There are a few things in this world that just don’t mix well: Oil and water, Kanye and Taylor, girlfriends and female co-workers that I’ve banged. As I’ve documented before, I’ve dipped my pen in the company ink on more than one occasion. And it’s never had much consequence (that I’ve cared about, anyway), but add a girlfriend to the mix, and things get sticky.
Yes. I said it. Girlfriend. We’ve been dating for over four months, and I haven’t slept with anyone else yet. So maybe I have actual feelings for this girl. She even recently began meeting my friends. Sure, there’s always something a little annoying about being nervous that one of them will open their fat mouth and say something stupid about my sordid past, but so far, they haven’t fucked it up for me. In September, she met my family, which I have no problem with given I haven’t banged any of them. In fact, my mother still thinks I go to church every Sunday. In that environment, I’m a saint. And what girl wouldn’t love me after being there?
The real problems begin at my law firm. I can shield her from just about every crazy ex or one-night stand, but given I still work with women whose plumbing I have inspected, that’s where it becomes difficult. It’s not like I would bring her into the office and point out random staffers, being like “Banged her, didn’t bang those two, banged that one with the lazy eye at the firm retreat…” But eventually their paths will cross.
I was concerned about one girl in particular, mainly because I actually consider her my at-work girlfriend. Jordanna and I have worked together since day one at the firm. We’re in the same group and often on the same deals. And did I mention she’s Brazilian? That point alone automatically makes her a threat to any real girlfriend.
I swear that Jordanna and I are just friends. Well, at least by my definition anyway. We hooked up when we were first years. Having met at orientation when we both snuck out of some IT seminar to get coffee, in the law firm universe, we were considered the cool kids. A few weeks later, out at an event, we somehow ended up back at her place for a night of ridiculous Brazilian sex. (If you don’t know what I mean, then you’ve never had a Carnival-style dance over your scrotum till it is raw and begging for mercy). We later decided it was a bad idea and actually ended up becoming friends.
Over the years, there have been a few occasions when I get wasted and text her late night. Once in a great while, she accepts my aggressive overtures. But on the whole, I consider our relationship to be platonic. Unfortunately, I knew my girlfriend wouldn’t quite see it that way.
You see, I committed a cardinal sin in a moment of drunken weakness two weeks ago and admitted to my girlfriend that Jordanna and I have had sex. She and I were talking about how my day went when I stupidly mentioned going to lunch with Jordanna. Without a beat of hesitation, she asked if we ever hooked up.
The thing about girls is that their instincts are usually pretty good. One of my best friends, Eric, summed it up perfectly for me a few years ago when I was rampantly cheating on a previous girlfriend and complaining about how paranoid she was acting: “It’s not paranoia if you’re doing it!”
So, I guess that my girlfriends have a right to be suspicious—all girlfriends have a right to be suspicious, especially when dating pond scum like me. But, in a situation where I actually feel like I can be trusted, it’s annoying.
I denied ever hooking up with Jordan every time my girlfriend asked, which was about 30 times. I was perfectly content with denying it because I knew there was no upside to coming clean. (Any guy who thinks brutal honesty gets you anywhere is dead wrong. It only gets you a one-way ticket to the doghouse. Permanently.)
Yet, stupidly, the 31st time she asked, I admitted it. And at that very moment, I knew I was no longer trusted to even be at work.
Me: I don’t see what the big deal is.
GF: The big deal is that you fucked her, probably more than once, and now you hang out all the time.
Can’t really argue with any of that.
GF: How do I know you aren’t still sleeping with her?
Me: That’s ridiculous. We’re just friends. We don’t hang out, except for work functions. No big deal.
Sometimes you honestly have to lie to earn trust.
GF: If it’s no big deal then I wanna meet her.
Me: Okay, I’ll set up a lunch. I think you guys will get along great.
That will be nothing more than a bitter hate-fest.
GF: I’m sure we will.
Meaning: She better be uglier than I’m picturing, or you’re in deep shit.
