Why I Love Being The Other Woman
He calls and my heart skips a beat—is this real? Am I sure I even want this? Yes, yes, I am sure. This is life, he gives me life, he allows my true intentions to become a reality. After we talk, I want more. It’s like taking a drug that gives me a feeling that I never want to end. When we speak, the clouds part and the sun starts to shine once again. Everything becomes bright, I feel the warmth of the sun on my skin, complete with fragrant little droplets of sweat wafting through the air. There is nothing I want more than to talk with him, relate to him, converse with him, and finally to touch him.
Funnily enough, I enjoy being the other woman. This way, I have power, I have control, I have a reason to fight, to conquer, to compete.
It feels amazing when I talk to him, when we have sex, when he tells me things. It’s like I have won the race, if only for a few hours, because at that moment, he is away from her. He is with me, and he is choosing me over her. Is that bad of me? Am I a sadistic fool just hungry for love from a man that is unable to give it fully to anyone? Maybe; maybe not.
For as long as I can remember, I have never felt whole. Everything has just been a blur to me. Working, shopping, eating, everything. Nothing seemed like it has ever had any meaning. It is like I am in this endless cycle of confusion that I just cannot get ahold of. I often wonder whether life has any purpose. The interesting thing is that when I am with him, these fears, this sadness, this despair, all seems to float away. It disappears, it vanishes, and I am not sure why exactly. Is he simply a distraction from my ever-complicated mind that can never be at rest? Is he the answer to me becoming free from my worries and disappointments? I am not really sure, but I am sure that I enjoy every single second of it. Of him! It is like a gentle roller coaster of pleasure, the way he makes me feel, even just speaking to him makes me weak in the knees. Is the secret to infatuation and chemistry simply a longing for something or someone that can never be had, that can never be caught, that can never fully embrace what they are given?
I don’t know if I will ever stop my love for being the other woman. I don’t know if I would even want to be the “main” woman. There is a part of me that hates consistency, hates reliability, and hates boredom. Is this the reason I love being with a man that is taken? Being the main woman would make me accountable, responsible, and I would have to willingly give my heart. It petrifies me! Being in love with an idea is much easier. I know that he is an idea to me, it is not real, and for as long as he is with her, it isn’t anything more than a chase, and weirdly, I get a sense of enjoyment out of that. There is something freeing about knowing that I am alone running after a dream that I can never have. It’s a painful expression of something that feels real, raw, and untainted. Really, I would never have it any other way.