I Am The Other Woman

Let me start off by saying from birth we're all on the same trajectory of perfection. From the moment you take your first breath, you're perfect. You haven't fucked up yet.

Keyword: Yet.

While I know it's wrong to covet another woman's husband, it's another to take him home and fuck him. Or is it? Had I broken a commandment the moment I began undressing him with my eyes, imagining him gloriously naked fucking me? I challenge my own notions of what I consider wrong.

I sympathize with a girlfriend of mine who's soon-to-be ex-husband lives with his mistress of over a year. Sure she's bitter and angry. And while I don't side with him, I'm not sure I know who's wrong, if there's someone at fault. Shit happens.

And then again I think, well yes shit does happen. And I'm part of that shit happening. No, no I'm not my girlfriend's 'other woman' problem. But I have been someone else's.

I'm not the type of person that's down with OPP (other people's pussy, you know the song... you down wit OPP?). I'm not the type of person that gets off on getting what doesn't belong to me. While I don't believe anyone really belongs to anyone but themselves and I do like the idea of 'belonging' to someone else, you can't choose who you fall in love with. In a sense, love is cruel that way. Love sets you free, but like Spiderman's gramps said, 'with freedom comes great responsibility'. I hear you Spidey, and like you I must conceal my identity.

But concealing comes at a cost. Then you decide whether or not you can continue paying. It's tricky to know when your love is a check you can't cash, but like I said, love is cruel like that.