I said it. I finally looked him in the eye and pronounced those three words. “I love you”. I cannot explain with words the expression on his face. He turned pale. That’s not good. It is known that if things can go wrong, or in my own personal experience worst, they will. So they got. He not only didn’t say I love you back, but he actually answered “I don’t”. That can’t be good either.
Imagine my thrill. I felt my heart crumble and my anger rise. I was not only heart broken but filled with an imperative need for revenge. I had to get even. Luckily, I knew how.
We met in an incredibly boring party. He, of course, was with someone. He, of course, wanted me. I like that about me. I have this indescribable ability to make them fall. I’m temptation. I’m freedom. I’m no strings attached. I’m horny as hell. It’s true, I love sex. I like it even more when it is wrong. Not wrong as in not a good performance, but wrong as in “I shouldn’t be doing this”. That’s exactly my kind of wrong. I can’t help it. I just love the smell of guilt in the morning.
When I had his undivided attention and his girlfriend was staring somewhere else, I slightly opened my legs and looked straight to him. I gave him the I-want-to-have-sex look. That was enough. He approached me while his partner was in the bathroom and asked me to wait for him to take his better half home. I said yes. I couldn’t say no. How could I? I needed to have sex.
After his return we went to my apartment. We had the wrong kind of sex in my living room, my kitchen, my wooden floors, my leather sofa and my bed. However, this man had a quality I wish I had never discovered. He was actually fun to talk to and be with. That was the beginning of my end.
We repeated systematically this wrong kind of sex for several months. Also, his girlfriend became my friend. She was the kind of girl men want to marry. She was tender, cute, unthinking, dependent, home loving and willing to lose every shred of uniqueness for love, a town house and kids. She was a regular soccer mom. He loved to watch us talk and laugh together. I dare say he had images in his head which included both of us in the same bed. People should listen when they are told to be careful with what they wish for. They might just get it.
After those months I, stupidly, fell for him. I, even more stupidly, thought he had too. Then I said those three words.
I could have bathed in self-pity, cried my eyes out and then let go. However I’m just not the ice-cream eating kind of girl and I wasn’t about to start. My plan was different. It included sweet, cold and selfish revenge. I thought I could ruin his perfect relationship, just turned into engagement. I thought of different, savage and, by consequence, more fun ways to break the horrible truth about the affair to little miss perfect. However, it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t satisfied. I had to hurt him, bad. Then I thought I could find her the perfect man. That would have hurt, however I wanted him not hurt but destroyed. I wanted him to wish he was dead. I needed to break him beyond repair.
I continued my friendship with little miss perfect. That made him extremely restless. I enjoyed this fear. However, he had the wrong kind of fear. He thought I was going to tell her about the affair. I didn’t. Our friendship grew stronger. I got to learn about her soft spots and all her dirty little secrets. I found in one of them a perfect opportunity. I found the way to get even.
Turns out little miss perfect had a lesbian background. She had experienced, as many of us girls, in college. She had had gay sex. As you know, things like that are just like ridding a bike, what you learn right you never forget. I should mention once again I love sex, any kind of sex. As I said, I just love the smell of guilt in the morning.