Elskerinde: Confessions of the Other Woman

By A.M. Bristow

A lot of people would say that I deserved what I got. I would be one of them.

Starting with a getaway to Denmark, Elskerinde: Confessions of the Other Woman chronicles a dramatic descent into a sordid affair with a married man and the whirlwind relationship that ensued.

It’s a non-fiction novel that analyzes the complex and sometimes dark aspects of humanity, and how love and desire can lead people into morally questionable territory. In raw and intimate detail, A.M. Bristow weaves an elaborate tale of deceit, love, and betrayal. From their first sexual encounter in Copenhagen to a drawn-out divorce, the story highlights the rapturous highs and devastating lows of a doomed relationship.

Bristow explores the true consequences of going from being the other woman to being the only woman. The price paid for getting involved with a cheating husband is constant doubt, never knowing whether suspicions are a ghost of his past behavior or a symptom of present behavior; it’s constantly living in the shadow of the woman he left.

It’s a narrative for anyone that’s ever been cheated on and wondered why. It’s a true story written on behalf of every “other woman” in honor of the woman he betrayed. And what it’s like to be both.

• Language: English
• Publisher: A.M. Bristow
• Release date: Jul 22, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370364480

A.M. Bristow

A.M. Bristow is a Cuban-born writer raised in the United States who writes contemporary fiction when she’s not traveling and writing about that. In fiction, she explores the overreaching philosophical theme that hell is other people. She currently lives in the Czech Republic, where she gives life to her cynical thoughts.Bristow was formally trained and shaped by the world of academia, before abandoning her scholarly pursuits in psychology and education in order to dedicate herself to writing on a nearly full-time basis. You can find her insights and tips about travel on her blog, www.GnomeTrotting.com.Available books by the author include: Savage, Elskerinde: Confessions of the Other Woman, Crimson Sheets, and A Trilogy of Disappointment (and a dash of hope). You can connect directly with A.M. Bristow on Twitter.

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Elskerinde:

Confessions of the Other Woman

A.M. Bristow

Copyright 2016 A.M. Bristow

Published by A.M. Bristow

Distributed by Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Part I

Indecent Proposal

Parker

Down the Rabbit Hole

Blackbird

Taking the Plunge

Jealousy

Copenhagen

Part II

Separation

Trouble at St. Michel

The Problem with Dating a Married Man

Part III

Domestic Bliss

Friends and Family Discount

Cancer

Puppy Love

Fake it ‘til You Make it

The Unbearable Uneasiness of Being with Stanley

Italy

Part IV

Neglect

Mistrust

Family Matters

Barcelona

Gaslighting

Japan

A Little Christmas Cheer

Undelivered Correspondence

Part V

Work Woes

Friendly Fires

Unquestionable Betrayal

The Paper Trail

The Talk

Orlando

Freedom

Part I

Indecent Proposal

It takes a lot for me to say this, believe me, he stared at me, looking for a response that wasn’t disgust, anger, or offense.

I believe you, I said. I couldn’t help but smile, either out of flattery or inebriation. How else is a girl supposed to react when a married man tells you he wants to go away with you for a couple of days?

We stared at each other for several moments, while I thought of something to say. He had both of his hands in front of his mouth, as though in prayer – his wedding ring glinting in the dim light of the bar. We were at a Mexican restaurant down the street from our office, our favorite place to go have a drink. I will always credit their cilantro margaritas in playing an integral role in our sordid affair.

I’m somewhat surprised and yet not at the same time, I finally mustered.

How is that?

You strike me as the kind of guy that flirts with the idea of cheating, but doesn’t actually go through with it, I lied.

Well, normally, that would be absolutely true, he lied right back.

We were in an epic battle of wits – one he didn’t know he was a part of. The waiter returned with another round of margaritas, briefly interrupting our staring contest. Behind him at the bar, were paintings of famous and accomplished Mexicans. I always thought it was funny that Frida and Santana had to witness this kind of depravity.

I hope I didn’t misread anything, he said somewhat nervously. I don’t think I did, but I can’t be sure.

Not necessarily, I told him. He was referring to our increasingly interesting conversation two nights prior at the same bar. Looking back, his idea was actually my suggestion. I had casually and somewhat innocuously stated that we should take a trip upstate one weekend. Did I mean us as a group or just us? I couldn’t be sure. Sometimes my own intentions and desires are a mystery, even to me. But after saying that, he had apparently mulled it over quite seriously.

