okay if you’re sorry you did it to an extent”, not at all, the point I’m trying to make is, certain things, once understood, aren’t as evil as we could perceive them to be from face value.



The art of loving a travelling man

He said “There’s only one person I love. Myself, alone. I don’t want this other shit.” and I wondered why the girls who cry over him, do.

When you’ve heard a man express to you that he will always come first? Firstly, do you not hear him? Second, why burden yourself with the task of attempting to change him?

There are men who will never belong to you.   Men who do not take chances with affection and would sooner cut loose and forget about you than risk remembering your smile before he falls asleep. Men who will reach for you one moment and fold his arms up the next. And you have to remember that sometimes, it’s nothing personal. ‘

It’s not about him refusing to love You, it’s about him preserving His heart, in his eyes. You are merely a statistic, the faceless embodiment of possibilities that he is not willing to explore.

Often we assume that a man who will not cling to you, no matter how much he may seem to have an interest in you, is flawed. Why? Because we assume he’ll be back, he just needs time to “figure himself out”? We assume we will be the exception to the rule and we will change his Life by showing him the wonders of monogamy and the Beauty of faithful, committed love.

But have you ever once observed a man without expectation? Dated him, slept with him, and merely wanted to learn him as a human being that you interact with. Sometimes we get the most out of being a part of someone’s Life simply by being the observer.  The rocks on the shore that experience both the crashing waves and the water’s caress when at Peace, and still remain as they are, as it’s in their nature to be, stable. Sometimes the water’s turmoil is none of your business. Sometimes your mission is not to stop the crashing waves.

Which is why I listened when he said we were alright, and was only briefly annoyed when he left two days later.  I’d observed him long enough to know that what he’d said was a lie because he holds eye contact when he lies then breaks it quickly to hide the guilt. I wasn’t mad when he lashed out at me a week later because it had nothing to do with me, and so I laughed it off. I did not think of him for a month, he lived as he pleased, and when he saw it convenient, he called. We met. We argued. We drank. I went home. I felt my heart begin to get confused and my mind remind it that this was as it was. That we know him as he is and no, we will not be The One.

The One to teach him about Love, he has known it.

The One to tie him down, he has a mother to be committed to.

The One that got away, that spot’s taken.

We will not be The One to do anything but Be.

He said he loves it when girls get mad at him, and laughed. Why? Because he wants to know that he makes them feel what his Ex caused him to feel. I however, as I told him, am a narcissist who feels what she wants as she wants, and unlike the others, I do not stay mad.  I do not stay caring.

Like my friend.  She had similar experiences with him and continues to be angry, months later. She doesn’t understand why I can still speak to him, sit on his lap, share a cigarette with him and even look him in the eye, when she can’t.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with him. He’s twisted. Who does that?” she says, holding back tears that are months overdue.

I ask her if she didn’t see that he was self-centered from the beginning and she goes quiet.

Did she want to love him? I ask. She looks away.

I ask why, she says he was “nice”.

I ask why she didn’t just appreciate it and leave it at that.

You see, he may be self-centered but he remains respectful.  Apart from refusing to fall in love, there is nothing about him that would make a woman feel bad. Nothing that he says nor does in any way disrespects women, and yet many of us will choose to hate men like him simply because they can’t be tied down.

It doesn’t seem logical that we’re holding on to dreams we’ve been sold by The Notebook, controlled by a need to have a better half, to the point where we hate the people we can’t train and seduce into submission.

Do we even bother to get to know the people we so desperately want to be linked to? Do you  know what triggers him? Will you be able to accept that sometimes they will need to go? To be their own person? Will you trust them? Do you know that a relationship actually requires understanding and not just tagged Facebook pictures and Goodnight texts? Do you really?

Will you respect that person enough to let them Be? Even if that means not always Being with you.

Can you understand that sometimes being there for or with someone doesn’t always mean possessing them?



Why We aren’t [don’t] like You

“People..They don’t write anymore- They blog.” – Hank Moody.

I read this and felt ashamed because were Hank Moody a real person, I’d be certain he was passing a remark aimed at me.

