Geek on the Side!

Vanessa and that one song from Alanis Morrissette

I laid in bed, pondering my life. Gabe's right not to trust me; I've done my share of wicked deeds to many people. My body count is over two hundred, and most of that is married folk. People are right to call me shameless. But I do have some rules I impose on myself.

Rule number one? Never catch feelings. They cheat WITH you, they'll cheat ON you. Yes I'm hot and anyone would be lucky to have me, but the people I attract are selfish monsters who only care about getting what they DON'T have. Catching feelings for anyone's not gonna do anything for me but break my heart.

Rule number two: Whatever happens after I leave the bedroom ain't on me. If the betrayed spouse found out about what I did? That's not my problem. If I somehow get pregnant? Abortion, no ifs, ands, or buts. If they caught feelings? That door is CLOSED, buddy! Piss off!

Rule number three: never, ever think about their family. What the wandering spouse is doing to their family isn't my problem. They could have said no, they could have minded their own business instead of approaching me! Whatever happens to their families, if their spouses end up needing therapy or their kids end up traumatized, it's not on me! NONE OF THAT IS ON ME!!!

It ain't on me...

My first boyfriend was a married man. He was around thirty six, and I was fifteen. We met during one of Father's fancy parties, the ones he always threw for special occasions like successfully absorbing a small company into his. He was one of Father's most trusted associates. Anyway, that's where we met. He was the most handsome man I'd ever laid eyes on: he stood six feet even, had a square jaw with well groomed stubble, piercing green eyes, brown hair, tanned skin, and a smile that could melt a girl's heart.

While his wife was busy conversing with Mother, he managed to corner me as I walked outside our garden. I remember I was wearing my brand new mint green dress with matching gloves and a tiara, and he looked so heavenly with his black suit and navy blue shirt.

"Evenin'," he said to me as he sat beside me. "Nice party your dad's throwin'."

"Uhuh," I said, blushing like crazy.

"You're Vanessa, right?" He said as he offered me a handshake. "I'm Arthur. Arthur Morgan. Pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise," I said as I gave him my hand, which he in turn kissed. "Soooo, what brings you out here?"

"You," he replied, and I blushed even harder. "You look a lot like a storybook princess; anyone ever tell ya that?"

"Not really," I said, blushing like crazy.

"What's something you're into?" He asked.

"Ummm, music?" I replied. "And makeup, dresses, accessories..."

"Nice," he said, smiling at me. I could melt!

We spent forty minutes talking to one another, even exchanging phone numbers. As he got up to get back to his wife, he turned back and whispered "talk to you soon." And that's how our relationship started.

We were together for three months. We could only meet in secret, because technically our relationship was kind of illegal, as I was underage. I was his secret, and he was mine. He'd always tell me, though, that he'd often wish he could tell the WORLD about us. That he was only ever happy when he was with me. That his wife was a troll who didn't love him. I believed him.

"If you watch your weight and keep your firm body, I'll definitely marry you once you turn eighteen," he said to me once.

Our relationship ended because his wife snooped on his phone one day and found our texts. She divorced him almost immediately, turned the texts over to the police, and had him put on trial for statutory rape. Father fired him, obviously. Then Arthur was sent to jail, where he's still serving a twenty year sentence. I was barred from ever visiting or even writing to him. I felt so guilty for what happened to him, and for years I was convinced I ruined his life.

"Sweetie," my Mother once told me. "What happened to him wasn't your fault. He made his choice to cheat, to get with a girl young enough to be his daughter, and to abandon his wife and child."

"He had a kid?" I asked, horrified.

"A three year old son," Mother replied, looking perplexed. "You didn't know?"

"No," I said, my lip trembling, tears in my eyes.

"Well," she sighed. "That's the way the cookie crumbles. Forget about it; you gotta leave your past behind you, or otherwise it'll always hold you back."

Looking back, that was the one time I ever felt like Mother was a mom to me. She was giving me advice, trying to make me feel better as I cried about my boyfriend ending up in jail. But can I be honest? I never stopped blaming myself for what happened. At first I blamed myself for sending him that text that ruined his life, but as I got older, I realized that the man was a fucking creep who was grooming me to be his perfect fuck toy. I gave him my virginity, even! He was my first kiss, my first sexual partner!

And he was my first love...

And I was just fifteen. I was too young and stupid to know better than to mess around with a man old enough to be my father. I was too naive to recognize that he didn't love me, he only wanted a sex toy. If I'd been smarter, I wouldn't have fallen for his charms, he wouldn't be in jail, and his wife would still be married to him. What happened between us, that's...

... that IS on me. I destroyed a family at age fifteen through my own ignorance and naivete. A child grew up without his father because of me. That's on me, and nobody can ever convince me otherwise.

Maybe that's the real reason I sleep with married people; I already screwed up, already did some damage, so what's one more? One sin's enough to send me to Hell; why not make it one million and go down a legend?

There's this song by Alanis Morrissette that always brings me to tears. It's called "Hands Clean," and it's about how she got groomed by Dave Coulier or whoever her way older boyfriend was when she was fourteen and just starting out her career as a pop singer. I really wish my relationship with Arthur could have wound up like the one in the song, with Arthur wiping his hands clean of what we did, and me living with the trauma of what happened. At least then he could have kept his family, and the only person who'd have to deal with the trauma from what happened would be me.