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I have a confession to make. You can judge me all you want, but I’m coming clean:
I cheated on my last boyfriend.
No, it wasn’t a long, torrid love affair. It wasn’t kinky sex with a Jeremy Piven lookalike. In fact, there was no sex involved. All I did was make out with a co-worker. But still, cheating is cheating, so tonsil hockey still counts in my book. It also counted in my boyfriend’s book. And it counted in his sister’s book…and she was the one who witnessed the fiasco.
It was innocent enough; I didn’t intend to cheat. I wasn’t emotionally attached to my co-worker. We just got blackout drunk at a bar and swapped saliva for about half an hour.
The next morning, I woke up feeling like I’d done something wrong. Yup, I had. My boyfriend’s sister asked me if I remembered making out with “Frank.” Immediately, my heart sank. I got dizzy. I wanted to throw up. My mind started racing a mile a minute, as is standard anxiety-attack protocol. Why would I do something like that with Frank, a guy I had absolutely no interest in, when I was happy and in love with her brother?
A lot of people will disagree with me for saying this, but cheating can be hard on the cheater. I was ashamed of myself, I cried, and I regretted doing so many shots the night before. What’s a cheater to do when they’ve crossed the line with someone else? Read More »
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