“You should write a book”.  People say this to writers all the time as if we flawlessly pull words out of thin air and they miraculously transform themselves into sensible sentences that people can relate to. 

Writing is hard. 

I cannot speak for those who work on fiction but as one who basically pens down her thoughts and experiences, it’s not easy to put everything down. There are secrets and painful truths that you’d rather no one else know. Every time you write,  especially if you blog and it’s for an audience, you give away some part of yourself. You share your pain/truth/opinions with people you don’t know and risk being misunderstood and unappreciated.

Writing means constantly telling on yourself. Constantly exposing your insecurities and fears, your secrets and Demons, and for some reason people who are unable in everyday Life to even state what they TRULY desire feel it’s simple for one to just day in and day out sit down and pull up all their experiences for their consumption. 

For more than two years now I’ve heard those words. 

I’ve tried a couple of times to do so and only managed, at most, 4 or 5 pages. Why? Because frankly, I get scared sometimes. Who gives a damn about my story? Do I even have one? What if I start and realize my Life hasn’t been as eventful as I thought? Do I really have anything to say? What if I go on and on and after a while it becomes some monotonous piece of work? This will mean that I will have to tell the truth about certain people, is that a risk I’m willing to take?

And then I feel bad. Because I don’t know if other writers go through the same issues and have the same thoughts. Some make it seem easy and others will tell the truth about their insecurities. 

I can tell you this though, the majority of us find the label “Writer” quite pretentious. I personally cringe when I say it and yet there’s nothing else that stands as true. I find solace in the fact that I’m not one of the many I know who write merely for the label and nothing else, and then I’m better. 

Writers are not peaceful people. Not the ones that I know anyway. Look at writing as a form of exorcism. This is us removing the things our Spirits can’t handle. Think about that. The energy and emotional toll it takes, and tell me if you could do it every day?

From what I’ve seen, and what I feel personally, compliments reduce us to 4 year olds who feel the need to hide behind skirts, which in this case, is our work.  I don’t like discussing blog posts with people, I may be a narcissist, but I don’t. I don’t give my blog address to anyone, I always say if you find it, you do, and if you don’t, you don’t. The majority of the compliments I get fly over my head but a heartfelt “Thank you for saying what you did as you did” from a stranger brings tears to my eyes. Because I could care less for compliments, I don’t want to write down pretty words, I want people to relate and some to learn. 

I am also not a walking book.  I don’t have words laid out and poems in storage to entertain people. “What do you write about? Tell me some of it” needs to stop. As does “Do you write about me?”. Believe me we live in a society where most people are so bland there’s no need to note their existence and it’s as simple as that. The next man is like the last man and probably the current too. 

Although I mentioned that we aren’t peaceful people, this does not mean that we are out of control.  We aren’t all promiscuous alcoholics with mommy/daddy issues.  We don’t live in dumpsters and homeless shelters “for the experience” and we don’t walk into abusive relationships to be able to write about it.

Writers are not your hipster version of Brilliance. 

Some are special and some aren’t. Some fit the mold and some don’t. And some are extremely boring people in Real Life. It’s that simple.

Why? Because really they’re just people who can arrange words a certain way and make you feel/understand some shit. Nothing more/ nothing less. They’re like other artists, some create timeless pieces and others, they just create. 

Personally, I have enough of a difficult time trying to figure out if I’m a hipster or not. I’d rather not be but if I am, fine.  I feel bad when I think I may be a more of a blogger than a writer and I make myself feel better by reminding myself that I’m only really doing what I can/have to, here, now.  I beat myself up over the fact that I don’t have a manuscript, then remember that maybe now is not the time. I may not have that much to say.  Sometimes I use people to have writing material, and other times Life fucks me over and I have to pick myself up from that the only way I know how, by writing about it. 

It’s not that complex and yet it’s one of those things you’ll have to be in to understand.

Is all. 


– A possible Hipster girl with some shit to say, sometimes. Who wants to be Hank Moody when she grows up. Shut up. I know what I said.