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Taboo Favorite Lover

Cheater

Is once a cheater, always a cheater true? I’ve cheated before but this is different. This isn’t cheating. I’m not a cheater. Everyone gets what they deserve.

Seductress. Mistress. Homewrecker.

I started cheating in my teens. At first online. Partying (as in game partying) with men a decade older in the online gaming of the times: MUD’s or Multi-User Dungeons. I’d give them cyber, they’d fight alongside me in the game, using their advanced level to help me level up. I loved the sex too, so for me it was win-win. I was a player in every sense of the word.

Soon I developed a relationship with one of them, Fireknight. He lived in Mississippi and was definitely engaged irl, but we would meet every day for a summer and intermittently outside of that time in a beautiful virtual cove, where in the shade by the beach he taught me to express my deepest sexual desires and needs in words. It wasn’t long before the student surpassed the teacher and I outshone him. 

This was the very early 1990’s, the dawn of the internet, the BBS era. These were the days that almost everyone on the social internet was there because they had some sort of social problem offline. But not Fireknight.

He was never gross.

Never rough. Or a slimeball. Never operated outside of consent. We made sweet, sensual, dirty love on the imaginary beach in every way we could. I will always be grateful to him. 

Once we talked of maybe meeting in person and I told him I’d want to lose 50 pounds before doing that. I was a fat teen. He told me that was horseshit and that he was sure no matter my size that I was beautiful. He told me that I should never think like that, that that was a plot by the media to get me to hate myself. Fireknight said that I was beautiful, and perfect, and his sexual ideal, and that he would give anything to meet me if he could. He was, in essence, the first stranger I fucked. And he was a cheater.

There were others, but no one held a candle to my Fireknight in shining armor. 

A few years later at age 17 or so I drove from New York to West Virginia to meet another in person. It was not worth it. Again, he was engaged. His fiancee pregnant. He wasn’t pleased about it or his life. He took me to an arcade in the mall. We discussed gaming.

I was curious, and let him give me one orgasm before I extricated myself quickly. It was the first day of my period, and I had a tampon in. I remember I could have easily said no and didn’t want to, but afterwards was definite in not finding him attractive. 

When I grew out of nerds and gaming there came the period of me cheating myself. Of me failing to be monogamous in most of the relationships I had for 20 years. 

Cheating on my boyfriend with my boss during work hours.

Cheating on my next boyfriend with my next boyfriend.

Cheating on that boyfriend without knowing if it really even counted as cheating.

Is once a cheater, always a cheater true? I just accept it. I’m a cheater.

Finally I embrace and delight in polyamory and ethical non-monogamy.  No more cheating, right?

But then Sepehr doesn’t tell me that he has a girlfriend. Neither does Demo Man. I don’t ask either. Is once a cheater, always a cheater true? I’m still a cheater.

I stop asking and stop caring. Cease making it my business what agreements a man has with anyone but me. And then after that swing of the pendulum I dial back some. As a rule I avoid married men, or men in monogamous relationships. I ask, care, and inquire.

I become more of a cougar and less of a cheater. For flings I stick to younger men with no girlfriends. I play it safe and am sure that I am deeply aware of any partner I commit to. Finally, I’m not a cheater.

And then he comes along. You come along. 5.5 years older. Married. With child. 

He never lies to me.

I am helplessly magnetized to him the moment I am aware of his existence in the specific. I’ve always known about him in the general. He is the perfect lover.

The chemistry is almost unbearable. The weight of the deep sea, tides pulling and pushing me across delicious and excruciating territory. Magic treasure. Unseen beauty. Deep heart. 

Tenderized by his words. Raked raw, his eyes fill me with shame, burning, creeping, red and itchy. I squirm unable to find my stride and at the same time my cunt welling with need. The embarrassment at the intensity of every kind of inexpressible emotion he evokes in me morphs to leaden desire, sinks to my clit, and the rollercoaster drop leaves me breathless and wordless with my stomach in my throat, gasping through the bends from behind a wall of my own desperateness for him, unable to be. 

Aching for him. Moaning his name. Day in, day out. For years now. 

He cannot resist me. I cannot resist him. He cheats on his wife irl with me, in person, once, for just under 2 hours. I am in a trance for it all.

Is once a cheater always a cheater true?

Seductress.

And then he disappears and it rends my heart in two. Then he reappears into my inbox. And I grasp at him while slapping myself away. 

I am terrified of ruining it. Of scaring him away with the intensity of my desire for him. Him leaving. Of him dissolving into his family responsibilities. Of him getting caught and losing everything. Losing him. Of the right thing to do. I sob about it. 

He has spent years polyamorous before choosing away from that. I do not dive into his regret for his choice. It’s evident. Is once a cheater always a cheater true? Yes.

He’s desperately horny. I want every moment of it. At the peak of the SARS-CoV-2 pandemic it escalates into obsessive cybersex all day all night every day for weeks. I lose track of time. I sink into his body. His mind swirls in with mine.

Mistress.

He doesn’t talk about certain things. The things he reveals are incredible and intimate. 

He makes bad choices. I don’t give a shit. It just makes him hotter. All I want is to keep fucking him. I tell him this in every way I can, over and over. 

It’s not my job to hold his rope. I support him as a human being whose mind and body I love who sets my soul on fire who has me dripping when his icon pops up on chat.

I’m not his wife. Not his partner. I’m not his girlfriend. I don’t have to caretake him and don’t want to. 

I care about him. But in a way, it is like caring for a horse. My main priority is to make sure that he remains a good ride.

Homewrecker.

I want you to tell her. To break it to her however you can. To have your cake and eat it too. You deserve everything.

Because through all of the above I am in love with you. 

Sometimes, though, I want her to disappear. I want to fuck you with no distractions for an eon. I want the choices you have made to backfire, I want the lies you have told to explode, I want the secrets to unfold and float, filling the air like blossoms wafting off of trees. 

This is what you have made of me. 

Once a Cheater, always a Cheater.


For more about my Favorite Lover:

How we met: The European Lovers: Hookup

The first time: The European Lovers: Barcelona

Favorite Lover as Muse:

1: Whoring for Lifetimes

2: Cheater

3: Stop. Falling. In. Love. With. Monogamous Men.

4: Speaking of the Future

The first of our cybersex duet series: Halloween Lover

More stories about monogamy, polyamory, and cheating:

1: Cheater

2: Will He Or Won’t He?

3:  Stop. Falling. In. Love. With. Monogamous Men.

4: Agenda

5: Use a Condom

6: Stuck

7: Rapid City


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