I’ve been thinking about loss. No, not the loss of my love affair with B. — Lord knows I’m over it and writing this blog has been cathartic in moving that process along. Nope, I’ve been thinking instead about HIS loss of me. Or losses I should say. B. lost so much in throwing me over for another woman. He lost:
♦ A passionate, exuberant, and highly-sexually-charged lover. One who can suck a golf ball through a garden hose. Playful, demonstrative, adventurous, and freely able to orgasm under his touch. And, at times, tender, yielding, giving. I’m now pleasing another man and it is intense. It’s his loss.
♦ The perfect mistress. Discreet, clean, safe and, like B., married. Never wanting to ruin his marriage, the wife never knew about our 26 years (on-and-off) together until just before she filed for divorce…with me NOT the catalyst for the end of their marriage. I kept my mouth shut all those years, didn’t run in the same social circles as B. and his wife, didn’t want more than I already had. I was no Alex Forrest in “Fatal Attraction.” No, I deftly compartmentalized the affair and never inveigled myself into his personal life. His loss.
♦ A best friend. Someone who was always there to listen attentively and provide feedback, even when the topic — such as demanding kids and a difficult wife — became unbearably repetitious. I was still there. I never ran away. How much I listened and how much I lovingly and carefully mirrored back to him. His loss.
♦ A gal pal. Someone who B. relied on to prepare the occasional meal and who sewed his winter jacket back together. A companion at cooking class. A friendly but fierce competitor on the mini-golf course. Someone who delighted in seeing his dogs run free on a morning beach as much as he did. A fun, up-for-anything pal. His loss.
♦ A close confidant. Oh, the stories I heard about his wife’s pain during sex. Of one of his daughter’s off-lithium episodes. Of his other kids’ psychiatric and psycho-social woes. He talked; I listened to these horrid tales. I tried to understand and to help make sense of the craziness. His loss.
♦ Longevity. The affair spanned 26 years. His marriage ended at year 38. This May, B. will turn 63. He’ll never enjoy the longevity he had with spouse or me with anyone again. He may be with another woman, but I’m heartened knowing she can’t hold a candle to me. Yes, it’s his loss.
B. lost all this and so much more. I wonder if it ever enters his head how deficient he is now.
A former mistress (26 years, on-and-off) describes the good, the bad, and the ugly of her long-term affair. Conclusion: Affairs aren't necessarily destructive if kept in the correct perspective. Our experience enhanced BOTH our marriages.
That is, until his marriage ended and we began to love each other. When the affair morphed into a relationship, well, that's when it stopped being fun for me. We have now irrevocably split.
Lately I've been writing about the man who took his place in the "off" years of that 26-year-long affair. He was a dynamic sexual partner but we, too, now have irrevocably split.
These are our stories.