From the original article on April 29, 2016. Author: Chateau Heartiste.
There comes a time in a man’s life (or a few hundred times) when the sum total of his gathered experiences with women and the wisdom he gained from them is called upon to help him out of a pinch. The pinch I refer to is when a woman accuses you of sneaking around on the side. There are only three things that drain the blood faster from a man’s face than the thought of erectile dysfunction:
The first two haven’t happened to me, but the last one has... multiple times. And from those trials by ovarian fire I have learned a few valuable lessons. I’m here to tell you what to do — or, more precisely, what *not* to do — when your girl jabs the infidelity finger of accusation in your face.
I’ll illustrate how NOT to handle a suspicious girlfriend with a fairly recent example from my own life (about two years ago). I was three months into a torrid fling with a pretty cable TV station producer whose sexual appetite rivaled the libidos of the horniest girls in the world — the Russians. She left streaks of black fingernail polish on my shower tiles, which I did not clean off for months as a tribute to her voracious vagina.
As with most sexual dynamos, she was a Class A attention whore. There are pics of her scattered all over the social media pooniverse of her (literally) dancing on bars and hipster supplicants licking her stockinged calves. She is now a grad student, still childless. One Friday evening, we were having ice cream and she asked me to join her later at a fashion show her friends were putting on. I said maybe and offered a go-to excuse about a friend coming to town, because little did TV producer girl know I hadn’t broken up with the serious girlfriend I had been dating for a year (the serious gf didn’t know about the fling) and I had made tentative plans to see her that night. The option to blow off my loving girlfriend was not available, as her and I were at a critical juncture where any more asshole behavior on my part (such as not seeing her on a Friday night) would’ve caused her to dump me to avoid further pain. I wished not for that gravy train to end.
Later that night, as I post-coitally lounged in my girlfriend’s bed, the TV producer texted me asking if I was coming to meet her. I didn’t respond. I wanted to see her, but the logistics were horrible. (Try escaping an intimacy-shrouded bed to see another woman without rousing suspicions. Not that easy while the oxytocin is flowing freely.) I was stuck.
The sexpot fling texted me the next day asking to meet her at a local bar later that night. Hoping for another brain frying bang, I happily met up with her. The curse of Admiral Akhbar was upon me. It was a trap. As soon as I sat down on the stool beside her, the conversation assumed an ominous tone:
HER: So why didn’t you come join me last night?
ME: Oh, I had some things come up. A buddy is leaving town and I wanted to see him before he left.
HER: What’s his name?
ME: [I hesitated for that critical split second when a girl can figure something is up] Um... Bobby.
HER: Where did you meet him?
ME: [X] street.
HER: I thought you told me your friend was coming to town?
ME: Um, oh yeah, well he was coming, but then leaving, so I wanted to catch up with him.
HER: [long pause, staring intensely into my eyes] Your story’s not consistent. What girl were you with last night?
Why did she suddenly sound like a goddamn lawyercunt?
ME: What?
HER: Why don’t you tell me who you were really with last night.
As suddenly as a tropical squall, her face hardened into a sheet of ice. The love had vanished. For some inexplicable reason, I decided a mid-course change in my story was acceptable. (It never is. Stick to your lie like it’s the 11th Commandment.)
ME: Look, I don’t like talking about this shit in my life, but my ex-girlfriend is going through a tough time and she needed me. [I was hoping to gain points for being compassionate. What a fool I was.] If I didn’t go see her, she might’ve freaked out.
HER: I don’t date cheaters. Or liars. I’m leaving town soon. It was nice knowing you.
Although I tried to smooth the waters, I did not get a bon voyage bang.
Some of you will be able to figure out where I went wrong. Pretty much everywhere. The above vignette is a textbook example of how to bungle the handling of a girl accusing you of cheating. I had violated my own rules for dealing with women.
These four bullet points are everything you need to know about what NOT to do when accused by a girlfriend/wife/fling of spreading your man manna. You will want to do the exact opposite of what I did. Namely:
Let’s illustrate how to properly handle the above scenario by changing the words I say.
HER: So why didn’t you come join me last night?
ME: I had some personal issues to take care or.
HER: What issues?
ME: It’s personal and nothing to do with you.
HER: Did you meet a girl?
ME: Would you like my bank account number while you’re at it, Inspector Clouseau?
HER: If you’re fucking around with someone else I want to know.
ME: No.
HER: Why don’t you tell me who you were really with last night.
ME: Heidi Klum and Scarlett Johansson. We fucked like rabbits. I had to kick them out. Clingy bitches.
HER: I don’t date cheaters. Or liars.
ME: I don’t date distrustful girls.
Now there’s no way to know if this would’ve resulted in the bang bus rolling on, but I believe the readers will agree that the odds of retaining the sexpot’s services would have been much higher had I handled it as in the second imagined scenario.
So, to recap:
When accused of cheating:
If you’re gonna play the man’s game, you had best know how to rig the rules in your favor.
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