Cheating Lite™

He says it was cheating.
And if the roles were reversed, I’d say so too.

I feel like i'm trying to find a line, an invisible, wobbly line between what’s technically okay and what’s emotionally devastating. Did I cross it? Even with my clothes on?

Well it wasn’t sex. It wasn’t premeditated. He just came over to hangout and grab something. 

We talked. Hugged. Sat down. Got comfortable. Too comfortable. And before I could even think properly, we were in my bed, kissing. Cuddling. His hands on my back, my hand in his hair. And in the moment I had that dull ache saying this is wrong, this is bad. But it wasn't loud enough. Not loud enough to make me stop.

I felt guilty. A little. But not in an overwhelming way. More like the kind of guilt you feel when you go over calories, but not more than 100. You know you shouldn’t, but it still feels kind of good in the moment.

My boyfriend was away that weekend. We said the first “I love you” not long before that. The kind of I love you that lands heavily. Like he felt safe enough to say it and trusted me to hold it. And then I turned around and did the opposite.

I told him what happened. I didn’t have to. I started by saying that I kissed someone. That it wasn’t sex, but it wasn’t nothing, and that I didn’t plan it.

He looked at me with eyes narrowed, questions lined up like bullets.

Sometimes you fuck up not because you want to destroy something, but because part of you is too messy to handle being loved properly. Sometimes you test what you don’t want to lose, just to see if it’ll break.

But then, he got over it. Fast.

Like his instinct to collect the information and grab every detail was stronger than the instinct to be hurt by it. He has a way of needing to know everything, even if it rips him apart. 

I expected more aftermath. More resentment, or days where he couldn’t look at me in the eyes. But instead, it was like once the mystery was solved, the crime was over. No punishment.

Then he said something. It wasn’t something that stuck with me deeply, but it did make me pause for a second.

He doesn’t care as much if someone else gives me pleasure.
What really gets to him is the idea of me giving it to someone else.

Which is funny because that’s not what happened. There wasn’t some big moment of satisfaction. It was just hands, closeness and bad timing. 

It wasn’t about what I could've got, it was about what I was willing to give, even if it wasn’t much.

It’s not about sex. It’s about access.
He doesn’t want someone else on the receiving end of something I give.

We’re still together. I feel like I've passed a test I didn’t even know I was taking. And I don’t know if I passed because he trusts me, or because he needs to believe I’m still someone worth choosing.