I’m Just Sayin’: I’ve Been Cheated Out Of My Cheating Experience!

Sometimes I really wish I could go to confession and get absolved for all my sins. Just spill it all out and clean my plate – so to speak – so I could just pretend none of my fuck-ups ever happened and be totally guilt-free.
Well maybe I wouldn’t so much divulge all of my sins as surely that would require an insurmountable amount of time that no priest would benevolently agree to endure; rather, in a more modest way, what I had in mind was to repent for mainly one sin. You know the kind of sin massively monumental enough – as in THE one that puts the entirety of my prolific portfolio to shame – to overall cancel the rest of the bunch. Sort of like the “select all” and “delete” keys of a computer.

But obviously, I am having difficulties availing myself of the sacrament.
The problem is not that I don’t have the mental capability to examine my conscience and tell my higher power of my sincerely heartfelt sorrow. No, the real issue is that clearly I’m not that good of a human being, much less, that great of a Catholic.

Anyhoo, because frankly I urgently needed to get it off my chest, I figured I would just use my column to, metaphorically speaking, air my dirty laundry.
So, here’s me baring it all! Pun intended, ironically that’s exactly what got my immoral ass succumbing to temptation in the first place.
That’s right! I’ve been a very very bad girl. To put it crudely, I stripped down to the bone – and not only did I strip all clothes off, but I also stripped of my soul.

Are you ready for this? Guess what? Tah Dah! I have discovered another extraordinary side of me – an additional new identity to my multiple personalities.
Allow myself to introduce myself: I am the “other woman”. Yeah me! I have officially joined the reputable club of all detestable bitches with few morals and no self-restraint. In other words, I am the irresistibly impossible to resist bad influence whom the cheater uses to cheat with.

So be it! ! I was the Evil villain, the antihero, in this “oh behave” sacrilegious story of scandalous adultery. I cast myself in my very own remade version of “unfaithful” minus the crime of passion. Luckily my love triangle while primitively old-fashioned hadn’t ended in bloodshed – at least not to my knowledge. To tell you the truth, the plot had nothing that was exceptionally sensational and the script followed a fairly basic, simple and quite generic formula: I was involved in an extramarital affair. Well sort of as I was more the “extra” than the marital part. But let’s not bother ourselves with minor details – it’s all semantics, really.

For all intents and purposes, to put things within context, let me ask you this:
if a woman is married to a man and has sex with another woman, is that considered cheating?

This is where I have to conveniently pull the “I am French” card and say: absofreakinglutely NOT! Said married woman did not, in my opinion, violate the sanctity of the marriage because she didn’t sleep with another man – she simply temporarily deviated from the regular monogamous flow of her otherwise continuously straight river. It’s as meaningless as a parenthesis – it just doesn’t count.

Personally, I believe that cheating is unnecessarily way too tainted of a term. Seriously, must we always be so prude? Aren’t we a tidbit too quick to judge and condemn. I’m just saying, it’s not because you’ve officially declared yourself an absolute meat fiend that the minute you order some sushi you’ve ultimately betrayed the sacred bond of the carnivore faith.

While I realize that most people would opt for a more cut and dry yes or no answer, I very much fancy the grayish vague area where things are not so simple and remain interminably in limbo. Quite frankly, there are too many variables to take into account to not easily get totally confused. But again, my pedigree is Parisian and so is my patriotism! Having said that, I have to argue that this is a case of “neither nor.”

Surely, we could easily sit here and waste countless hours trying to figure out whether cheating is cheating and uselessly debate back and forth whether it is morally unacceptable and subject to societal crucifixion or if there are legitimately valid exceptions. But seriously what would be the point? Cheating is such a subjective concept with different meaning for different people. And bottom line, I’m not a philosopher; I’m just a sinner!