He began to explain his feelings in more detail, which gave me time to further process my own feelings about the situation.

There is just something about you that I can’t quite describe, something that draws me to you. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you for days. It’s a feeling I can’t quite shake, which makes it impossible to ignore. And you only get that feeling so many times in your life. I would feel like a fraud if I didn’t say anything.

How ironic that of all the heinous things he had done to his wife, this is what would make him feel like a fraud.

I’m glad you told me – that it’s off your chest, I said. But, Stan, you’re married.

I know! he exclaimed. And listen, I know that telling you this is worse than something purely physical. Sitting here across from you, having this conversation is worse. Don’t think that doesn’t weigh on me.

I agreed with him. Sex can be meaningless – a passionate tryst and nothing more. Not being able to get someone else out of your mind is a much deeper betrayal.

My immediate thought is that I know your wife… I like your wife. And I don’t want to come between you guys, I said. He nodded in understanding. Though in reality, I had only met his wife twice. She was attractive for her age and perfectly agreeable, but I probably didn’t know enough about her to decide anything in particular about her or her personality.

My more selfish thought is that this is a losing proposition for me, I added.

Why is that? he cocked his head slightly when he asked questions like that.

Because let’s say I agree to this, and we drive up somewhere for a couple of days, have a fantastic time… and then what? When we get back here, you get to go back to your wife, and I have to go home alone.

I get that, and you’re right. That is a legitimate concern. And I would understand if that’s something you’re not comfortable with.

There was a pause while we sipped on our drinks, glancing around the place as though the words we were looking for were hiding at some other table.

Can I ask you a question? Has this happened to you before? I knew it was a personal question, but I didn’t particularly care. There’s a certain level of familiarity that develops when a topic like this has been breached.

Once. And I did the same thing. I stayed true to myself, and we talked about it and nothing happened.

I knew he was lying again, something that made me feel giddy.

You know, talking to you about this just makes me want to throw this margarita right in your face, I said to him bluntly.

He chuckled, I would understand.

And yet, I still didn’t totally dismiss his proposal. In fact, if there was any way this womanizing cheater was going to successfully sleep with me, it would be by suggesting a trip, and he knew that. Fueled by his deceit, I decided to up the ante.

Where could we go? Montreal? New York?

I actually hadn’t considered anything out of state, but we can discuss that if you want, he mused.

Yeah, come on, I spurred him on. "If I do this – emphasis on if – I don’t want it to be some cheap hookup in a motel or in the back of your car. I want it to be epic. If it’s not… Copenhagen, then it’s not even worth it. I want to change your entire perception of infidelity."

He threw his head back and laughed emphatically, because that was the kind of attitude that I’m sure drew him to me in the first place.

That would take a lot of planning, he said putting his hands up in the air, but I would love to.

Speaking of planning, I chimed in, how do you expect to explain to your wife where you’re going?

Well… since you’ve been placed on this project that requires us to work together, and since it’s an area no one in the company has a lot of experience in, I figured we could say there’s a conference somewhere.

I was almost impressed by his forward-thinking and the calm way in which he explained it. This might have been the point in the conversation that sent up a huge red flag about the kind of person he was – someone this methodical had done this before. But I didn’t need any red flags; I already knew the kind of person he was. In fact, I knew he had conveniently taken advantage of a work conference to carry on another affair. Quite recently, actually.

For a brief moment, I considered the events that led up to this, and ironically, they had everything to do with the other participant in said affair.

Parker

Parker was his assistant, a punky girl with a surly attitude. I was intrigued by her the way I am by most taciturn malcontents; I want to know what makes them tick. I had a sneaking suspicion that she might be gay. And it didn’t help that she bore a striking resemblance in personality to a girl I had been madly in love with, which made me like and loathe her instantly. But most of all, it made me want to fuck her. She had a long-distance boyfriend which simultaneously refuted and added credence to my theory that she might be gay. I occasionally made flirty, but harmless, comments just to see how they would be taken. My tactful flirtation – which eventually came to be very much sustained on her end – also inadvertently brought me closer to her boss, Stanley.

For weeks going on months, she teased and prodded me, as though mirroring my own curiosities. She would bring up homosexuality at every turn, sometimes in flirtation and sometimes just in passing. She would invite me out with her and invite me over to her house.

