Diary of a Mistress: Chapter 1

Allow Me to Introduce Myself -

         I am the Mistress of lies, sex, deceit, indiscretion, and death...do I have your undivided attention yet? I hope so.  Now sit up, pay attention, and learn – because, in the end, someone always pays the price.
         As with any story, there are always at least two sides.  It is my firmly held belief that the truth of the two sides – the real truth – lies squarely in the middle.  It has been scientifically proven that when ten different people are asked to view the same event, they will recall that single incident in ten distinctly different ways.  And each version of the event(s) that transpired was just as “real” to that particular person as the other versions were to the other people.  I only mention this because I believe the emotion(s) we feel as we recall past events tend to, at times, reshape our memories.  We are, after all...only human.  That is why the truth, if that is what you're scratching around for, will be more of a composite of segments of each person's recollection.  Therein, in that composite, lies the complete truth, the whole story.  ...But that's not what I'm offering you here.  I am the only one left to tell a story which holds many facets.  So, what I'm offering you is not the truth, it is a bantam segment of the truth, and it is completely one-sided...my side.
         Most of us have been married or in a serious, long-term relationship with someone we thought we would grow old with and spend the rest of our lives with.  Unless you've been a complete ogre, you've experienced that love that you can settle into like a warm robe and a pair of soft, old slippers on a cold night.  Some of you, and I include myself here, have had that love and security ripped out from under you without warning or mercy.  The event may have been accompanied by the somber look from a best friend or a close relative and the words “I hate to be the one to tell you this, but...”  Sound familiar?  If so, I promise that as you read this book...you will hate me without quandary. 
         I am the other woman.  I am the woman that most of you would term devious bitch.  When you tell your best friend the latest happenings in your relationship over a cup of coffee you will refer to me as the slut, or the shameless tramp, and the many other derogatory terms that you can, will, and should (without blame or guilt) stick your tongue to.  Let me make one point perfectly clear: the purpose of telling my story is not to shift blame.  Though it is important that you understand that we are not all devious, shameless sluts.  Some of us, myself included and in particular, straddle an indefinable line of criminal and prey.  I played my part.  Lives were destroyed...and I won't deny the details of my culpability for which I still feel endless guilt.  But I was also a love-struck dupe willing to do anything, forgive anything, for the man I had erroneously fallen madly in love with.  I know that you must already find me deplorable.  You must think that I am attempting to cleverly (or not so cleverly) pass the buck.  I am not. 
         I must tell you...my story is is emotion provoking,sexually graphic and is the complete truth...as I see it...like it or not.  A plethora of powerful emotions are bared here, like a raw nerve-throbbing from exposure.  I would be remiss if I did not impart to you that as you turn the final page, and you close the back cover in finality, the majority perspective will most likely be disgust.  You may think me weak and spineless.  Or perhaps (it is my hope) my words may provoke enough vehement thought that you will connect with me, and find me defiant and courageous (though that may be asking a bit much).  But I promise you this...while you may only admit to it in the basest regions of your subconscious, on some contemptible level, in the end you will relate to me.  Try not to hate yourself for that.
         Nonetheless, this is my side.  My truth. And while my side of this torrid affair may seem immaterial to those of you who have been a casualty of such matters, it needs to be told.  If you pay attention, if you focus on what I've learned rather than what I've done, you will be considerably wiser from your reading.  In the infinite words of my mother, “do as I say, not as I've done.”  This is the skinny of it...I don't give a shit what you think of me, you need to know.
         I've changed the names in my accounts in order to protect the anonymity of the people involved, to avoid a costly lawsuit, and in order to evade having my ass being squarely and completely kicked by my lover's, now, ex-wife.  Though the incidents contained herein may pose a resemblance to the life of someone you know...perhaps even your own life (given the percentage of adulterous men and woman in the U.S. today anything is possible), I assure you that this story is mine alone.  It belongs to me, to Henry, and to those whose views on love were marred by our careless self-indulgence. 
         So, sit up, pay attention, and learn – because in the end, someone always pays the price.