The most dangerous part of being a mistress is forgetting your own reality. Having such happy moments with your lover, that you forget there are other priorities. Losing track of time. Leaving marks on skin. Creating an entire make-believe world where only the two of you exist and then having to face the crushing reality of falling, alone, from those special moments.

What I struggle with more than anything as a mistress is grounding myself. I let myself fly so high when I am with you, dreaming so big. And then reality beats me back down to the ground. So many lonely, heart breaking drives home alone in the wee hours of the morning. Tasting you on my lips and knowing you are not mine. Cannot ever completely be mine.

I fight the feelings of loneliness in my own head. I bottle them and wait for them to set me on fire from the inside. Sometimes I unleash them onto you. usually as I sit, sleepless and desperate in a parking lot. I pour my feelings out to you. knowing you have no answers. Just needing to tell someone other than my journal. And getting less than lukewarm responses in return. The same unsolvable problems that plague us.

You leave me aching like no one else in so many ways. My body aches from long tender loving nights. My soul aches knowing you are without me and unhappy. My only cure for this is to turn these aches into passions. I long for you and instead of falling into the deep abyss of reality, I plan for the next time we are together. Instead of sobbing and yearning for your hands on me, I use my own.

Reality isn’t so hard to face when you cut off feelings altogether. But this is a dangerous path. It can help you overcome the loneliness you feel but replaces it with a cold steel sort of apathy. I have been using this unfeeling method lately and I feel it has soured our good moments. The last night we spent together was hot and steamy as always.

But the feelings that come when we leave each other never came. I wasn’t broken and unstable. I was cold and accepting of our denied relationship. Locking us away as a dream and nothing more. Sometimes, spending entire days convinces myself that we are only a dream and that nothing ever happened between us. We are just characters in one of my stories and nothing more.

It made it easier for me to face the unknowing world. I think that there is a huge difference between bottling up frustrations and refusing to feel them altogether. If you bottle up everything, it still exists. Somewhere in the back of your mind or the smallest crevice of your heart, those feelings sit and fester inevitably leading to an explosion. If you refuse to let them have any effect on your emotions, deny them altogether, then they cease to exist. Leaving you a cold yet stable individual.

Its addicting to cease emotions. It makes life much easier but becomes a horrible habit. I know that eventually it will lead to falling out of love, losing the spark that once moistened my panties on contact. So I am left with the decision of which is worse? Feeling everything, powerfully, to the point of breaking myself, or feeling absolutely nothing and changing this magnetic love to nothing but piston sex, the parts moving but no real pleasure being found.

And I know it will only get worse. The cute date nights turn to awkward silences. Hotel reservations get cancelled. We only say things to each other through texting, not real words in real life. My newest rule is if we can’t say it out loud, then maybe we shouldn’t be saying it. Don’t promise me hugs and discussions and not follow through. Don’t tease me past the point of sexual frustration that turns to bitterness and rage. Flirting and teasing is fun, but what we do is almost to the point of sexual abuse.

It’s at this point, that I start wondering if maybe I should be dating more people. Maybe I am not getting what I need from one person, and need more? It took me so long to get used to the thought of your touch, will it be easier or more difficult to accept the touch of another? Would it be different if there weren’t feelings involved? Just hard, fast passionate sex. No thoughts of what repercussion it may bring. Don’t even need to know names. Just physical contact. Your hands and body soothe and comfort me like no other, but perhaps, I could find the aggression I crave elsewhere.

As a mistress, I know I should not feel guilt about sexual cravings. After all, you live with your wife, why shouldn’t I have someone else to keep as a constant when I can’t have you? I honestly don’t even think you would be jealous. Maybe internally you would struggle, but outwardly you would only show me the same calm cool response that I have come to know and hate. How can we be passionate with each other if you refuse to show emotions?

I want to meet you somewhere and run to you, like you’ve been gone for half my life and I’m seeing you again for the first time. Like a soldier returning from war, I would run to you. Jump into your arms and lose myself in tears, kisses, and the strength of your arms. Hear you growl and feel your need for me. But this won’t ever happen. Only dreams, nothing more. Because we won’t ever let ourselves loose.

The realities of our situation are that I have yet to file legal divorce paperwork and you have decided that you will never leave. That makes our situation clear in my head. But my stupid heart. And my stupid hopes and dreams. So, I take it out on myself. Knowing that again in life, I am not enough. I will never be anyone’s top priority. And I deserve this torment because I am a whore. Always have been and always will be.

