Never Satisfied: Do Men Know What They Want? (8 page)

She didn’t last long with that thin sheet I gave her to keep warm. Within 20 minutes she was making excuses to leave herself. There was another time I had to practically starve the woman out of my house. The worst mistake I ever made was feeding her on the first date. Let this be a warning to men everywhere, don’t ever let a woman find out you know how to cook. She’ll be at your house so often you’ll have to list her on your taxes as a dependent. And chances are she’ll come over empty handed and hungry each and every time.

Trying to understand the way I feel is pointless for any woman. Only another man who has been where I’m at can relate. They know as I do that it’s not about being cold-hearted and insensitive. It’s about having your space. Believe it or not I’d like to put aside these games long enough to really get to know someone, but women are very deceiving. For example, the woman I mentioned earlier was attractive, intelligent, and open minded. And to be honest with you, a damn good prospect for marriage. But two weeks into the relationship, I saw the signs of the real person. As Chris Rock said in his stand up, “You don’t meet the person, you meet their representative.” She stopped putting herself together before she came over to visit. Her energy was bad when she answered the phone. And her hygiene was not what you would expect of a classy woman. I’m not saying she was dirty, but a woman should never let a man know she took a dump in his bathroom; that’s a complete turn off. I was like damn, did something crawl up in you and die.

Once I realize I’m dating “The Representative,” intimate sex turns into target practice. After the sex is over I start wishing she would get the hell out of my bed so I could stretch out the way I really wanted to. All too often, the highlight of our date was hearing the door close behind her as she was leaving.

The idea that men actually have these cynical feelings will surely cause many women to shake their heads in disgust and disbelief. At this very moment, you’re probably asking, “Do men spend every waking moment plotting ways to fool around? Are men really this cold-hearted and calculating?” And more importantly, “Where do I fit into these schemes of Escaping?” Before you try answering these questions, there is one last trick of the trade. For his final feat, the cheating man of steel will leap over his wife or girlfriend in a single bound and stop a pair of speeding panties with his bare teeth. In other words, he’ll try to sneak back into the house, take off his clothes, and slide quietly between the sheets without being detected. Sounds easy, right? I don’t think so. It’s not a simple matter of walking through the front door and announcing, “Honey, I’m home!”

NIGHT COURT

A
s the cheating man returns home from his night of mischief, he is consciously aware of the inevitable trial, which will ensue the moment he sets foot through the front door. The wife or girlfriend, who should be asleep, will be waiting with a gavel and magnifying glass in hand. His humble abode will be transformed into Perry Mason’s courtroom, and the case of the cheating man will be in session. In this court of law, the defendant is guilty until proven innocent, and the prosecutor serves as both judge and jury. He’s in a no win situation!

The trial begins with a subtle inspection for any apparent physical evidence of his unfaithfulness, lipstick on the collar, the smell of a woman’s perfume, and the dead giveaway guilt-ridden look on his face. If she is unable to prove that he has been up to no good based on these obvious signs, she will then build her case on circumstantial evidence. His coming late from work, hurrying to get to the bathroom, and most incriminating of them all, his inability to “get it up” in the bedroom. Cheating men often make the mistake of climaxing with the other woman and then coming home empty and expect the wife or girlfriend not to notice. Carol, who has been involved with two married men, confessed that it’s no accident. “I make sure he cums before he leaves to go home. It’s like a competition for his energy. I know that his wife will know he’s been with me when he can’t perform with her!”

Of course, the cheating man will come up with the excuse of being tired or start a fight to avoid having sex, at least until he recharges his battery. In most cases however, the sex with the wife or girlfriend has already stopped, which only adds to the frustration and suspicion of his partner.

How far will a man go to hide the physical evidence of his crime? And how far will the woman go to uncover the truth? Well, based on what I have witnessed, there is absolutely no extent to which these two parties will not go to accomplish their goals. The cheating man, while guilty as hell, will do his best to cover all tracks of his unfaithfulness. The suspicious wife or girlfriend, who is not as stupid as the cheating man thinks, will prepare a case that would rival even the best L.A. Law episode. Who will win? Or are there ever really any winners? I’ll let you be the judge.

In the following case, Andre’ is the defendant. He is 29 years old and has been married for three years. His wife, who has suspected him of cheating for the last six months, is the prosecuting attorney. On this particular night he would find out that tricks are for kids. All rise, court is now in session!

Debra, The Innocent Housewife
Plaintiff
-Vs-

Andre, The Cheating Husband
Defendant

There was one incident in particular when I felt that I truly did need a lawyer. It all began at 9:00 p.m. on a warm summer’s night in August when I went over to my mistress Alise’s apartment for our usual Friday night sex date. I know that doesn’t sound very romantic, but it is what it is. As usual I fell asleep after going non-stop for almost two hours. When I woke up, it was two o’clock in the morning.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” I yelled at her.

“You were sleeping so good, I didn’t want to bother you,” she said trying to sound convincing.

I quickly put on my clothes and shot out the door. She knew damn well I usually left no later than midnight. I drove home at one hundred miles an hour, all the while checking myself for signs of my night out. I tried to fix my wrinkled clothes and comb my hair but I still had that fresh fuck look.

