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:
- When your wife serves you divorce papers.
- When you catch your woman fooling around with another man.
- When your woman busts you for cheating.
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.
- I prevaricated, weakly.
- I attempted a salvage operation.
- I played right into her frame.
- I confessed.
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:
- Don’t prevaricate.
- Don’t backpedal or appease.
- Reframe.
- Deny deny deny!
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:
- Pause before answering.
- Speak directly. Don’t hem and haw.
- Look her in the eyes. Remember, every moment with a girl is a staring contest which you must win.
- Don’t appease. Appeasement is the great pussy desiccator.
- Don’t fall into her frame. Reframing is king!
- And, finally, deny like the sociopath you are. No matter how damning the evidence (she could walk in on you with your cock up to the hilt in strange pussy) if you keep a straight face and firmly deny everything she will rationalize a way to believe you. Yes, even the smart childless ones with multiple grad school degrees.
If you’re gonna play the man’s game, you had best know how to rig the rules in your favor.
[crypto-donation-box]
