by N. D. Guerre

Created on: June 11, 2008

I became all that I was sick of seeing men be, and in my demure gentle way, I became a player at 47. That's me... "The Other Woman".

I know that many of my species are innocent, didn't know and are such decent women that when they did find out the man they loved was taken, they bailed. Not me. I not only knew of the wives of the men I was seeing, but I PLANNED it that way, finding married men to be far more of what I wanted, what I needed. They were stable and sure and would never fall in love with me, ask for things I was not ready or willing to give and I could break their hearts with good reason. I was tough, I was ruthless and I had no shame about it.

Some "Other Women" claim love is the villain, that they never meant "this to happen". That wasn't me either. I didn't love them but am more of the serial dater, the woman no man can have. Their dream, elusive, exotic and not their wife. Sometimes that's all that really matters.

If you happen to be the wife of a man who kept me as the other woman, I guess I have some explaining to do.

See, I never really wanted your husband, the very reason for choosing married men. I only wanted that part of him that you weren't using anyway... whatever, in your case, that may have been.

If you were cold and unfeeling, I brought him warmth, respect and conversation... laughter. If you were domineering, I could let him be the leader, my hero and Lord. If you were sexually repressed, if you doled out the nightly rejections, I was there to give him all that you wouldn't and more. I would hear his fantasies and then feed them back to him one by one. I became his drug and his obsession.

But you must understand that all I wanted was to be important to someone and making a downtrodden married guy feel like a real man does have it's rewards. I was flown in private planes to concerts, drank the most lovely wine and rarely would one of them take a trip without bringing me something pretty back. It may have been you in his hotel room for that week, but it was me he ran home to and me that he missed.

Or maybe you weren't there and I was, and in that case I likely chose YOUR "welcome home" gift. He would tell me stories about you, how unhappy he was, how he loved his children so much that he couldn't possibly leave, and I, being the understanding lover and friend, would hold him while he talked, make him feel as if he COULD be a man with me, that you must not be seeing something in him that I could and in that way I became precious and rare,

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