7 Signs That He’s Cheating On YoubyCorpse_rider©
Your man: Isn't he great? He swept you off your feet, looks after you, is always there for you when you need him, always keen to help around the house.
He buys you flowers and jewellery all the time, and takes you off on romantic weekends to far away exotic sun kissed destinations.
He tells you how beautiful you are, and how much you mean to him. He never tires of pampering you, supporting and loving you. What would you do without him?
But wait – all this sounds too good to be true; could there be cracks in this perfect picture?
Are there signs that perhaps all is not rosy in your garden of love? Is he perhaps sniffing a rose from another bush, a bush in someone else's garden?
There may well be signs, signs that suggest he may need his root cut off with your secateurs.
Beware girls, because believe it or not, some men cheat. And your man could well be one of those . . .
Is he cheating on you?
You just need to know the signs to look for . . .
1. You're round at his place, it's Saturday night. He's cooked you a fancy candlelit dinner, bought you a bunch of expensive flowers, your favourite chocolates, put on some romantic music and dimmed the lights. It's the perfect evening.
Afterwards you go up to his bedroom; you can't wait to show your appreciation for the wonderful romantic night he has laid on for you.
Just before passions get hot, he tells you he's just going to take a quick shower. He pops into the bathroom. As you undress for action, suddenly you have a naughty idea – you'll join him in the shower.
Stark naked you open the bathroom and slip in, you can't wait to see his reaction. He's just fiddling with the temperature dial. He turns round and sees you.
He looks shocked and guilty, and you can see why: There are lipstick marks all over his chest and heading down on his stomach and lower, there's even lipstick marks on his todger.
Furious, you demand an explanation. He tells you that the marks are only a rash as he's allergic to candlelight, and that it clears up after he washes it.
You apologize for your paranoid over reaction and your romantic night continues, you admonish yourself for your behaviour and promise to make it up to him.
Can a rash really be washed off?
Why does the rash look just like lipstick marks?
Who was that pretty girl you saw leaving his house just as you arrived?
Why were so many chocolates missing in the box he gave you?
Whose is that pink toothbrush is that beside his in the bathroom?
Why is there a wet patch already in his bed?
Whose are those skimpy lace knickers stuck to the ceiling above the bed?
Could it be that he's not being altogether true to you?
Perhaps you're not being paranoid after all . . .
2. You're having a cosy night in together watching Titanic and sharing a tub of popcorn, you snuggle up to him and reach for a tissue as it's the sad bit; where Jack has saved Rose but now he's freezing to death in the cold water.
Suddenly the doorbell rings, you answer it to find it's that buxom lady who just moved in a few weeks ago, across the road. She's wearing a low cut top with a bra that pushes her cleavage up underneath her chin.
She apologizes for disturbing you, but she's just got a new king-size mattress delivered and needs some help getting it upstairs. Your fella must have heard, cause he's there in a flash, shoes on, and gallantly agrees to help your neighbour in distress.
You go back inside alone, a little peeved, pause the DVD and wait for him to return. While you wait you have five cups of tea, hoover the house, sort out the laundry, clean the bathroom, finish that Stephanie Meyer novel you started, and complete a 1000 piece jigsaw puzzle of the cast of Glee, that he got you for Valentine's day.
You look at the time – good heavens, he's been gone nearly four hours. Perhaps you should pop over the road and see what's taking him so long, but you don't want to seem like a paranoid bunny boiler.
Just as you're dithering at the front door, he returns. He looks all in, his face is red, his t-shirt is torn he's sweaty and all out of breath. He says he's too tired to watch a film and wants to go straight to bed. It must have been tough work shifting that mattress, and you chide yourself for having had any suspicious thoughts.
You snuggle up to him in bed and think how lucky you are to have such a gallant fella. Tomorrow you'll treat him to breakfast in bed.
It's now four in the morning, who gets a mattress delivered at midnight?
And isn't that the fourth king-size mattress she needed your fella's help with since she moved in?
And why does he smell of her perfume and that other familiar tangy smell?
