For sixteen years, I was the mistress of a married man. I was single; he was rich. I wanted to be someone. He was a doctor. I was a single mom. He had three kids and a nanny. I wanted romance and passion. He was horny. His wife was the turkey. I was the gravy. I was, “the Other Woman.”
Being a mistress is exciting … at first. Romantic trysts in clandestine restaurants. Lunch quickies. Having sex on the operating table (not that comfortable) or on the exam room floor (oh, my aching back).
I was young when I met Adam (not his real name). I was twenty-seven, wore a size 8, had gorgeous long blond hair, beautiful teeth, and a great personality. He was forty-three with a sexy foreign accent, and he was a doctor—my doctor. That’s how it all started. There was an instant attraction. He scheduled office visits more frequently. I became the last patient of the day. Then I got healed by the good doctor, but fell in love (and he with me). We started an affair that lasted sixteen years.
So here I was, the mistress to a married man. Sixteen years, you ask me? How is that possible? Didn’t the wife suspect?
Well, in most cases when the affair goes beyond a couple of wooly bully romps in the hay, and extends over many months (or years, as in my case), the wife knows. The wife either knows flat out but doesn’t care, knows but is in denial, or really doesn’t suspect a thing (which is highly unlikely in a long-term situation.) She might be so busy with the soccer Mom thing she really has no idea that her hubby is scoring somewhere else.
In my case, the wife knew. She knew I knew she knew and I knew she knew I knew. She knew! But she didn’t care … as long as Adam came home to her (most nights) and allowed her kids to attend the best private schools. As long as she could live in her million-dollar house, have her Mexican house keeper and Nicaraguan Nanny, drive her gas guzzling Mercedes, wear her Haute Couture clothes, and keep her fancy horses in those snazzy stables—she just focused on those versus her husband’s wandering ways.
I was even invited to their house on numerous occasions. I recall one time when they invited me to their beach house for the weekend. (Figure that one out!) I was on the beach with Adam making love while she was in the condo making flan. Boy that flan was delicious. I still think of her when I order flan in restaurants.
Then there was this heart attack thingy. Well what happened really was that every Sunday night he would come to my apartment. We would have wild sex, a couple glasses of wine, and then he would leave. Well this one particular Sunday night he went home and had this major heart attack. You know the 911 call, no breathing, he’s gonna die kind of heart attack. Well, wouldn’t you know it—right after he made her call 911, he made her call me. She knew I knew she knew and I knew she knew I knew! Enough said.
So what are the benefits of being the Other Woman?
Well it depends on how smart you are. Here’s what I got along the way. I got my Bachelor’s and Master’s Degrees paid by him. I had to do the studying. He paid the tuition and expenses of a college education. So I got my BS (Bachelor in Sex) and my MPA (Masters in Pleasing Adam). No seriously, I did get legitimate college degrees.
I got spending money to buy clothes and shoes. He helped me get a nice car every few years and he paid off my credit cards when I overspent (when I did frequently). After all, wifey over there was living in some fancy-dancy mansion while I was living with the Dumb and Dumbers on the left and right side of me in an apartment complex.
And then did I mention the life insurance policy? Now it’s not like I want him to die or anything; after all, the affair was over twenty-one years ago. But if he dies, I still get $100,000 tax free.
You see, when I was his mistress, I agonized about him leaving me (especially after that heart attack stresser), so I made him take out life insurance on himself with me being not only the beneficiary of the policy but (me being college “educated” and all), I insisted I became of owner of the policy as well (thanks to that finance class he paid for). Being owner of the policy means I have to make the payments on the life insurance annually, but I don’t care. As long as I pay, he can’t cancel it. I still get $100,000 tax free when he dies, even twenty-one years after the affair ended. Let’s see how old is he now …
So what are the disadvantages of being a mistress?
Oh, there are those lonely holidays. But it’s really not that bad when you have those credit cards which you know he will pay off if you overspend. Then there’s reading about him and her in the local newspaper attending some charity ball. He has his arm around her, she’s smiling. The happy couple. Pillars of the community. Until Sunday night!
Marriage? You know in sixteen years, marriage was never addressed. I guess I thought he would leave her eventually. If I was honest with myself, I knew he never would. Come on, sixteen years? Duh?
So here I am, twenty-one years later, reminiscing about that affair. Don’t tell my present husband, my third (he’s only thirty-five and I’m fifty-nine … I never was good in math). At any rate, my current hubby wouldn’t like it much if I mentioned dear Adam.
So in conclusion, here’s my advice. If you are going to be a mistress:
1. Enjoy it for what it is: an affair.
2. Don’t be afraid to take gifts and monetary remuneration. It’s not immoral. It’s only fair.
3. Don’t expect a marriage proposal. (Most men who are unfaithful will always be unfaithful, so who wants to be married to an unfaithful man? Better to just screw him and have fund … I mean, fun.)
4. Be prepared for lonely nights and fun shopping sprees.
5. Never make life all about him. When it’s over, it’s over. Move on. There’s always another Adam just around the corner.