By Katy Red

I received a call from a gentleman the other day. I didn’t recognise the number having recently deleted all my contacts accidently on my phone. I was not sad about this, figuring that actually it was a good way of clearing out the dead wood. Spring cleaning my phone of ex-boyfriends, random internet ‘dates’ I never got round to meeting, beauty therapists recommended by friends whom I never intend to visit, about 7 different David’s whom I have no idea who they were and a clairvoyant in East Finchley who told me I’d be famous and married by now, was no great loss.

It was a curious call from a ghost of memory chips past. A while back when I was a carefree young thing with nary a care in the world, I embarked on a brief relationship with said gentleman. It was more of a meeting of sexual parts than of minds and it was fun while it lasted. The downside to our liaison was that he was married and it wasn’t to me. Before you judge me I would like to clarify that I was fully aware of this and I made the choice, as a consenting adult, to go ahead with le liaison dangereus. There, now judge me. It was never my intention to split them up or call him when he was in the middle of dinner with his family. It was my intention to see him on occasion and have reckless, selfish fun with someone who stimulated me both verbally and orally. And boy did he have a mouth on him.

After a time we grew apart however; I grew tired of the nonsense it became and, truth be told, the more I knew him the less I was happy to be part of his messy life. A cheating man is hard to respect.

3 years on and he called me quite out of the blue. He is still married and still cheating, how depressing. Apparently he has 2 girlfriends on the go and still lives in total denial that there is anything wrong with his marriage. He justified his extended period of infidelity by telling me, ‘it is in every man’s nature to cheat, the ones that don’t are just the ones that are too ugly, not brave enough or can’t be arsed’.

Men, according to cheating arsehole extraordinaire, are born to sow their seed and it is unnatural for them not to want to hunt and, well, for want of a better word, fuck.

Oh, is that a fact?

Now, I am hardly what you’d call a romantic and I’m far from in a position to judge given my moral code in the past but every man a born cheat? My God, there’s a sweeping statement if I ever heard one. I argued that, actually, some men don’t cheat because they respect and love their partners (or have erectile dysfunction, but let’s stick with the first reason given that St Val’s is around the corner). It depresses even a cynic like me to imagine that faithful men are only so because they force themselves to be.

He wanted to rekindle our affair. I declined his generous offer for a number of reasons:

– Firstly one of his new girlfriends is Russian. ‘Oh no, nothing like that, she’s got a degree and everything.’ Ok, dude, keep telling yourself that. So not only is he asking me to come second to his wife, not only is he asking for me to come second to his wife and his mistress but he is asking me to come second to his wife and Anya from the Ukraine, ‘I larva English man, so handsome is’. Hmmm let me think about that, erm, no.

-Since we last spoke he lost his job and now spends all of his time playing golf, masturbating and, I am imagining, taking eastern European prostitutes to shitty hotels for oral sex. This does not arouse me.

-If I ever have the misfortune of having an affair with a married man again it will most certainly not be with one that has spent over 4 years trawling websites for extra marital sex with numerous partners. Call me a big softie but, at the rum old age of 34, I have higher aspirations for myself than to rekindle an affair and forgo my self respect for 40 minutes twice a week in a pay per hour hotel in Bayswater.

-A man so in denial of who he could be potentially hurting in the course of his self serving actions, is, in my opinion, not an Alpha male sowing his seeds as God intended; he is either a sex addict or a pretty unhappy soul. Neither of which I have room for in my life. (Well, I could be persuaded to give one of them a go, but that’s for another day.)

-Finally and perhaps most significantly of all, is that the last time we had sex he had shaved all his pubic hair off and was wearing a cock ring. Totally gross, I’m still recovering from the vision.

So the answer is no, I will not be resuming the affair or re-storing his number in my phone. This man is dead wood. Quite literally.

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