Why was he picking those curly hairs out from between his teeth?
What are those long red scratch marks all over his back?
Could it be that she asked him to help with more than just moving a mattress?
Perhaps something else has gone here tonight, something you might disapprove of if you knew what it was . . .
3. It's your anniversary and he's taken you out to a fancy restaurant for a romantic meal; scented candles and a single rose decorating the table. Soft sensuous music plays in the background and you realise it's that love song compilation CD he made for you. He must have got the restaurant people to put it on.
It's the perfect evening, and you can't help but think perhaps he's bought tickets to that theatre show you were talking about. Wait till the girls in work hear about how he's spoilt you, they'll be green with envy.
There's just one tiny fly in the soup, so to speak – it's that familiar looking waitress, who's attending to your table, she seems to be paying a lot of close attention to your man, standing close to him when taking the order, coming over every few minutes to ask him if everything's alright, and does he need another drink and so on, and each time she looks at him with those come-to-bed eyes, and he seems to be lapping it up.
You're getting a bit irritated with her constant attention and mention it to him, but he just dismisses your concerns and says what good service you get here.
She brings the starter over, it's Gazpacho Soup. She dumps your bowl down in front of you and gives you a withering look of contempt, then smiling affectionately at him, gently places his bowl down, but somehow accidentally spills some soup in his lap.
She apologizes profusely and insists on cleaning it off him. She then spends some fifteen minutes attending to his lap, dabbing his thighs with a damp cloth while looking dreamily into his eyes.
You try and get a conversation going with him, but he's clearly distracted by the flirty waitress.
You ask her in a firm and cold tone if she has finished yet. To your relief, she says she has, and she saunters off only to return minutes later with your main course, but now she says she has spotted a spillage under your table that must be cleaned up immediately, for health and safety reasons. Sadly, she can't move you to another table as they are all booked. She disappears under the table before you can protest.
You think you hear the sound of zip being pulled down, and suddenly your man is behaving a little strangely, sucking in big breaths, gripping the table tightly, his eyes half closed then suddenly open very wide and he makes little whimpering noises, just like the ones he makes when you are being intimate with him.
It's all very odd. Then, as you ask him to pass the salt, he suddenly straightens in his chair and yells out; 'Oh God! Oh God! Christ! Yes! Yes!' then slumps in chair with a strange little smile on his face.
The flirty waitress emerges from under the table, announces she's finished, then wiping her mouth, struts off to leave you to finish your meal.
By the time you leave the restaurant, you're glad the meal's over. It should have left you feeling spoilt and happy, but instead you have an unsettled feeling you can't quite put your finger on. You decide it is best to forget it, and enjoy the rest of your anniversary evening.
Wasn't that 100 dollar tip he left a bit excessive?
And did he really need to leave his mobile number as well?
Come to think, you can remember why she looked familiar: wasn't that waitress his ex-girlfriend? You didn't recognise her with her hair tied back.
And just what was she really doing under that table tonight? Perhaps you should ask him a few questions later about that restaurant meal . . .
4. It's a hot July afternoon. You're having a barbeque and have invited some friends round. Everything's going well; there are deck chairs on the lawn, drinks in the ice bucket, everyone's tucking into the grub, there isn't a cloud in the sky and your fella's entertaining the guests with witty jokes and looking after the barbeque.
You pop inside to put some more suntan lotion on. You return outside to see if your best friend needs some more as she burns really easily. But there's no sign of her or your fella.
You ask around but nobody seems to have seen them. Perhaps he's showing her the new path he's laying down behind the shed.
You go down to see, hearing moaning sounds as you get near, you reach the back of the shed and gasp.
There's your best friend, completely topless, with your man eagerly sucking her tit. She sees you, startled, blinks her saucer eyes, then announces she's just been bitten on the nipple by a snake. Your bloke stops for a moment, spits to one side, then resumes sucking.
You stand there unsure what do or think. Then you venture; perhaps an ambulance should be called, but your man, pausing to spit again, states there is no need as he is sure he's got all the poison out and there is no need to waste the paramedic's valuable time. He thinks the snake was Highland Copperhead, but it has gone now.
