Not only is he cheating on his pregnant wife with both men and women, but she is apparently hospitalized for the next two+ weeks, whenever the baby is due, because of a complication. I’m not particularly sure if he’s late to work because he’s getting some ass, but the email I saw definitely proved that he was leaving early to go spend time with her and then leaving her to go moonlighting with anonymous sex-seekers he found on the internets.
And he’s using his wife’s hospitalization as an excuse.
I didn’t name him “Scumbag” for no reason. It wasn’t just because he’s a bad tipper.
I didn’t talk to him for days, but on Wednesday we had lunch together again and he felt compelled to tell me why he has been spending so little time at work. I didn’t ask, I didn’t need to. He’s the type of person who can talk about himself to no end, so I guess it was a compulsion. It came out so contrived - like hot lies basted in a thick gravy of guilt and stuffed with bullshit. Mmm…
So now I’m feeling particularly grossed-out about the whole situation. I mean, it was okay when he was just going to be fucking me. After all, I know where I’ve been. And all the attention he was giving me was great at first, especially coming from a married guy. That was exciting. It’s all but come to a screeching halt since I outed him to myself, in front of him, to his rigid denial.
I know his dirty little secret, so I’m a threat now; an enemy who must be kept close and maintained. And this saddens me because at least for a while, I felt like I had finally found a friend at work. I wish I could go back and unlearn all the things I know about him and stare at his crotch without wondering if it smells like a Wet-Nap. But it’s all my fault for snooping. I am always sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong.
Except where his body is concerned. I still feel like it belongs there.
He freaked out and bolted out of the car.
I died laughing.
“You’re not gay, ARE YOU? Tell me you’re not gay. If you’re gay we can’t hang out anymore.”
“Why?”
“Because that would make me uncomfortable.”
“Fine, I’m not gay,” I said with a smile.
I gave him a few hours before I talked to him again. And we didn’t bring the incident up again for days. Meanwhile, I was stewing with the knowledge that he was an admitted bisexual (or as us gays call it, gay).
A few days later, I went into his office for another one of our late afternoon chats and the subject was somehow brought up again.
“You’re not gay… are you?” he said.
“Do you honestly want to know the answer to that?”
“Well, I mean… no… yes…”
Being the only one in the room who is truly comfortable with his sexuality, I am also the only one with a full grasp of the complexity of the situation. I know that calling myself “gay” is going to be a turn-off, and my goal is and always has been simply to get into his pants. I don’t want flowers and promises, I want cock and balls.
“There’s a word for what I am and gay isn’t it.”
“You’re bisexual?!”
This, at its core, is not a lie. I am attracted to women. I have never been with one and the ones I think I could be with are few and far between, but it does so happen that I am attracted to them from time to time. Don’t label me! I neither confirmed nor denied his question, at least not with a “yes” or “no.”
“…and I’m not the only one up here who is.”
His head is exploding at this point.
“Seriously?! Who else is?”
“Well,” I said, “I have no concrete evidence, nothing notarized, but I’m pretty sure that Juan, Jim, and both Erics are.”
He went off about his own suspicions of the said group. But I wasn’t done.
“And… you.”
He recoiled.
“Me? Oh no. I’m 100% heterosexual. I’m completely secure with my sexuality. No. No.”
“You’re not fooling me,” I said.
“No, seriously, I am straight. I’m a ‘live and let live’ kind of guy so I don’t mind, but I’m seriously straight.”
“Fine.”
Why all the denial? Wouldn’t any truly straight guy want to know why I would think he was bisexual or had an interest in men? He never asked, and he had to take a phone call then, so I left his office and didn’t go back. That was last Friday. And I blew off work Saturday for a variety of reasons, but also so that I didn’t have to deal with him.
Today, he showed up an hour and a half late for work. He took a two hour lunch that he didn’t invite me to, and he left work two hours early. We didn’t speak all day except for a smiling gesture. Very in-touch with his habits, I knew something fishy was going on. So I (sadly) took another trip to his Inbox after he left… and what I found shocked me. TBC…
“I’m a bad person,” I said, smiling coyly.
When people show you who they really are, believe them. That’s what Maya Angelou said on Oprah, making it the Essence of Truth©™, from concentrate. And what kind of person could I be other than bad after having put so much time and effort and planning into getting into the pants of a man who has been married for 7 years and is expecting his first child? So, if he found out that I once got into his Outlook email at work while he was gone because I felt the overwhelming urge to snoop, he couldn’t say I didn’t warn him.
But we won’t tell him that.
Nor will we tell him that I printed at least 1 message (out of many) in which he described himself as “bi.” Also, “well hung.” And I have to say that I’m dying to find out what “well hung” means to a guy who is 35 but describes himself to anonymous sex-seekers online as 33, despite the fact that he could easily pull off 30. Obviously, he’s into overcompensating for his insecurities with mathematical smoke and mirrors. I’m piqued… sue me.
