He Cheats “The Collateral Damage of a Cheating Spouse”

He Cheats On Her

As she lay there, her tears are so heavy that they stain her pillow. She’s desperate, and wants to know the truth about him but cannot bring herself to deal with the truth. Her husband is cheating and the empty space next to her is proof. She laughs at the TV, the host of a local news program says its 12 a.m. do you know where your children are; well my child is not the problem, he is seventeen years old and probably will be going off to college soon. It’s 12 a.m. and I do not know where my husband is; more importantly, I don’t know if he is still in love with me. She lies motionless pretending to be sleep, it is now 12:30 a.m., and he has just entered quietly so not to be detected, I guess the last thing he wants is to argue about his whereabouts. He turns the TV off, adjusts the light on his nightstand so he can remove his clothing without waking his sleeping wife. The bed compresses as he enters on the right side and pulls the covers over his shoulder turning away from her. She lays there longing for attention, just to be touched but more than that, fearful of the next morning; how could she continue to look at this man who cheats? How could she pretend she doesn’t know what’s going on? Another night passes and she is left laying in the cold of her tear soaked pillow dreading the call of the alarm clock ushering in the new day.

The next day comes right on time. Usually the advent of a new day is a miracle in itself, because tomorrow is not promised, but when you arise to the thought that your man has been cheating on you, the next day often feels cold, hard and unforgiving. She looks over at the other side where her husband usually resides and again, he’s gone. She looks at the clock and it’s 6 a.m., but he does not have to be at work until 9 a.m. She walks to the bathroom, the aroma of soap and cologne still fresh in the air. The air is warm and the mirrors are still steaming and fogging; signs of his recent departure. How long can she stifle her pride and continue with this charade?

She hears footsteps, and runs to the back window, the dog is out in the yard, her husband must have just let him out to do his business. He is still in the house. She thinks maybe I could kiss him goodbye before he leaves for work. She rushes downstairs to the front door and catches a glimpse of him driving off, throwing his hand out of the driver side window. After 20 years of marriage, no morning kiss or ‘have a nice day at work,’ honey, just a simple wave. More than that not even a wave, he tossed his hand out the window as though he was throwing out a piece of trash, that’s what it might as well have been. A piece of trash that symbolizes what life for the last year of marriage has been for her. Hurt and dejected, she knows that she has to gather herself, for their son is asleep upstairs and she has to be strong. He loves his dad and this issue of his father’s infidelity is something that he need not be bothered with. As she walks over, she finds herself gazing out of the window, as if she was looking for something, possibly looking for the years that she has wasted on someone who has lost interest in her. Gazing out into the rising sun looking for answers, still optimistic about the day ahead, maybe she can find comfort in the warmth of the sun, but the burn of the sun in her eyes sends her back to the solitude of her doubt plagued life. And then the alarm clock goes off once more, and is instantly turned off by the thud of a hand hitting the snooze. Her day then becomes brighter and she smiles at the sight of her son walking to the bathroom slowly, yawning, putting everything into perspective for the soul of a neglected wife. He stops in the doorway of the bathroom, Good morning, Mom, have you eaten yet? he asks with the same compassion that her husband used to have in the early years of their marriage. In many ways, he is just like his father, athletic and brave; he has his father’s good looks and deep dimples.

She smiles while looking in his direction. No, Junior. I’m fine. You go shower and get ready for school.

Yet another day develops but she has no hopes or desires for the next day just the simple existence, of a wife… of a man… who cheats.

He cheats himself/a husband’s plea

In a Cheating Man’s Words

It’s 4 p.m. and I am just getting off work, my wife is under the impression that quitting time is 6 p.m., when you are a man who cheats time is often the enemy. It teases you with the idea that you may have more ticks left on the clock, but in reality you are always running out of it; time, that is. How many times am I going to lie to her, how many times do I have a friend or family member vouch for my whereabouts? How many times do I have to wonder if I covered my tracks that night, how much time do I have before she has had enough? Usually after work instead of going home I meet with my mistress; she is nothing like my wife. She is young, vibrant and has an un-quenchable zeal for life. Don’t get me wrong I have a beautiful wife; it’s just the mundane love-making with the marital responsibility that I have grown to dislike. My mistress allows me to explore the parameters of sex and passion; nothing is too provocative and in the morning I never have to discuss my feelings. I guess I’m addicted to the anonymity of it all, simply lust and sex with no concern or even companionship. I have no desire to hold my mistress after sex or lie in the musky scent of her body or have my chest dampened by the sweat of her hair pressed up against me. To tell the truth, after an entire year, not once have I kissed her lips, I guess that’s my way of rationalizing the whole ungodly affair.

But my wife, her lips, so beautiful, soft and full. When she places her lips on my face and hands it’s like the entire universe stands still. I remember when we first started dating; she swore I never heard a word she said, but for the life of me I always found it hard to stare at her lips and listen at the same time. When she gave birth to our son 17 years ago, it was in the maternity ward that I noticed the true love in her lips as she placed them ever so gently on his little forehead, then his hands and tiny little toes. She then kissed his dark tummy and little cheeks. I stood at her bedside; that day and for the first time in my life, I cried tears of joy, nothing dramatic just in my own subtle way, and before I could reach for my handkerchief, she softly kissed my tears away. This is my reason, again, or should I say my rationale, at least in my mind for not kissing my mistress this makes things seem a little less like cheating.

Now it’s 12 o’clock midnight and yet another night of sex and sin has eaten away at my soul and my ability to do right. Maybe I should tell her although on some level I think she already knows, she has to know, and she must be thinking that she can’t go on like this. But what can I do or say at this point?