Your friend puts her top back on, and your fella suggests you don't say anything to the guests as you all head back to the barbeque, as not to alarm them. Gosh, you think, what a hero your man is, and he doesn't want others to know – what a guy, you think.
Doesn't the Highland Copperhead reside only in the southern coast of Australia – how on earth did one find its way into your garden?
And this is the fifth time he's saved her life in poisonous snake attack incidents, didn't he have to suck the venom from between her legs when she got bitten on her labia by a boa constrictor that time you all went on trip to Las Vegas, – and how did that boa constrictor get into her hotel room on the eighth floor anyway? And come to think constrictor's don't produce venom anyway; don't they crush their prey?
Perhaps your fella isn't the life saving hero you think he is after all.
Perhaps your friend isn't the victim of multiple snake attacks. After all, you never seen any of these snakes on each occasion you've caught him saving her life.
Perhaps it's time you asked them both some searching questions . . .
5. Your boyfriend plays in an up and coming rock band called Smegma Rocks, naturally you're very proud and go to all the gigs to support him. You love rocking out with the audience and the envious looks from girls when you mention the lead guitarist is your boyfriend.
The only part of the night you hate is after the gig when you have to wait around while the band packs up, and discusses boring band stuff with their manager in the dressing room. Normally you wait at the bar afterwards chilling out and wondering when the ringing in your ears will stop.
Tonight, however, you aren't feeling too good. You decide you'd better let the boyfriend know, so he can take you home a bit earlier than usual, you're sure the rest of the band won't mind.
You flash your pass backstage pass at the burly bouncer on your way to the dressing room.
'I wouldn't go back there miss, if I were you,' he says cryptically.
You push past, telling him who you are. You open the door of the dressing room and gasp at the sight before you:
There's your boyfriend and the rest of the band, stark naked, with about fifteen naked girls covered in baby oil all having sex in an orgy that would put the ancient Romans to shame.
Naturally you break down in tears. Your boyfriend disentangles himself from three lusty girls, and hurries over. He explains this is the first time anything like this has ever happened, it's a contractual obligation to the record company that they have to let girls back stage, something to do with maintaining the band's image and PR and all that. The fans just got a little carried away tonight, and he and the band had to strip naked, so their clothes didn't get torn.
It all seems to make sense and you apologize for your over reaction. He says that's okay, and tells you to wait in the bar while he finishes up band business. Sitting down at the bar, you wonder how you will make it up to him for your appalling behaviour.
His band aren't signed to a record company, so how could they have contractual obligations?
And why does he always smell of baby oil after a gig?
And how come how you've contracted 15 different STDs since you started dating him?
Perhaps these after gig dressing room meetings aren't as boring as he lets on.
Perhaps he's not being truthful when he tells you you're the only girl he's been intimate with . . .
6. You're at the cinema. It's the film event of the decade: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows pt 2.
Everyone's dressed as characters in the film, the boys are all dressed like Dumbledore, or Harry, or Ron, or Hagrid, and all the girls have come as Herpes or Herman or whatever her name is.
Your boyfriend is wearing his Harry specs, which you think makes him look quite intellectual, maybe he can wear them tonight in some kinky magic role play.
The queue is, as expected, quite long, and to make things worse there's a couple of tarts standing behind you, they keep giggling and pulling your boyfriend's wizard gown to get his attention.
You clutch his arm tightly to make the point he's yours, and give them a killer dirty look for good measure. This doesn't really help as they only giggle more and make remarks to your boyfriend like; how big is his wand, and; he can do some magic on them if he likes, and; he can put his potion in their hot cauldrons anytime, and so on.
You bite your tongue and decide not to have your night ruined by being thrown out for brawling in the queue. Your boyfriend smiles awkwardly at their comments and does his best to ignore them under your fierce gaze.
At last you get your tickets, drinks and popcorn and find your seats in the theatre.