A small part of me foolishly thought that introducing them could somehow help my predicament… and maybe give me an outside shot at a threesome. However, knowing my girlfriend—and knowing how girlfriends generally feel about Brazilian chicks—I knew it was an unlikely outcome.
But my girlfriend persisted, so the three of us went to lunch. Jordanna was perfectly polite, nice and remarkably un-flirty, but somehow Brazilian chicks just ooze sexuality.
Jordanna’s first words were, “Hi, it’s very nice to meet you. I’ve heard so many great things.”
What my girlfriend heard was, “I am Jordanna, the girl you boyfriend pictures when he’s fucking you. And yes, I don’t wear underwear to work.” (Wind rushing through her hair; Shakira blasting in the background.)
What I heard was, “If you weren’t here, Matt and I would be fucking right now.” (Huh?)
My girlfriend acted polite and laughed at all the right spots, but I could see the seething resentment below the surface. It was one of those lunches where I didn’t go to the bathroom for fear of leaving them alone together. Not missing a beat, Jordanna politely left a little early.
Me: See, she’s really nice, right?
GF: Yeah, she’s great, smart, funny, gorgeous.
Me: Oh, come on, you’re way hotter than her.
GF: So you think she’s hot?
Me: Nope. Not really.
GF: So why did you have sex with her?
Me: I was wasted.
GF: Oh, so if you get drunk it’s okay to have sex with her?
Any other guys get caught in this classic girlfriend trap argument? I would think at this point in my life I would know the right words, but I manage to screw it up every time. Overcompensating commences.
Me: Look, I don’t like Jordanna. I have no interest in her. I like you. If you don’t want me to hang out with her, I won’t hang out with her. I won’t even talk to her unless I have to for work stuff.
GF: Don’t be ridiculous, she’s your friend. I don’t want to be the reason you two stop talking.
I think, loosely translated, that means: I will never verbally forbid you from ever talking to her, but you best understand that I’m watching you. I know your dirty tricks, and you best avoid her like the bubonic plague. Or get fired. Or die.
The minute I got back to the office and saw Jordanna in the hallway, I was outrageously horny for her. I honestly hadn’t found her attractive in years. Even though she is objectively hot, working at a law firm long enough can even make even a spicy South American lose her luster. But for some fucked-up reason, I felt my loins burning (and not in a post-Spring Break Cancun way). The simple fact that my girlfriend hated her only made me want to fuck her more. And yes, folks, that’s how it works for a degenerate like me.
So, I guess I can’t blame my girlfriend for feeling threatened by Jordanna. But I will blame her for making me want to bang her again. After all, it was her reaction that triggered a course of hormones unlike any I’ve ever felt. She made Jordanna sexy again. And I know that I will, without a doubt, not be able to rest until I sleep with her one more time.
A few days ago, Jordanna and I closed a deal together (which is not a euphemism). The client actually told us we could bring significant others to the closing dinner, which was an interesting test. Seeing Jordanna in the office everyday now only makes me think about her going Carnivale on my unit. Even though common sense told me I should bring my girlfriend as a preventative measure, I decided against it. I wasn’t even going to mention it; however, she saw the invitation on my table at home. So I had no choice but to act like I thought I already asked her to come along.
That night, my girlfriend pulled out all the stops. She looked slammin’ and brought her A game as she politely mingled, just barely hiding her true desire to leap across the room and murder my work girlfriend. I felt so good that all I could do was crush martinis and daydream about a bloodbath in my honor.
As we sat for dinner, I was hungry for some chupabacabra. In a quick maneuver, my girlfriend shrewdly placed herself between me and Jordanna, ending my plan for illicit leg contact. Lucky for me, I have become fairly adept at texting with my phone in my pocket, so I fired off something inappropriate to Jordanna. I saw her read it, smiling, while keeping her phone in her purse. She texted back: “You’ll have 2 ask ur gf 2 do that 2 you later.”
My girlfriend remained queen of the hill that night, but it’s only a matter of time.