I can write all these erotic stories of us and truthfully, I know that’s all they will ever be. Stories. Dreams. There is no future here. That is my cold reality. We can get a hotel and lose ourselves in the clouds for an hour or two. But then we must leave, falling suicidal to the hard ground.

Ground rules for being a mistress sometimes include things like remembering not to leave marks. Trying not to touch you so as not to leave my scent on you. Never wear lipstick. Air freshener in your car for deleting my smell. Changing your shirt before you head home to her. Showering after sex so we can’t smell or taste each other for long.

But I long to have sex and smell you all day. I want to skip my shower and feel the smooth spot on my skin where your semen acted as lotion. I want to leave marks all over your body from my nails, my teeth. Mark you as mine for the world to see. Leave hickeys like a couple of teenagers.

Reality is that I had to get tested for STDs because you didn’t believe me when I said I was clean. Knowing that you had to have had sex with her recently. Or that it really offended me when you just wanted a hug and then changed your shirt as fast as you could. Getting rid of me like a fucking disease. Or tempting and teasing each other all day long or all week long, only to spend our date night not touching once. These are the realities that I cannot deal with. This is when words become just words and the magic that staggered me at first begins to die. We begin to die.

When I was with my ex, I first noticed that he wasn’t happy by looking at old photos. Always the same fake smile, never a twinkle in his eyes. Until he eventually refused to take photos together at all. I place great importance on photographs. Little squares of paper specifically designed to make you recall memories, good or bad, like magic. I have wanted a picture with you forever. Anything. But even when I mention it, it gets denied. I blame it on lack of time but have always been fearful that it will end the same way for me. Finally getting a photo together and seeing that same unloving fake smile in your eyes as I did his.

Now when I leave you, I do not cry. It's easy for me to get in my car and race away. Thinking how stupid I was for expecting anything at all from you. Blaming myself for being in the wrong mindset for the encounter. Having the wrong personality for the meeting. If I go into each date thinking we are only friends, then I am never disappointed. However, if I expect sex and love and dreams, then I am always disappointed.

I dream of you taking control for once in your life, of your life. You running to me, wanting me, and actually taking me. Letting me see you be emotional and horny. Telling me exactly what you want me to do with you and making me scream. Not making love. Fucking. Hard. Coming fast because you just lose control. Absolutely beautiful chaos.

I dream of being your sugar mama. Releasing you from your home prison. Stealing you and your kids and taking you far away from here. Making our own family memories. Doing all the fun things you have always been denied. Letting our kids play outside all day, in the sun, getting filthy while we sit and drink holding hands and just existing. Cleaning them up for bed and then making love like rabbits for hours after they have fallen asleep.

It's so very dangerous to lose yourself in dreams. The hope and happiness you find there are not comforting but agonizing. Turning to ash in your mouth.

Another cure for this particular type of heartbreak is to just avoid all the mounting reality-based problems and enjoy the now. Instead of tormenting myself thinking about you being unwilling to leave, I should avoid that and enjoy the warmth of your hands, or the taste of your lips on mine. Small victories. This method works until the build-up of all the small dreams creates a chaotic restlessness deep inside of you.

Restlessness is another issue entirely I believe I should focus on in detail later. It’s the blue-balls of relationships of all kinds. Everything could be going great and then all of a sudden, you find yourself facing time alone. Maybe your partner has other plans, or you do. The first emotion is usually bitterness, that life and timing never seem to coincide. When you accept the fact that you cannot be together every time you wish, you are restless trying to please yourself in any possible way.

Tonight, for example, I have free time. Absolutely no obligations, no plans with friends, nothing. But you don’t plan on seeing me tonight either. And so, what am I to do with myself? Restlessness to the extreme starts to set in. All of a sudden, my mind races, I can’t focus enough to even write, and I can’t even settle on where I want to be, because every place I go to is missing you.

So, I drive. Drive far away and shut off my car and sit and think. Remember cute moments, remember passionate nights, or frisky car rides. Think about finding a partner, just for the night. Someone to touch me how I want since you can’t. Daydream about the things we could be doing if we were together. I always assume masturbating will cease my restless mind, but it only dims the fire.

Hands that I place on myself only remind me of your caresses. And if I dare to touch my own sex, I only want more. Want to feel you deep inside me as I touch your face and lean in closer to you. I make myself climax only to find that the beast deep within me still yearns for you. My mind has reset and calmed only enough to form entire sentences again. But still, I dream of you. I dream of letting some other one-night stand fuck me hard and fast. Wondering if the next time we have sex in reality, if you will feel the difference.