my schedule since the end of february has been hectic to say the least. work ballooned and in this economy, i don’t imagine many of us are turning down new opportunities.  so i took them and had to put some of my favorite things aside … like having a life.

i almost set this project aside but i have received several emails recently from women who have been in a similar position.  and looking at the stats, it seems there are people reading this.  which is weird and interesting at the same time.  *smile*

so today was some hiking and time spent amongst spring and cherry blossoms.  it was divine.  i have the tan lines to prove it.

tomorrow will be me catching up on posts and comments, music, cooking – all the things that make life lovely.

thank you for your interest.  thank you for sending me emails.  it has taken me aback a bit but in a very good way.  cheers til tomorrow…

what i was listening to this evening as i was playing with a new blog theme …

i will be posting this week for sure.  thank you so much for all of the visits and comments!

i look forward to catching back up soon…

~ hannah ~

i had missed him even though we had only had a few intense days.  i was a bit devastated that he had not called the instant his plane had landed.  i had picked the phone up many times but i didn’t call.  i didn’t want to interfere or intrude and that is how i felt a call from me would feel – intrusive.  my mind had begun to cycle around the fact that perhaps he was not going to call.  that he had seen his wife and children and thought that our interlude was too … dangerous … silly … unsatisfying … fill in the blank.

then the phone rang and i saw his number.  i couldn’t help it.  my heart started pounding.  i felt a bit giddy.

he apologized for not calling and before he could begin a litany of excuses, i told him to stop.  “that’s your family.  it’s fine.”  and i meant it.

we talked for about an hour about all kinds of things.  the weather.  work.  books.  tv.  then, the line went silent.

“i miss you,” he said, “is that wrong?”

my heart thumped again.  i held the phone very hard and whispered back, “i miss you, too.”

for a few moments all i could hear was the line buzz.

“i won’t be back for six weeks,” he said.  “can you wait that long?”

and i thought about it.  for about a second.  i would wait.  of course, i would wait.

“kiss me,” he demanded.  i laughed.  but i did and to this day i swear that i felt his lips on mine as if he was in the room with me.

after i hung up, i sat for a long time sitting and holding the phone.  there was no going back now.  we were falling in love and everything was bright and shiny in that moment.

my relationships tend to last many years – several more than four or five years.  frequently, my lovers have lived several hours or states away from me.  in a few relationships, they were in different countries.  i am monogamous on my end and i do not have the expectation that my lover would leave his wife for me.  i am not a wife and i have no interest in being a wife.

i have always had a reasonably successful career and i have an entire life that is separate from my lovers.  i maintain my own interests and circle.  i have never been financially supported by a man except for a brief few months that were a disaster.  i simply could not deal with what i perceived as a lack of freedom and, often, men use money to control.  i don’t like being controlled except perhaps in the bedroom.

so many expectations come hand in hand with marriage.  there is the role of husband and wife and usually, father and mother.  in many cases he must be the “breadwinner”.  there are mortgages and mundane minutia such as laundry and house cleaning and dinners with the in-laws and obligations that come with a marriage.

having a mistress does not come with those expectations.  it allows for the preservation of mystery, an edge of excitement and the titillation of being a complete departure from real life.  the end of an affair usually occurs when the affair becomes bogged down with similar expectations of a marriage or when real life intrudes too heavily.

being the other woman is at once the freedom to be my complete self in some ways and also the acting out of fantasy.  it is a world where a man does not have to be anything except himself.  there are no poopy diapers or bills.  he avails himself of an environment that caters to him – on my terms but certainly catering to him.

i keep his favorite whiskey and cigars on hand.  i cook for him.  i listen to him talk about work and i can be impartial because his success or failure does not equate to my personal safety or financial well being.  i am a release for him sexually.  i do not have to be proper and i can do things with him sexually that many men would find difficult to either ask for or do with their wives.  i can be intellectual, artsy, sexual, crazy, reserved – whatever – because i am other and there are few expectations attached to me.

does that make me better?  of course not.  i am a fantasy.  i don’t take care of them when they are sick.  i don’t give birth to their children.  they don’t see me in a pony tail and sweats and love me anyway.  i do not share their lives on a day to day basis – i am not “real life” – i get to hide behind my veils and live my life as i choose.

why do i do this?  my extortionist babbles on about my failure of commitment.  about men not measuring up to my father.

i think it is because i am romantic and selfish.  i don’t want real life with my lover.  i adore men but i have no interest at all in being involved in day to day life.  a few hours, a few days, even a few weeks and at times it was a few months when i spent day in and day out with my lover.  but there is always a relief in me when he goes. especially after a lengthier period.  i like the madcap, i like the mystery, i like the excitement and I hate laundry and house cleaning.

i make a far better mistress than i would ever make a wife.  and i am just fine with that.

