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I have a complicated cheating story.

I suppose they’re all complicated, at least from the perspective of the cheater, because we at some point feel justified enough that it’s okay for us to cheat, in order to make the choices to do it. I doubt anyone goes out thinking, “oh, maybe I’ll cheat on my girlfriend this weekend! That’ll be fun!” Uh, no.

My circumstances went like this. I was with my girlfriend for nearly four years by then, and we’d moved across the country together for her to attend law school. She wants to work in refugee and asylum law, saving some of the most marginalized, displaced, and traumatized people on the planet, going into war-torn areas and helping to relocate, organize, provide the basic needs of food, water, shelter. Very noble, very selfless, and yet another trait that I loved about her.

However:

1. Law school does not necessarily create problems, but it exacerbates those which are already there;
2. We had sex five times in the last two years;
3. We had pretty awful communication, and couldn’t really talk about what was happening in our relationship;
4. She went to Africa with an internship for three months shortly after we moved to New York City.

We weren’t very strong before she left for Africa in June. We had a couple of conversations that left us both feeling shaky and unsure, and I told her very clearly that I needed her help in working on our relationship while she was in Africa. I sensed the end was near, but I wasn’t sure when I would cross that point of no return and really decide that I couldn’t go back. I knew it was coming, I could sense it, but I felt I wouldn’t know it until I’d crossed it.

[ A sidenote here about the dreaded LBD (lesbian bed death): it exists. It's fucken real. I don't know how to cure it, but I think I have a better idea now about how to never, never get myself into that scenario again. Once was enough, thank you. ]

So, she went to Africa. And when a friend of mine shared how successful she’d been with getting dates via Craigslist, I began to wonder who else was out there.

And I came across an ad that felt as though it was custom-made for me.

“How could I not reply?” I asked myself. This is the first time I’ve looked at ads, and there it was, just waiting for me. And so I replied.

I never surfed Craigslist, I never replied to ads. And yet, she replied to me; we had a few email exchanges and agreed to meet for drinks.

And I fell in love.

I knew it from that first evening, from ordering that first Midori sour for her. I knew it when we walked to the river and kissed holding onto the chain link fence, a kiss that we anticipated for hours, that lasted for long lingering minutes, and fireworks, literal fireworks that went off over the river as we kissed.

I didn’t mean to fall in love. I hadn’t gone looking for it, but she seduced my ever pore. I had never known love like that before, especially in comparison to my sexless committed LBD relationship. I was desperate to feel passion, to feel ignited, to feel the fire of connection again, and I fell, hard & fast.

We didn’t fuck. But clearly, I cheated.

This New Love found out that I had a girlfriend by googling me after our hot first date, and I owned up to it. Yes that’s true. No it’s not an open relationship.

I told her I’d get my shit together, and come back to her. She told me she wouldn’t wait. Fine, I couldn’t ask her to. But I knew I’d do anything to get a chance, to really get a chance, to be able to break up with her because we were incompatible instead of because of my dead relationship.

And I did. I broke up with the Girlfriend in Africa. She had a terrible time and came home early; we had a messy ending. Endings are, by definition, I think, messy, but it was a harsh and unhonoring way to end things with that special, important woman. We had a long time together, she deserved more care. Problem was, I couldn’t get to the point where there was a “reason” we should split – I thought the lack of sex wasn’t an adequate reason, I guess. So I thought I had to endure. (Like I said, I will never allow myself to get in that situation again.)

I wish I’d had more care with the Girlfriend at the time, but I did the best I could with what I had. I did my best to be honest and kind.

Three months later, I sent flowers to New Love at her work, and put an ad up on Craigslist for her to see, too – this time, the opposite of her ad, the same language but switching the genders, butch for femme instead of femme for butch. She called me immediately. We agreed to meet for lunch.

And I got my chance.

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