How can I say that without sounding conceited, arrogant and a borderline egomaniac? Hmm, how about: whatever Mona wants, Mona gets (usually)!
And so, obviously Mona wanted sex – DESPERATELY – and married woman (to a man) was willing to give it. And like all good old romantic affairs of the married-kind enfolding in this high-tech 21st Century of ours, it all started in a virtual universe called the world-wide-web and more specifically on this other planet known as Facebook.

Well ok, let me give you my version, albeit truncated, of my Memorial Day Weekend sex-a-gaga – I mean saga!

It was one of those days when, as usual, my spastic Gemini bootie wasn’t quite sure what to do with her dreadfully bored self. Already in the mood to play, when the opportunity to potentially indulge in an intense bedroom workout marathon over an entire weekend – and I’m not talking about re-arranging the furniture – presented itself, I quite simple jumped on it.

What really happened was that in the span of a few months – well if you must know, it was almost a full year – I had developed a cyberspace (seemingly) platonic relationship with one of my “not really real” Facebook friends.
Skipping all the yawning details and diving right into the denouement, by the simple virtue of the traditional evolution process of all human rapport, we first exchanged electronic correspondence and then blah blah blah, some whatever days later, next thing I knew we were in bed together.

To rewind just a little bit, the whole thing pretty much started on an iPhone impulse. Just like that, on the eve of this past Memorial Day Weekend, it was somehow telephonically decided that we would spend the holiday break together. A grand total of 72-hours with a perfect stranger that could have either gone amazingly well or terribly wrong. I know – that was irresponsibly crazy! But what can I say? I am a devoted psychopathic kamikaze.

In all fairness to my married woman – whom from now on I will fictitiously call Mary Beth – I knew from the get go that she was married (to a man). But the fact that she lived in this alien planet known as Texas – as in geographically incompatible, meaning not within desirable, humanly feasible, driving distance – made me reasonably rationalize that this would strictly be a weekend adventure without any hugely catastrophic repercussions. Yeah, right! Who am I, god?

At the risk of looking more deranged, even with all that not-so-confidential information in the palm of my hands, not for a minute was I ever harboring any guilt over what I had done – and was hopefully going to do!
Honestly, since Mary Beth was the one who had initiated the rendezvous and had flown her ass to my neck of the woods, whilst mind you keeping her hubby abreast of her impending betrayal, I logically deducted I couldn’t possibly claim any responsibilities for a mess I hadn’t directly created. And again I was still sticking to the theory that Mary Beth – and for that matter all the other Mary Beth replicas in the world – was not committing an unpardonable crime as the mere fact of prospectively sleeping with me did not qualify as marital infidelity.

But here’s when things got wickedly interesting, because, evidently, there was a twist to our “just a weekend” sex-a-thon romance thing. This was the unexpected part where in a sort of “reversal of fortune” fashion the cheater was in turn cheated on. Of course, the woman who got a taste of her own medicine was not moi. I was never the ill one, sick enough in the first place to need an emergency artificial fix – I was just urgently horny, that’s all!

As we were on our last unofficially official date at some trendy French restaurant on the Sunset Strip, while Mary Beth was busy interminably playing with her iPhone, I proceeded to engage in a flirtatious conversation with Frank, the owner of the joint.
Admittedly, I found him deliciously attractive. Needless to say, when Mary Beth disconnected from her digital gadget, I got flagrantly busted for rendering such a transparent flirting performance.

Catch a cheater! Whether I was having an emotional affair with Frank or not, did that constitute cheating? And did Mary Beth have any rights to get upset when ironically she was now dealing with the very same infliction she had imposed on her own husband – meaning facing the reality of the existence of the “other man”.
Meanwhile, as the other woman, was I essentially morphing into a cheater here considering that a) Frank was a man, and b) the nature of Mary Beth and I ‘s relationship was in all objectivity inclusive and by default non-monogamous?

Was she for real giving me grief for my innocent behavior?
Who was cheating who?
As Judge Judy says, don’t pee on my leg and tell me it’s raining.
There’s no cheating in “Just a weekend thing”!
Oh my god, I totally was beta-tested!
I’ve been cheated out of my cheating experience!