She had a knack for making inappropriate comments with absolutely no preamble in the middle of regular conversations.

I’ve always really loved boobs, she said once, while she eyed my cleavage in a tank top. I love watching women in porn. Their boobs turn me on.

What am I supposed to do with this? I thought to myself. I was determined to keep my composure unless she made a physical move, especially because she had a boyfriend and because we worked together.

But our conversations became increasingly sexual – even at work, even with Stan.

You guys are so comfortable with me, he would chuckle heartily.

He must have also picked up on the flirtation, because he would occasionally make suggestive comments about the two of us.

I’m in the mood for fish tacos, she mused one morning.

You hear that? he motioned to me. She wants to take you out to lunch.

We laughed. Parker rolled her eyes, though she was blushing slightly.

I do occasionally enjoy fish tacos, I wouldn’t complain, I said, jokingly admitting that I also dated women.

Stanley lifted his eyebrows. I was unsure if he was surprised by my admission itself, or that I would admit it in such a nonchalant way to two of my coworkers.

A few days later, Parker and I went out for drinks after enjoying an afternoon of art gallery hopping. We sat down outside in the warm spring breeze with our cocktails. She wasn’t even halfway through her first drink before she started questioning me about my sexuality.

So are you actually bisexual? she asked awkwardly without making eye contact.

Yeah, I responded. I’m an equal opportunity employer.

I thought so… after your comment the other day at work. I’ve always been bicurious, she admitted, but I’ve never had an experience with a woman.

Surprise, surprise, I thought to myself. The rest of the evening proceeded with increasingly intense flirtation and discussions dripping with innuendo. Knowing she had a boyfriend, I tried to deflect some of the heated conversation. Because despite my occasional indiscretion, I do try my best to be a decent person.

Why haven’t you ever had a threesome with your boyfriend? Then you could see what it’s like to sleep with a woman, I suggested.

I’ve asked him, but he wasn’t into the idea, she said despondently. I smiled somewhat bemused. The poor bastard, I thought. Of course he doesn’t want a threesome. He sees you a couple of times a year at most, and you want to introduce someone else into your sex life? My subtle reminders to her that she was taken did not much matter and by the end of the night, she was inviting me back to her place.

I politely declined.

Our friendship continued to be fueled by an undercurrent of sexual interest. It started to become quite needy, in fact. She would ask me to come over with increased frequency, and she would cuddle with me when we watched movies. It began to dawn on me that this girl was desperate for intimacy that her long-term relationship was not providing. I even began to feel a little used. But since I didn’t have any romantic feelings toward her, I was mostly okay with it. The only frustration was a sexual one, driven by comments and gestures meant to arouse.

One night – a Sunday – I went over her house and after a few drinks, she admitted to me that she was sleeping with Stanley. I was shocked. How silly it seems now to think that was shocking – not that she was sleeping with him, she was obviously in dire need of closeness. But how could this perfectly kind and decent man be cheating on his wife of 10 years?

How did this even happen? I asked with my hands atop my head. I couldn’t help but laugh, even though she remained grim-faced while she talked about it.

One time we went to Happy Hour with some people from the office, and I got too drunk. So he took me back to my car and he was taking care of me, but he got a little too close… and we kissed.

Wow, I uttered in astonishment. But it kept happening?

Yeah… she admitted, Let’s just say that when we went to that trade show for work a few months ago, we only used one of the rooms.

I laughed as I let all the details of their sordid affair sink in. What I took away from that conversation was that she didn’t much care for her relationship, and he didn’t much care for his marriage. So I drunkenly reasoned that the next time she made a suggestive comment, I didn’t need to hold back; she was already cheating on her boyfriend.

Nonetheless, I didn’t want to be too presumptuous right away, particularly because we worked together, something which obviously neither her nor Stan were too concerned about. But it was a concern for me. To be too forward could lead to serious consequences for me. I considered the possibility that she might also be wary of our professional relationship, since it was decisively less well-established than her own with her boss. So I let the evening unfold, letting her push my buttons and pushing some of my own.

I once flashed my tits at Mardi Gras, I told her over another drink. Well, several times really.

We had moved our casual get-together to her bedroom. We were lying on her bed, facing opposite directions. I extended my legs purposefully as we spoke, noticing her eyes grazing over them. My legs looked long and lean in my short shorts. My see-through quarter-sleeve top teased the black bra I was wearing underneath.