The cheating husband slowly drives home, turns the ignition off and with a pause, he notices that the lights in the house are off which means that everyone is asleep. He steps silently out of his car, closes the door and creeps up the steps to the front door, his motions almost like a burglar. But this thief has a key. He slowly turns the doorknob and then closes the door with his entire body pressed against it so not to make a sound. Slowly, he climbs the stairs to check in on his son. He is greeted in the doorway of his son’s room by a cold nose placed firmly against his hand. It’s the dog; it normally sleeps at the foot of his son’s bed. He places his hand firmly on the dog’s head and then leans over the bed of his sleeping son. He removes a Science book from his son’s clutched arms, and smiles thinking to himself that his son must have fallen asleep studying for the big test this week. He then makes his way down to the master bedroom; although he cannot bring himself to face his wife he finds comfort in the peacefulness of her sleep. After turning the TV off and removing his clothing in the dark, he slowly enters the bed on one side hoping not to wake her, he then recedes into the comfort and warmth of the covers. He wonders, should I place my arm around her and pull her close to me, but so affected by the guilt and shame he allows her to sleep undisturbed. Still longing for the touch of her soft lips, ever so gently with both hands held in front of him so not to invade her sleep with his sinful touch, he breathes in the soft smell of her hair and falls asleep there.

The next morning he makes it a point to get out of the house early. He places a tender kiss upon her forehead and silently mouths the words, Baby, I am truly sorry, I pray one day that you forgive me and this can be placed behind us. He selects a suit from the closet and then makes his way to the bathroom to shower and shave for the day ahead. The shower is his haven; his tears are washed away by the warmth of the water and soap, the sounds of sorrow drowned out by the sound of the water rushing from the shower faucet. He knows that it’s early and he does not have to be at work for at least another two hours but today was one of those days that the guilt and shame of the situation just became unbearable.

Not wanting to face his wife, he lets the dog out, rushes out of the door, hops into his car, and speeds away. Not noticing his wife standing in the doorway waving at him, he roars off wiping the tears away in a waving like motion. No real plans for the day ahead.

Just one day….and a night….in the life….of a man who cheats.

He cheats his son

In a Son’s Words

It’s 9 p.m., me and Mom have just gotten back from one of my basketball games. I scored 32 points and blocked three shots tonight; this was probably one of my best nights ever. But as always, as I looked up into the stands I could only see Mom cheering and yelling at the top of her lungs. Get the ball, Junior, shoot it! Shoot it!

Dad is on another one of his night runs; the funny thing about the situation is that he thinks that Mom and I have no clue as to what is going on. Sometimes I want to just scream out, I hate you, but he can never know how I feel about him. He thinks that he and I have the perfect father son relationship, James and James Jr. from the suburbs of Chicago, but it’s fake, it’s all fake. Don’t get me wrong, I do love my dad. It’s just that I often have a hard time separating the lying and cheating from his persona. I feel sick to my stomach when someone calls the house and that damn answering machine gets the call. This is the Williams residence, the happy home of James, James Jr. and Debora, leave your message after the beep. The truth of the matter is, ain’t a damn thing happy in this home; every night I listen to my mom cry herself to sleep. Sometimes the hurt and pain puts her in a trance and she is not even aware that I am in the next room. And this night is nothing new. Just like the night before last she starts crying at about the same time. To keep from losing my mind, this is right around the time that I take off, it’s like this has became a nightly ritual for me and my family. He cheats, she cries and I leave. This has been my life for the past year.

The silent tears and sobbing of a dejected wife, once again has pushed a child out into the uncertainty of the streets. It’s about 10:00 p.m., the rain has stopped falling; the streets are dark and damp, reflecting the light from the moon and street-lights. A young man is just leaving home, not for the work of nightshift employment, not for night classes, but for the comfort of escape. Escaping a circumstance and situation that he does not have the fortitude or maturity to deal with. As he leaves his front yard with backpack in hand resting on the left side of his shoulder and back, he is flagged by the flickering lights of an early model Chevy. It’s his best friend, Ray. Not wanting to wake the neighbors or his sleeping mom, James Jr. quietly runs off and then jumps into the front seat of Ray’s Chevy. What’s up my brother, I know you got a lighter so let’s light up this fat one.

Ray immediately looks into Junior’s direction. What’s up with you, Junior, aren’t you scared that they may start testing the team for drugs?

Junior looks at Ray. They never test at my school. Come on, it’s not like I attend school in the city; and besides who is going to cut the star of the team and the second ranked forward in the country?

While driving and smoking Ray concedes, Yeah, brother, you right, and passes Junior the blunt. He pauses for a second. Yo, Junior, you know that you don’t have to smoke or drink to hang out with me, we were boys before your family moved out of the hood. I’m your boy and I’ll always be your boy.

James Jr. pauses right before he takes a hit of the blunt. Yeah, you know it’s strange, I can remember when Mom was working two jobs to help put Dad through school and Dad was working overnight as a security guard and faithfully going to school during the day. We didn’t have much but when I got home from school I couldn’t wait to see how they would carry on, dancing to old Smoky Robinson records. They would let me stay up late and the three of us would skate around in the living room in just our socks. But now things are all screwed up. Smoking bud and playing ball is my way of getting away from the silence and sadness. Sometimes I wonder if the money and success changed them.

Just as Junior finishes his sentence Ray begins playing an imaginary violin. "Junior, cry me a river, you my boy and all, but sometimes you just waste too much time on things that you cannot change. Me personally, even if I knew who my dad was, I wouldn’t give a fuck about who he was sticking it to just as long as he was putting bread on the table. Junior, you are lucky; at least your mom and dad love you and see you as a person. My mom sees me as the reason why my dad left; she says that he was not ready to be a father and got cold feet. I think that the motherfucker was a coward. I have no love for him or even a desire meet him. Although I have never seen him before, everyone feels that they must inform me of how much I look like that motherfucker. You say you smoke weed and play