The boring trailers and adverts are already running, and you settle down, holding your boyfriend's hand and sharing a bucket of popcorn. Suddenly you hear a familiar giggling from behind – it's those two tarts – they're only sitting right behind!
You suggest to your boyfriend that you move seats, but he's having none of it: These are good seats in the middle of the theatre, and he's not giving them up. You back down and hope the tarts will settle down once the film starts.
At last the titles begin, and you settle down to watch Hogwarts finest, battle the evil Voldemort in the climax of the series.
The cinema settles down as the snooty accents of British toffs fills the theatre and you dreamily wish your boyfriend's accent was like Daniel Radcliff's.
Suddenly, bits of popcorn start hitting the back of your boyfriend's head accompanied by a fresh outburst of giggling. You resist the temptation to turn around and tell them to fuck off. Instead you say, in voice loud enough to be embarrassing to them, that if they continue you will call the theatre manager. Your threat predictably provokes another outburst of giggling, and the tarts swear they're not the ones throwing popcorn.
Your boyfriend then tells you he has to pop off to the loo. He leaves you scowling in your seat, but at least now you might see a bit of the film without being disrupted. Instead there is even more giggling, though after a while it settles. But now there are other noises; grunting and moaning and gasping and squidgy fleshy sounds. My God, you think, are they actually having sex? Your boyfriend won't believe it when he gets back, but he does seem to be taking his time. The filthy sounds only stop just before your boyfriend returns.
You tell him about it but he just grunts that you wouldn't think there was bloody room. After a bit, the giggling tarts start throwing popcorn at your boyfriend again. He picks up your own bucket of popcorn, and you think he's going to retaliate, but instead he clumsily spills it all over the floor.
He insists on getting more popcorn, and this time he's gone even longer, and no sooner has he left his seat as the giggles begin, swiftly followed by the slap of flesh on flesh and the moans and groans of sex, you can hear they definitely have a bloke there too from the sounds he's making.
You pointedly refuse to look round, and keep your eyes on Harry's life or death struggle on the big screen.
And so the pattern for the rest of the film is set; your boyfriend disappearing off for long spells at the toilet or to replenish popcorn and coke, and as soon as he's gone the tarts are at it like whores in a brothel.
Your boyfriend returns to his seat again as the end credits roll, zipping up his flies as he sits down.
You ask him sarcastically what he thought of the film and are surprised when he says it was bloody amazing.
On the way home you drive, as your boyfriend seems exhausted and falls asleep in the passenger seat. You shake your head glad to put that disastrous cinema experience behind you.
Just why was it that the tarts were only at it when your boyfriend was away from his seat?
What was that skimpy pair of girl's knickers doing at the bottom of that second bucket of popcorn your boyfriend handed you?
How come they called your boyfriend by his name when you were leaving?
And what are those phone numbers written on your boyfriend's arms?
Did something happen during the film, something that had nothing to do with magic of Harry Potter?
Perhaps you should have turned round to look after all . . .
7. You've invited your best friend out for a meal with you and your new boyfriend. She's never met him before, and you really hope they like one another as you couldn't bear it if the two people you loved most in the world didn't get on.
The evening out is a big success and you all chat and laugh and get on tremendously at the restaurant. In fact you are all having such a great time your boyfriend suggests you all go back to his place.
Back at his pad there's more wine and nibbles as you all crash out on his three-piece white leather suite, you're feeling a bit tired after the meal and all that wine, and you decide to let the other two do all the talking, they're getting on like a house on fire anyway.
Feeling drowsy, you not really tuned in to what they are talking about, but then you hear him mention his hobby, Napoleonic wargaming. You inwardly groan, imagining her taking the piss later about your 'nerdy' boyfriend. But no, she seems genuinely interested.
You try and focus your attention on this unexpected conversation as you are now both curious and interested in how it will develop.
Now he's telling her about his wargaming recreation of the battle of Austerlitz, whatever the fuck that is, and all his little 15mm scale figures that he paints using special tiny paintbrushes.
You expect her to burst out laughing any second, but to your disbelief she seems utterly absorbed by all this nerdy crap.