She was smiling at my candid admission while scrutinizing my thighs.

I don’t know if I would feel comfortable flashing in public, she admitted.

Why not? I asked.

I don’t know… my boobs are kind of small.

I waved her statement away. They look fine to me, I said.

That’s because I’m wearing a good bra, she assured me.

Show me then.

I didn’t expect it to be that easy. But it was. For someone so uncomfortable flashing her boobs, she was quick to lift up her shirt to give me a look. I could feel myself quivering at the sight.

Still, I didn’t make a move. We continued our conversation, while I ignored the growing wetness between my legs. About an hour later, it was time to call it a night. She offered to let me stay over since I was too drunk to drive home.

I’ll give you a change of clothes, she said resting back on her side of the bed. And you can shower if you want.

I don’t need to shower, unless we have sex, I said not-so-subtly inviting the thought.

That’s a definite possibility, she replied.

I looked up at her, Alright then.

I finally let my lust take over, and I climbed on top of her.

For days, I couldn’t stop fantasizing about the hours that ensued. I would let my mind wander to my hands on her partly shaved head while she eagerly went down on me. And to the way she stared hungrily at me while I straddled her, bouncing on her fingers.

Down the Rabbit Hole

I slowly began to realize that Stan’s interest in me was more than playful innuendo and inappropriate jokes about my relationship with Parker. One Saturday night when we were exchanging moves on Words with Friends, he messaged me.

I hope you don’t think this is how I spend my Saturday nights. I’m at a gig right now and I’m just passing the time between sets.

How cute. This 45-year old man was trying to make himself appear cool by reminding me that he’s in a band and that that’s what he does with his Saturday nights. I immediately reminded him that this kind of posturing did nothing for me.

Really? Cause this is what I do on Saturday nights.

For a long time, occasional chats on Words with Friends were our only private form of communication that didn’t include other coworkers, or specifically Parker. That changed when the World Cup rolled around. I don’t care for soccer, and neither does he. But we thought it would be fun to bet on the games to make them more interesting to watch. Loser bought lunch or drinks. We usually paid up in the company of Parker.

That is, until one fateful afternoon. We were all going to Happy Hour, and she ended up bailing when we were already sitting at the bar. After a night of stimulating conversation, he asked me not to invite anyone the next time we got together. And so our budding friendship progressed into a clandestine affair.

***

A week and several dozen intensely longing texts from Stan later, we met up again – this time at another restaurant near our office. There was something thrilling about leaving work separately and meeting up a few minutes later down the street. I couldn’t help but worry that Parker would spot us walking toward the restaurant. She didn’t. And I waited for him by the bar.

He met me up for another serious discussion about this proposed affair. Since our previous meeting, my insane throwaway comment about Copenhagen had picked up steam. There were low end-of-summer rates for flights two months away, and Stan had found a conference that he could pretend to attend for the sake of his wife.

What are you thinking? he asked, nursing his drink in his hand.

I think this is insane, I replied.

I know, but it was your idea! And it’s a great one. I love the notion of being with you uninterrupted in a place neither of us has been.

Against my own better judgment, I loved that idea, also. But I hesitated.

What if I’m not interested in you a few months from now? This trip is kind of a commitment.

He shrugged in response. I added, What if you’re not interested in me?

To that, he replied immediately, Well, I can’t speak for you, but I know I will still be interested in you. I can guarantee it.

I asked, almost rolling my eyes at his certainty, How can you be so sure?

Because you give me the kind of feeling that you only get a couple of times in your life. You have this awe-inspiring presence and this thirst for life that is infectious...

He began to tear up a little as he spoke. He put his closed palms up against his nose, as though he was trying to obscure the tears quietly streaming down his face.

Why are you upset? I asked, both addressing and tacitly avoiding his vulnerability.

I’m not upset, he elaborated. I’m overwhelmed by you.

I changed the subject to what we could order for dinner, though inside my thoughts were racing. Could he actually be growing as attached as he appeared to be? Perhaps this wasn’t just another sexual affair. Or was he this good at pretending it was something more than it was?

I have to ask, I interjected, is there something wrong in your marriage? Are you looking for a way out?

No, he waved the suggestion away. "Don’t get me wrong,