Why he left you for me!

Why He Left You For Me….(fictional tale of a mistress, don't anyone think this is me lol)




First off, I am NOT a home-wrecker, nor am I a whore. I’m not white trash, nor am I a drunk, drug addict or tramp. I did not steal your husband. I am his mistress, yes…but, most importantly, I am who you were when he fell in love with you. My, oh, my, how you’ve changed. You don’t see it, do you? Seriously? Well, then, let me outline it for you.



I smile when he comes through the door. I light up like the fourth of July. Here he is. This beautiful man walking through the door is here to see me! I run to him and wrap my body around him and kiss him passionately. Just his chest pressed against mine makes my heart beat faster, and my palms sweat. I tell him how I ache for him and how he’s the most handsome, most powerful, and most important man in the world. He feels like a god when I whisper this in his ear. And he calls me his baby. I’m in heaven.



Do remember when YOU use to do that? You would run out to the garage before he even got out of the car and waiting, anxiously, for him to exit. You weren’t in the house fuming because he didn’t take the dog out before work. Those hugs and kisses you once gave him upon his arrival home have now been replaced with you nagging about how he didn’t bring the garbage cans in, before you’ve even said hello. Remember when you were actually happy to see him, and expressed this, and he, in turn, greeted you the same way? Remember how that made you feel?



As he sits on my couch clicking through the sports stations, I say nothing. I have no desire to watch TV, he can watch what he pleases, just his being in the same room is enough for me. If he’s happy, I’m happy. I can watch TV later. I throw my legs over his and curl up next to him and let him educate me on what a quarterback is, or how many homeruns were hit in 1812. He likes to share his interests with me, and I like to hear what interests him. It may not be my cup of tea, but my “knit one, pearl two” conversation isn’t his cup of tea either, but he listens to it. It’s give and take, and he’s only too happy to give and receive.



Remember when he sat with you at the vet’s office when you’re dog was sick. He hugged you and comforted you, and even sat up with you all night until the dog was better? Remember how you sat with him all night when he was worried about cut-backs at work and you listened as he vented, trying to soothe him, and telling him it didn’t matter, as long as you had each other, and empowering him telling him he was too good for that job anyway. Now, when he worries, all you seem to do is worry about the money and not about how he feels about it. You make it worse by hounding him and then chastising him for not making more money, and stressing him out even more, leaving him feeling like a failure when you tell him you won’t support him if he loses the job, and he better find another one.



After watching the game, I then start dinner. I make his favorite, that fabulous Rib-Eye steak and loads of mashed potatoes smothered in gravy. He devours it as if it’s his last meal. I don’t nag him about his cholesterol level. I don’t remind him he’s not 22 anymore and point out how he’s getting soft around the middle. I don’t tell him to go brush his teeth because the onions are foul. He is perfection in my eyes. Remember when he was perfection in yours?



He starts to talk about the mountain of debt he’s under and how worried he is in this economy. I listen. I rub his shoulders and his neck, and remind him of how successful he is, and how everything happens for a reason. I remind him he is a great provider and money isn’t the most important thing in the world. I teach him how to see value in life, and love and I show him by leading him to the bedroom…



Remember when you made love together because desire was so strong you didn’t care where you were, or who might catch you? Remember when you shaved your legs and wore sexy lingerie. But he made the mistake of telling you how cute you look wearing his old shirt to bed and haven’t stopped wearing it since, and abandoned all black lace, and silky baby-dolls, other than on special occasions. Remember when you cared how you looked? Remember when you’d snuggle up to him in bed, but now “it’s too hot” and your wayyyy over on your own side? I know…I know…You have kids, right? Well, guess what..so do I.



As I said, I’m not the vixen you think I am. I am just like you were at one time. I am the woman that adores this man. I am the woman you were that appreciates him, makes him feel wanted and powerful. I am the woman you use to be who listens to him and pleases him, and he in turn pleases me. I comfort him. I soothe him. I give him gratification. And, he aches for me.



You want to know who I really am? I’m the woman who lost her husband to a woman who did all the things I once did…I’m just like you!


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WHY SHE LEFT YOU FOR ME!

Women cheat too, and I'm just the lucky bastard that saw what she needed and slipped in right under your radar.  It didn't take much.  All I had to do was appreciate her.  I am the man that you WISH you could be, the man you once were when you first started courting her.  I've learned that I should always compliment my woman, and give her that attention she needs.  Because if I keep taking my girl for granted, there will be some guy, some player, some lonely man who see's her value and snags her from me.

I'm the guy who recognizes she got her hair cut and colored and I'm the one telling her how she looks amazing.  I notice when she isn't smiling and I ask her why, and I listen to her reason, then comfort and soothe her.  Remember when you did that? Remember when seeing her cry broke YOUR heart?  Remember how she lit up when you gave her that teddy bear you won for her at the carnival. She still has it, ya know.  She still remembers those days and while you lay sleeping, another night of ignoring her, she stares at you and wonders what happened, why you lost interest.  She blames herself.  Did you know that?  She blames aging as the culprit, or her own sexual prowess.  Your ignorance is making her feel insecure. 

I'm the guy that makes HER dinner, AND does the dishes.  I smile as she eats, knowing she feels pampered and catered to.  I slip a gift under her napkin.  An old silver locket she had been looking at when we visited a flea market. She never said she wanted it, but when she held it, she told me her grandmother had bought her one just like it and she lost it during 7th grade summer camp.  I listened. I watched her face, and her eyes well up as she stared at that locket.  I want her happy.  I bought it.  She wears it now all the time, not caring if you see it, but knowing you wouldn't notice it even if you did.  You're so stupid she could tell you that you bought it for her years ago, and you'd never remember anyway. That's how much YOU pay attention to your woman.

I light a fire and we snuggle together, and I kiss her.  I kiss her for hours, running my fingers through her hair. Of course I desire her, but she loves to kiss, and I'm not going to rush this moment.  I'm going to savor every second with this amazing woman before she has to leave me to go home to you.  Remember when you use to kiss her passionately?  When was the last time?  When was the last time you held your woman, kissed her, caressed her and didn't expect sex?  When did you stop wanting to seduce this beauty and just go in for the instant gratification?  Can you even recall?

We then make love.  I know each spot that touches her senses and makes her respond.  I know how to please her as I don't only listen to her needs, but I'm in tune with her body.  I'm connected.  You disconnected a long time ago.  She melts to my touch, and to be honest, I'm not the best lover at all, and I'm not an adonis by any means, when you meet me you'll wonder if your girl is on crack, but...she see's me as an adonis because I'm good to her.  That's all a woman really wants. She wants to feel desired, loved, appreciated and valued.  It's not really all that physical with us, it's emotional.  And a smart man knows that for a woman to have great sex, she has to be engaged with her mind.  The greatest sexual organ is the brain, remember that for your NEXT wife, dude.

I'm the man that walks her to her car and watches her drive off, standing in the rain or even the snow, and I insist she text me when she gets home to make sure she arrived safely.  Not you. You're already asleep and smiling because that nag was out of the house, but if you only knew what she was doing, you wouldn't be so smug. 

She climbs in bed next to you, wearing MY t-shirt....MY locket...and doens't bother to shower my scent off of her body.  She wants it to envelope her. She wants to get caught. She wants out. She wants to be with me. She slips into a deep sleep, dreaming of our next encounter and she smiles upon waking when she rolls over, grabs her cell and I text her, "I miss you"....That's who I am!