Everything you are about to read is based on true life events. Treat the feelings you find here with curiosity and respect. The woman could be your mom, your sister, your kid, your hair stylist. You never know what someone is going through; but it sure is fun to find out.

It all started with a feeling. Or lack thereof. I was like every average mom and wiife: regular job, bills, chores. Except I am in no way normal. I had been married to my emotionally-abusive and distant husband for almost thirteen years. The best thing to come out of the relationship is a four-year-old daughter.

We were at that stage in life where anything that could go wrong, already had. And we were done trying to be nice and play it off. Our relationship failed -- on my part for always being wrong, and his part for drinking and controlling and ignoring. After our first miscarriage, something changed. Maybe I snapped. Maybe I was done, and my body killed the baby to try and kick my head and heart into gear to get out of this life. I don’t want to say midlife crisis, I wasn’t even thirty yet, for Christ’s sake. The second miscarriage, I felt next to nothing at all. All hope had left me at that point and I think that kept me mildly sane.

It was winter when I left. Another cold lonesome winter. But, let’s be honest, my mind had wandered long before I left. All my life, my mind had wandered. There must be more to life than just one man; the house, the kid, the job. All so mundane. So, I willed my mind to wander. I had fascinations with men in my head. Men I worked with. Male cashiers that were oh so nice. Random strangers. What would they feel like? What would they taste like? What would they do to me and how? Wander, wander, wander. All to escape the hell I lived with daily. I never once cheated. I thought about it, and maybe that counts. Your eyes can wander but never your hands. What about your mind? Your soul?

About two years ago, I found the best type of wanderer. And instant connection. A co-worker at the time, such a mysterious find! It's almost like I’ve known him my entire life. How unique! I lusted. Hard. But also, I wanted to learn abput him. Know his life history, listen to the details of his day, get excited about whatever he was into, with him, as equals. This was a different type of wandering and I think we both knew it. So much more than sexual desire. A meeting and merging of the souls. That’s when I really got into trouble.

So, I began to fantasize. My life became divided. At work, I was a funny, flirty, amazing woman, and then as soon as I got home, I was the responsible mom. Do laundry, clean, vacuum, wash dishes, laundry, cook dinner, bath the child, get everything ready for the next day to avoid any unnecessary hassles. Maybe find an hour for myself; used to secretly plot ideas of how to see mystery man again. Get disciplined for doing stupid things wrong. Let the husband drink until he passed out after making me feel worthless for all the imagined affairs I never had, or the chores I did wrong. I would think, if he has four beers he may pass out early and then I can be amazing work person, not the overcontrolled bullied mom.

The first time I fantasized about my wandering mystery man, I had run into him in the hallway at work. He always walked so fast, all the way to one side of the hallway, staring at the floor. It screamed repressed to me. And my soul ached to find out if he faced the same horrors as I did when he clocked out. I worked in a room called the fishbowl due to the large windows all the way around. Every move I made, anyone walking by would see. I danced and sang as I worked, my back turned to the windows, putting on a fabulous show to most of the world, whether they liked it or not.

In front of me, there was a two-way mirror. I would stare into it constantly, waiting for him to walk along the hallway. Creeping to the extreme. I imagined the day I could pull him into this exhibitionist's fantasy room and let him have his way with me on the table. How thrilling it would be! His tall lean body leaning against the table as I pull down his pants and suck the very life from him. Or him, creeping in behind me as I am dancing, pushing me down hard onto the table and fucking me from behind.

I began to fantasize at night about him. And in the shower in the mornings. Wide awake and needy, I masturbated in the hot steam just thinking about what was beneath his buttoned shirts and lying buckled in his pants. I would wait in my car after work just for another glance at his beautiful face, going home to his own personal hell, hardly able to keep my hands from sliding into my wet panties and pleasing myself right then and there.

I assumed that he was completely ignorant. Ignorant of my heartbreak every time he cancelled plans. Ignorant of my flirtatious demeanor towards him. Ignorant of me in general. Nevertheless, I tried. Continued to try. To get to know him. To get closer to him. I had to. My soul could feel his, wanting to find its mate even then.

We were a big, mildly related group of friends; all nerds. Under the guise of large co-workers geeking out to new superhero movies, we would find our way to each other. Timing was never our thing, but we always tried. The first time we went to the movies, it was a boy’s night that I could get away from the house for. I knew I would face hell if my husband ever found out I was having a boy’s night -- and I did. I wasn’t allowed out of the house for a while after. But it was totally worth it.

We had tickets to see Star Wars Force Awakens. He almost had to cancel, and I bought his ticket. He had to buy another and I was so happy he could make it. I made it my plan to look my best and sit by him. We got to the theater and did the small talk thing. We both hated small talk. Soon it turned to talk of spouses and divorces and other such crazy life changing stories. It was amazing. He sat to my left. The whole movie I wanted to touch him, hold his hand, let this urgent need from my soul reach out to his and see what it would find. I giggled every time I saw the millennium falcon and he tried to touch it in 3-D.

