Diary Of A 23-Year-Old Mistress

By

mistress with red lipstick and fingernails
Inside infidelity: how a young woman fell into an adulterous affair with an older, married man.

I was in his office, rug burn forming on my knees as he slid me back and forth on top of him. I could see photos of his wife smiling and laughing on the bookshelf and his desk. I'd thought about escaping when I first saw them that evening. Instead, I stayed, feeling nauseous about the person I'd become. He's just too charming, his presence too intense for me to resist. To be honest, my willpower is nothing to brag about. And it doesn't help that I'm falling in love.

We met at my first business conference when I was 23 and right out of college. He sat down next to me, smiling, burning my left cheek with his gaze. He had dark hair, a goatee and a scar on the side of his face. I shifted around for a position that would avoid the strange, immediate sexual tension. Our body language felt like foreplay.

He was persistent from the start, a quality I find extremely sexy. He shamelessly invited me for a drink in front of my boss. I assumed he was single because he mentioned his ex-wife and I was taken aback by my disappointment when he said he'd remarried. After drinks, he asked whose hotel room we'd end up in that night. I found him slightly ridiculous. "It was nice meeting you," I said, as he dropped me off.

A few days later, the flirting continued as he sent emails to my boss, cc'ing me. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious about what would happen next. When he asked me again for drinks I wanted to say no, but I trusted myself to do the right thing. Sort of. I thought since I was so anti-cheating I'd have no problem having one drink and going home with the halo still around my head. But deep down I knew this could get me into trouble. Dating a married man would make my previous scandalous date nights look like child's play.

I was relieved when he arrived at the restaurant—the tension from the conference was gone. "Maybe he'll be easy to resist," I thought. But one, two, three drinks later and it was over.

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