your smell … the musk … the nose stinging sweat … the zest of fresh shaved … may i admit to an underarm fetish?

the combination of tobacco and whiskey in your mouth …

perfunctory kisses that turn ravenous …

just-the-right-amount-of-rough hands that soothe and tickle and caress and grip urgently or sweep absently …

the look that comes into your eyes when you are working and staring into space turning some engineering issue round and round and then see me watching you …

draped across the sofa … feet sticking off the bed … knees bunched up in my car … lounged against the kitchen counter … bent over into the mirror …

my awareness of you overwhelms me sometimes …

You are like millions of other women who might very well be with the right man at the wrong time. Regardless of the state of your affair it’s time that society take a more rational view of your position rather than the name calling and ridicule whispered behind your back and now to your face when the opportunity presents itself.

You’re calculating, lustful, immoral without a conscience which continues to be your label through history.  To my knowledge there were no vows taken by us! Victim or Vixen????  What’s your opinion????

this is an example of the glamorizing of the mistress or the other woman.  mistresses are powerful women – they hold secrets that could destroy a man not only in his family life but in his business life as well.  even men that were thought to be untouchable – tiger woods was a great example.

so victim or vixen?  which one am i?  am i “calculating, lustful or immoral”?

there is no simple answer.

at times i have been a victim.  a victim of falling in lust or love with someone and believing in them when all evidence to the contrary was right in front of me.

at times i have been a vixen – i can turn the siren on and lure men to the inevitable doom of my seduction … but that is more greek tragedy than reality.

lustful is healthy – calculating could also be smart and immoral … well, i guess it depends on the moral standard that is applied to you.  some of this is just stereotypical tongue-wagging.

the reality is that i am an extremely intelligent woman who makes her own decisions.  i decide to take a flirtation to the next level.  i decide to move forward even after i know there is a wife that he has no intention of leaving.  ever.  i decide to shape my world to accommodate a man  that will always belong to someone else.  me.  my choices.

there is no penis in the universe so great that i could claim that i fell victim to it and lost all my free will.  sorry, boys – you don’t see women starting wars over cock, luscious as it may be.

so i don’t choose to be victim or vixen.  i choose to be me.  i choose free will.  i choose my life and my consequences and i choose the ability to ignore those consequences if i want.  freedom is accountability.

does that mean that i don’t make bad decisions?  of course not … i just strive to have no regrets.

just be warned … i am smart enough to be able to justify anything … and i know it.

he told me about his wife and then he kissed me ( read  J & my first kiss ) and all those little alarm bells that were going off during the conversation about his wife and family just melted.  i melted.  it was not that it was the best kiss of my life … it was the most … earnest.  he poured all of himself into that kiss and i took it all.

now this is the part in the movies that the man would masterfully sweep the woman off to the bedroom for the best sex in the universe.  and i so wanted that … but reality … that bitch … did assist me in regaining our my senses.

“i don’t do one night stands, ” i whispered.  i think i shocked him a bit again and then he laughed and scooped me onto his lap and said, “good, because i don’t think one night would do it.”

over the next two days, we reached a tentative understanding.  tentative because who can say how any of this will ever work?  for all i knew, he would get home and take one look at his wife and family and forget i ever existed.  i even told him that – i would understand that.  he just shook his head and kissed me again and again.

we did not have sex those first few days.  it was too new, too fragile, too uncertain.  and the talking and kissing was more important.  and fun.  back to the anticipation is an aphrodisciac.  and we concocted enough aphrodisiac to intoxicate the world.

we were trying to figure out who “we” were going to be, if there was even a “we” and if that “we” could survive an ocean and a time difference.  and in my mind if the “we” would survive the inevitable guilt that i imagined he would feel looking at his wife.  she was just a specter to me … too unreal and amorphous for me to care in the beginning.  and he was too real and too present.

he asked me to take him to the airport and i refused.  i called a shuttle for him instead.  and watching him load his bags into that shuttle from my front step, i cried for the first time over J.

he looked a bit horrified and truth be told, i felt a bit horrifed.  i sat down hard on the steps and he leaned over – all that lovely height and he began to dab at my cheeks.

“tears are an offering,” i blurted out, “when i can’t say what i want so all i have to give you are tears.”  he paused mid-dab and just looked at me so seriously.  i fell a little bit more in love with him in that moment – the moment when he took my feelings and tears so seriously.

he carefully folded his handkerchief … which british men still carry and is so like an old hollywood movie …

he carefully folded his handkerchief and put it in his shirt pocket.