(I’m the opposite in that I look much older than I am. I’m hoping that this plateaus around 35 and lasts a decade or more; a magical period of time in which I will look younger than my actual age. Or will at least be rich enough to compensate. Back to the story…)
Growing tired of the charade, I decided to make some kind of move. By this point, weeks had passed and I was beginning to doubt myself, despite the documented evidence in my favor. After lunch on this particular day, we walked to the car and found that I’d parked under a deliciously lush tree, creating an oasis of shade, which in terms of parking spots, is worth more than gold here in Texas.
“We should just lay back in the car and take a nap,” I said.
“Or we can just listen to some music.”
We got in and he began searching for something he’d like to hear. I leaned my seat back almost as far as it would go, pretending to care what he thinks about “1979″ by Smashing Pumpkins, but carefully staring towards him as he leaned into the radio. I was wearing some particularly flattering shorts that day. I’m sure he thought I didn’t notice him staring at my package.
Jackpot!
I had to do something and I had to do it soon. So I drove us back to work. And I had a plan. Not the most thought-out plan, but sometimes you have to move a pawn just because it’s your turn. He wanted me to drop him off at the front of the building, and I refused, saying “no, you have to suffer the long walk with me!” and parked in the back.
And then, once parked, I looked him in the eye, put my hand on his thigh and said “you sure you don’t just wanna go somewhere and fool around?” TBC…
During our first lunch, Scumbag proved to be a good match as far as conversation goes. We could talk about anything. We discussed the dying bees, pirhanas, our 401k plans, people we hate at work - which is a topic we could discuss endlessly. And we did. We both have filthy minds and a dark sense of humor. And I just couldn’t bring myself to be with a guy who didn’t enjoy a great dead baby joke.
It was only a mild surprise the next Friday when he invited me to join him again. Inside, I shrieked like a banshee. Outside, I played it cool. Like James Dean. But way less cute and not nearly as tragic and a non-smoker. On our way into the restaurant, he said, “if that red-haired bitch makes another gay joke I’m gonna punch her! or at least get her fired - manager!”
Days passed and we spent inordinate amounts of time together both at work and on our extended lunch breaks. I try to discern what I find so attractive about him besides his appearance. He’s charming, charismatic and he loves making fun of people he doesn’t like as much as, if not more, than I do. And not only that, but we don’t like the same people!
Obviously, we’re soulmates.
Now… how do I get him out of the closet? Am I supposed to just keep it on the DL or something? Like, I can’t even imagine how that would work. He could never be my boyfriend. He would have to be my man-who-has-sex-with-men-friend. Do I call him “bro” and bump knuckles with him?
This is all hypothetical, of course, because at this point I know that he’s not even sure that I’ve picked up on his brazen overtures. He doesn’t know they’re brazen. Because he can’t help it. Poor guy. However, I think I can say with some certainty that at this rate, we are only a couple of weeks (max) from a blowjob. TBC…
Several months ago, maybe even last year, I was introduced to a new co-worker. I make a point not to be impressed in any way by my co-workers because they enter the company through a revolving door and, generally speaking, exit promptly and accordingly. Also, I don’t like them. So (we’ll call him) Scumbag wasn’t exactly someone I paid any attention to - aside from the occasional (and by occasional I mean constant) thought like “he’s really cute” (and by “he’s really cute” I mean “I want in his pants NOW“).
So it came as a shock to me when, a few Fridays ago, he was passing my office on the way to his vehicle and decided to stop and talk to me for no good reason. Having had a good day, I decided not to stab him and speak to him instead. We found common ground making extreme fun of and denigrating a fellow co-worker (an activity we would soon find to be entirely too pleasurable), and within minutes we were inside his SUV on our way to lunch.
Being a 13-year-old girl in the vicinity of cute boys, I tried my best not to be too accommodating to his charming wiles. And he really is a bit of a charmer. We found ourselves at a decent chain restaurant being served by a very young red-haired girl who would soon become the object of his hatred. When she asked if our checks were together or separate, I noted, “it’s not really our first official date.” They laughed. But later on, when trying to force a double-fudge brownie with ice cream or some other delicious and disturbing dessert upon us, she said “…are you sure you don’t want it? I can bring it out with one spoon and you can share!”
I loved her instantly. I wanted to put her in my pocket and take her home. He, however, was less than enthused. He laughed nervously and felt the overpowering compulsion to proclaim his heterosexuality. I suddenly imagined Tom Cruise in Far and Away with a grayscale rainbow flag reading “str8″ attached to the top of his stake.
I enjoyed the theatrics. Especially considering how flirty he had been before that. TBC…
