Fuck A Cheating Woman.

"You are disloyal," he said to me, "A faithless fucking woman."

It's not untrue. I think nothing of cheating in many ways. Now that I am in a respectful, healthy relationship, I wouldn't cheat. It's not because I don't need to, I never really needed to before now either. I wouldn't do it now because I believe my partner deserves the truth, there is no justifiable reason to cheat on him. With my ex I could pull any card, not that I believe one shitty behaviour deserves another, I just believe that I could justify it with him. I didn't feel like I owed him any truth. Back then I didn't really believe anyone deserved it, the thrill of deception was far greater than the feeling of integrity. Fuck integrity, really.

"I'm sorry," I told him, still lying on the floor where he left me, "I was bored and it just happened."

"You just ended up getting on a plane and accidentally reached his home and just fell on his dick?" He asked.

He thought he had me but the truth is that I was bored and that's why I got on that plane in the first place. I didn't mean to fuck him but I didn't run into anyone I liked more at the airport so I did. Besides the guy bought me the tickets there and back, I like when men to do that for me. It's stupid because I'm really not worth that kind of treatment. I'm more the sort you "stumble upon in an alley" than the sort you fly out and greet with champagne. Whatever, though. It gave him a thrill to feel like he could buy my attention and it gave me a thrill to know that it was for sale and he was paying too much. I didn't actually tell my boyfriend about it, I just didn't not tell him. When he asked me why my house was locked, I told him I was in a different city hanging out with this guy. He assumed I was fucking him, which I was, but it's still not what I said. I told him I wasn't fucking him, because at that moment I hadn't. He'd just whipped me.

That's how I really got caught. I came back all bruised and stripped. He was pissed. He took one look at me naked and shook his head in enraged disapproval.

"Why would you punish yourself this way?" He asked.

I shouldn't have laughed. I really shouldn't have because he wasn't all the way enraged by then. It was just fucking hilarious that he would ask me that. The first time I met him which was also the first time we ever fucked, he beat the shit out of my fifteen year old self with the belt clinging to his very-not-fifteen body. It didn't seem to him like I was punishing myself then. Nor for the five years after that. No, I was only ever punishing myself when I let other people who beat or fuck me. People he didn't choose. If he picked and I got no choice, it wasn't cheating or self-loathing, just hot. He was a little bit right about that though, we did had a sort-of deal. People he picked were fine because I was like his garbage property and all that. It was hot to me, unfortunately, to cheat and make him mad.

"Why won't you?" I asked him.

I shouldn't have said that. I heard it in my head, and I had to stifle the laughter that came in response to the string of cuss-words I addressed to myself. I can be a real dumb bitch sometimes but in my defence, I do it on purpose. People keep telling me that's not a good defence, he certainly didn't believe it was. He thought it made it worse that I did it on purpose. I thought he could handle the game he loved played. What I really meant to ask was why he wouldn't whip me. He wouldn't. He couldn't stand the patience and control it took to do that. He was more about immediate, close effect. He needed to put hands and belts on me. Elegant devices of pain made no sense to him.

I gave him this look I reserved exclusively for him. It was a threatening look. Like I was aggressively begging him to beat me. He couldn't resist that look, the longest he ever lasted was eighteen-minutes and that was much longer than I expected he could last. I was about to add some choice words of stupidity to egg him on further but his shoe hit me square in the ribs before I could do that. He shouldn't have done that. I wonder if he ever thought that though. I wonder if he ever thought he shouldn't have whacked me in the face with the cutting board that was lying on top of the refrigerator. I spit blood out onto the floor. He couldn't resist that. He came at me with the fervour of I imagine men who rape in battle possess.

It's one of those things I really loved about him. The angrier he got, the harder he got as well. He's the only man I have ever men who could really fuck angry. Men fuck me to teach me a lesson all the time, I have so much to learn afterall, but he fucked me in anger. The more scared of him I became, the more I ran, the harder he got. The more I begged him to stop, the lower I sunk to the ground, the smaller I tried to make myself, the more hard he got. Until he couldn't take it. He just grabbed and poked me everywhere with it until he hit a hole. It didn't matter which one, he was a man possessed.

He fucked like a man possessed too. He screamed at me and yelled out in general. He told me exactly what he thought of me, it wasn't very much but I can't blame him I didn't think very much of myself either. He fucked and fucked until I started to beg and scream and try to get away. Then he punched me and kept fucking anyway. He was relentless. Nothing ever softened him. There was nothing in him that could be softened. After he came he pushed me off the bed and onto the floor. I landed in my bloody spit. He kicked my cum-filled cunt and put his foot on top of it. I lay there in silence, he sat there in silence.

"That was hot," I told him a few minutes, "I should cheat again sometime."

I shouldn't have said that, either.