“if it is an offering from you then i will keep it near my heart until i see you again.”  one last quick kiss.  and then he was gone.

i sat on the steps for a long time wondering if i would ever see him again.

paranoia slips in under the door like a wisp of smoke and encapsulates your thoughts until all you can see, feel, taste is paranoia.

paranoia makes you go through his phone and read text messages and check incoming numbers while he is in the shower.

paranoia has you zipping through his email on the laptop while he runs out for a pack of cigarettes.

paranoia keeps you up at night watching him sleep while you reenact in your head what he does with his wife.

paranoia is not your friend but it will tell you that it is.

paranoia will sit down on the couch and eat ben & jerry’s double chocolate fudge brownie with you and wash it down with shots of absolut.

paranoia smears your mascara, gives you bags under your eyes and makes your skinny jeans too tight.

it is always opposite day when paranoia comes to visit – the irrational makes perfect sense and turns confidence into one big bad hair day.

if you give paranoia an inch, paranoia shows up the next day with a uhaul to stay for good.

paranoia turns beautiful confident women into puddles of anxiety and insecurity.

paranoia can never become your only truth … it is a more jealous mistress than any of us can conceive of being.

anyway … J’s wife.  when i met him we did not talk much.  there was no ring (not that a ring is an indication of anything one way or another) and there was no mention of marriage … no opportunity.

i woke up early that sunday and laid in bed holding my cell phone.  i sent him a text:  “lacroix has the best brunch. join me at 1pm?”

i received one word back – “yes.”

a thrill shot through me.  yes worked for me.

when i arrived at the restaurant, he was already at a table, looking a bit nervous and checking his cell phone every foew seconds.  i know this because i watched him for a few moments to see if that attraction from the previous night was still there.  he was tall and lanky with glasses that hid beautiful blue eyes.  those blue eyes found me watching him and his face broke out in a crooked grin.

i smiled back and joined him at the table.  we just looked at each other for a few moments.  to break it, i held out the glass waiting and said, “champagne?”

lacroix has some of the best food in the universe.  i cannot remember what we ate.  i remember the conversation and him.  everything else fell out of focus.

he was in the city for business and leaving tuesday to go back to london.  he flew back and forth every 6-8 weeks working on an engineering project.  he lived in the outskirts of london … and then the bomb dropped … with his family and his wife.

i blinked a few times and then tried to be as casual as possible as i waited for him to continue.  “not here,” he said, “it’s complicated.”

it is always complicated.

we finished our meal and left lacroix.  i paid.  he got a bit indignant but i had invited him so i was paying.  period.  plus it made me feel a bit more in control, if that was supposed to help.

that afternoon had turned cold and breezy so i invited him back to my place with a stern “to talk, nothing else” and he grinned that silly gorgeous crooked grin again and i thought to myself, “i am sunk.”

my living room is wall to wall books.  i had the shelves bit in and a fireplace is in the center of the main wall.  I have my desk and several wingback chairs and one comfy loveseat.  i made coffee while he built a fire and then we settled down on the floor in front of the fireplace.

“so tell me,” i said.

and he did.  they had met in college – 21 years ago.  had an on again, off again relationship through college and then decided to stay together after.  they had three children.  she had not worked in 15 years and she was “fragile”.  i raised an eyebrow at that and he hastened to explain, not fragile like ill but fragile like no way to make it in the world without him.  her children were her life.

“what about you?” i asked.

“ah.  well, she does not love me anymore.  the children are what keep us together.”

to make a long story short since it was months before i felt like i had all the pieces, he was still madly in love with a woman that neither liked him nor found him attractive any longer.  they had compunctory sex every week or two which included no kissing or foreplay.  just intercourse.

i remember i shocked him by bursting into laughter and laying on the floor, saying in a falsetto, “i will take one for the queen.”

then we laughed together.  and i felt a small piece of my heart break.  i could see that he was in love with her.  i could see that he was pained by the distance and coldness in the relationship.  i could also see that he was profoundly lonely in that relationship.  but did i want to jump into that mix?

and then he kissed me.  softly.  tentatively.  like a first kiss from a young boy.  i had been thinking so hard that i did not see him lean in.  and i placed both of my hands on his cheeks and looked into those blue eyes and kissed him back for all i was worth.

jot that down in your notebook for those that are looking to be the mistress.  get used to weekends alone.  for those of us that have interests outside of man, house, children … it is ok … mostly.

lonely sometimes … really fucking lonely.

for me though, the flip side is that i think i would go barking mad if i had to have someone around all the time – like every waking moment.  i value my aloneness most of the time.

when i was a bit younger and headed out to the clubs on friday nights, i never minded fridays.  when i met J, i became used to quite a bit of attention throughout the week and fridays were the day that the attention turned off.  like a spigot that has been axed.

the occasional furtive call or two tend to just piss me off more … demanding little princess that i am … my thought process is if you cannot devote full attention and if i can feel you glancing nervously over your shoulder while you whisper into the phone, then just don’t fucking call.

so while he has been delivering hot chocolate to his wife in bed or cooking her dinner, i have perfected the dirty martini … perfected.  with blue cheese olives.  but i still hate fridays.