It was quite an amazing night. I remember walking back to my car, hot, happy, and knowing I was going to have to fuck someone to get this horniness under control. Not knowing then that it was just him making me feel that way. Not the standard excitement of a new crush. Not the hotness that comes from watching a new geek movie. It was him.

We had quite a few movie dates. Continued to find out small quirky stories about each other. Slow burning. But, my god, how only a few moments with him made me weak in the knees. Have you ever had to pleasure yourself in a public bathroom just to be able to concentrate? I have. Fast and quiet but enough to stall the beast between my legs long enough to sit next to him for another hour. I like to think that after adorably walking together back to our cars, that he felt the same way. I had imagined him sitting behind his steering wheel, pants unzipped, pulling ferociously on his own manhood while thinking about me. Screaming my name in confusion and torment as neither of us knew what this attraction was.

We kept up this strenuous relationship for nearly two years on my part. We had ups and downs. Cancelled plans. Friends getting in the way. Spouses continually controlling our lives. But, where there’s a will there’s a way.

Finally, we admitted our feelings. After a catastrophic time in my life, all I wanted was him. I knew it was wrong. I knew it was trouble. But I couldn’t and didn’t want to deny it. What if there was a chance for us? I asked him to the movies. I had to see him. Just us. Please. I was begging. I was at my wits end and needed him. And he came through with flying colors.

It was kind of our first true date night, unbeknown to us. We showed up and he gave me the option of going to get coffee instead. My god, I wish we would have. We would have done awful things to each other. Instead, we watched some movie that didn’t hold much interest for either of us. Sitting right there beside him in the dark theater, I felt calm. We went out to the parking lot and continued to talk. I could have stayed awake all night long just to be next to him, baring my soul and all of life’s problems. He was just as terrified as I was. Neither of us knew what to do about my situation. I hugged him. I told him I knew he would be trouble the moment I'd laid eyes on him.

I got back into my car, and he into his. I watched him drive away as I cried. A moment earlier, I'd been so very happy and now I watched him going home to his wife and children. And I was going back to my child and the man who hated me. It was a pivotal moment for me.

The next few days went slowly. Until Wednesday, a hump day of all days. He slid me a note before lunch. I was used to getting little notes from him. I treasured them and cried when I had to throw them out. No evidence. But this note I kept longer. He had written that he was struggling with feelings and then wrote down a song. Cake’s Perhaps Perhaps Perhaps. I listened to it at lunch and couldn’t make the smile leave my face. It talks about the possibility of love, if only someone would decide. I didn’t know what to say the rest of the day. Knew if I looked at him, I would lose it. I would blush and make a mess of myself.

I left work and called him on my way home. I pulled to the side of the road stunned when he called back. I told him, yes, I think I feel love. Tell me I’m not crazy, this really hasn’t all been in my head. There really is a chemistry between us. We needed to talk more. So many questions and feelings. From that day on, I couldn’t stand to be touched by anyone but him. We met on several early mornings, discussing our feelings and trying to figure out what to do.

One morning, sitting in his car, he offered me his hand. I could have died happy right then and there. I knew as I looked at that beautiful hand, outstretched open and waiting for mine, that it would change me completely. And it did. With one touch, electricity shot through my body. I giggled. He giggled as well, feeling the exact same thing. The first time we kissed, we misjudged, and he kissed my nose. We took our time getting it right after that.

Some mornings, we would meet, and he would just drive. Stoplights were our thing, me pressing my body over to him in search of those luscious lips that made my insides melt. His hand on my thigh, shivers running through my body and causing me to smile ear to ear.

It wasn’t long after we first admitted our feelings that I left my husband, moved in with family, and never looked back. I knew that it wasn’t him that caused this, but I wanted him to be the end goal.

I found freedom overwhelming at first. On nights when I didn’t have my child, I kept myself super occupied. Going shopping, or writing, or just being free to have a busy social life. It wasn’t too long after that when the sadness set in. I halfway had the man of my dreams, but he wasn’t truly mine. We couldn’t exist as a couple. There was so much to lose. He had a lot more complications to deal with than I did. And I promised to never pressure him. So, I tried to just enjoy the good times when they happened.

That is the chaotic story of how I became a mistress. I guess mistress is the correct terminology. In my head, I call myself Geisha, whore, bad decision. The other. But the term Mistress implies to me that I have a little bit of pride about it. I am not some idle whore, spreading my legs to numerous people. I found one person that changed my life. Helped me understand what love is. And gave me hope.

This is not the highlight of my life. I just felt the need to explain a little bit about the woman who voluntarily chose to become a mistress. I have always wondered about what causes people to make the decisions that they do. My reasoning is unsound, chaotic and interesting. I hope to continue to address themes that pop up in my mind living the life I lead now. Jealousy. Depression. Sex issues. Self-confidence issues. Lying. Cheating. All of it. And leave you with some stories that make you understand why it's all worth it.

This is the mistress perspective. I hope you laugh, cry, get angry, get hot, and find pleasure.