By the time I made it home, it was 2:30 a.m. The smell of sex was all over me, and my hair was looking crazy. Right away, I knew what I had to do. The bathroom in the basement was my only chance of washing up without being busted. So, I walked around to the back door, and quietly slipped my key into the lock. As I pushed open the door, it began to squeak like hell. And the slower I tried to push it open, the louder it squeaked. Why is that?

Once I finally managed to make it downstairs, I quickly stuffed my clothes into the bottom of the hamper and jumped in the shower. For the next 20 minutes I thoroughly washed myself from head to toe. I had to make sure the sex smell was completely gone. It’s amazing how women can detect the scent of another woman, not just the smell of her perfume, but also the aroma of her body juices on your penis. How do they do that? I damn near scrubbed the skin off my dick trying to wash Alise’s scent off me.

After toweling off and finding a clean pair of underwear in the laundry room, I heard my wife Debra rattling pots and pans around in the kitchen. She was up for her late night inspection, but once again it was too late. All of the evidence had already been washed down the drain. I threw on my robe and confidently headed upstairs for a snack. When I got to the refrigerator, guess who was looking over my shoulder? No, not my wife, but Angela Lansbury of “Murder She Wrote.”

“Where have you been all night?”

“I was out, what’s with the interrogation?”

“You said you were going to be out with David, but he called here at 10:00 p.m. looking for you!”

“We did plan to get together, “I said confidently, “but I wasn’t able to catch up with him.”

“You two should do a better job of getting your lies straight.”

At that moment, I couldn’t have agreed with her more. I had told his dumb ass I had a date that night and needed him to cover for me. I had to come up with a diversion, and fast.

“Wait one damn minute!” I demanded. “What about this filthy kitchen?”

“What are you talking about?” she said with a stunned look on her face.

It’s your week to wipe down the counters and wax the floor. But judging by all the crumbs lying around here, I can see you haven’t done shit all day.”

“What in the hell does that have to do with you coming in late?”

To be perfectly honest with you I really didn’t know. My intention was to divert the issue, I was reaching for whatever I could find. And believe it or not, it worked. Before you know it, we were arguing over who washed the dishes and who emptied the garbage last. By 3:30 a.m. I was exhausted. My head was spinning and my eyelids were getting heavy.

“This is pointless,” I said while yawning. “You can stay up and argue by yourself. I’m going to bed.”

She stayed downstairs pouting for another 30 minutes or so, then came to bed. No doubt frustrated by the fact that she couldn’t break me down.

When I woke up the next morning, she was already downstairs doing laundry. I decided to vacuum the living room carpet and clean the kitchen. Ordinarily this was a full-proof way of getting back on her good side, but not this time. As I began running the water for the dishes, I heard Debra shout from downstairs, “I’ll be damned!” About ten minutes later, she called for me to come down. As I approached the basement stairs, it dawned on me that I had forgotten to take my clothes out of the bottom of the hamper. “Oh well, it’s too late for that now.” I said to myself. When I opened the door to the laundry room, she had all my clothes from the night before laid out neatly on the folding table.

First there was exhibit A, the lipstick stain on my collar. Exhibit B, the smell of woman’s perfume all over my sweater. Now, I could have probably come up with a quick believable lie to explain those two items, but when she pointed out exhibits C, the condoms from out of my pants pocket, all I could do was throw myself on the mercy of the court. She was upset for weeks, but we managed to work things out. But why does it seem that no matter how hard you try to remember all of the tricks, something always seem to find a way to slip by? Oh well, I’ll have to be much more careful, next time.

Yes, he did say, next time. The reality is that if a man cheats once, he will more then likely cheat again. Getting caught is merely a temporary set back and an opportunity to sharpen his skills. Let’s not forget that the wives and girlfriends are tolerating this disrespectful behavior, in some cases for years. Even when she finds out that the cheating man has a baby outside the relationship or brings home an STD, the majority of women don’t leave! They’re either blinded by love and believe he will eventually settle down and change, or they’re afraid to be alone. We’ll address those issues in a later chapter. As for now, let the games continue.

Not every cheating man is fortunate enough to get away with sneaking in through back doors and jumping into basement showers. To the contrary, most men have to prepare themselves for an immediate inspection the second they hit the door. There is little or no time to suppress evidence. The wife or girlfriend, who is on constant alert, is waiting for the sound of his car to pull into the driveway to leap out of bed to deliver her opening statement. She has a bionic ear and can hear everything. A slow turning key in the door lock may as well be a noisy police siren. Alex, who is 37 years old, understands exactly what I’m talking about. He has been shacking for the past two years, and his girlfriend Sonya is prepared for battle at all times. She is a hair roller-wearing super sleuth with a keen eye for lipstick and foreign hairs. And because she is so perceptive, he was forced to raise his game to another level. As he put it, “If you’ve got a woman at home like mine, you better have your shit together when you walk in the door.” I wonder what he meant by that.

Sonya, The Restless Girlfriend
Plaintiff
-Vs-

Alex, The Composed Boyfriend
Defendant

As I pulled into the driveway, I prayed Sonya would be asleep. But after taking a deep breath and slowly pushing open the door, I could see my prayer had gone unanswered. There she was at 1:00 a.m. in the morning with a pot of coffee brewing on the stove and an empty box of No Doze on the counter. “Boy, I’m in for it tonight.” I thought to myself. I played it cool and acted as if I had nothing to hide. Which of course, I did.