A self-described serial mistress argues affairs are vital for her mental health and self-esteem. Photo / 123rf
Seventy-two per cent of married adulterers say affairs are good for their mental health and self-esteem. As a serial mistress, I quite agree
The handsome man in my life is the most romantic I’ve ever met. A French-born, 57-year-old retired investment banker (let’s call him Remy) who comes to my home and cooks me chef-quality meals and brings me croissants in bed. He sends me plane tickets for mini-breaks, puts me up in presidential suites, and takes me for Mayfair dinners where the bill tops four digits. We speak every day, text goodnight, and tell each other “I love you”. He’s practically perfect.
The only snag is – he’s someone else’s husband.
However, after four years of making each other absurdly happy, we both agree his marital status is not a problem. In his culture, Remy shrugs, affairs are normale. Me being content with our arrangement – and never dreaming to ask him to leave his wife – makes me the ideal mistress.
I’m certainly an experienced “other woman” by now – Remy is the sixth married man whose company I’ve loved.
Before you assume I’m a gold-digger craving the luxury lifestyle, I can assure you that as chief executive of a tech company – with an MBA – I earn plenty of my own. And he’s no sugar daddy, I’m actually four years older. Nor am I a childless commitment-phobe, thank you. I have a well-adjusted 27-year-old son and, until my divorce in 2021, I was married for three decades. (And I won’t be doing that again.)
I recently read that affairs, the kind so casually depicted in the joyful adaptation of Jilly Cooper’s Rivals, are officially good for one’s mental health and self-esteem. This didn’t surprise me – they’ve done wonders for mine.
Sex is important, a natural human desire. But maintaining that over years of marriage? Impossible. And in all honesty, the “bonking” (while certainly enjoyable) isn’t the most intoxicating part. It’s the whole package – the flirting, the stolen kisses, the dressing up nicely, the intimate sharing of lives. It all makes life rather more jolly, doesn’t it?
This wasn’t always my mentality. I met my ex-husband John* in Ibiza when we were both in our late 20s. We exchanged vows in a big white wedding in Norfolk after just six months and I utterly adored him.
It was only after eight years of marriage (I managed one more than the classic “seven itch”) when I realised for certain that we simply weren’t compatible. John was a virgin when we met (yes, at 26) and our sex life hardly caught fire. Instead of ever instigating it, he’d hover at my door like a schoolboy waiting to receive his tuck money. Then, when “given permission”, he’d dive in, take the sweets so to speak, and that was it. We’d started sleeping separately while our son was young, and I was horribly lonely.
My first affair was with a senior executive I met through work. It made me feel truly desired for the first time in years. He was the opposite of my husband – confident in bed and dominant.
I was naive about affairs and hadn’t turned off my notifications. By this time the fling had fizzled out. He’d started having erection issues, and we’d stopped having fun.
But then one night my husband saw a message popping up on my phone that said “I miss you.” There was a huge scene in which he confronted me and I defended myself saying, “but we never have sex”! John’s response was devastating: “That’s what happens in marriages, Lydia*, this is normal.” I sobbed on the kitchen floor that night. Whether or not this was “normal”, it wasn’t enough for me. I was only in my early 30s, I didn’t want a sexless relationship. I felt he wanted a mother not a lover for a wife. Somehow our marriage staggered on.
During those years, though, I had several affairs.
I actively sought men who were already in relationships by joining IllicitEncounters, a married-yet-dating site. I said I was looking for a confident man and had no interest in one-night stands. I also described myself as feminine. Sometimes I just want to tell all these 50-something wives, don’t cut your hair short or stop wearing makeup. Men are simpler than you think – they don’t want a woman to swing from the chandeliers, they want their hand held and someone who takes pride in their appearance.
I generally attract alpha men. I’m entirely honest about the fact I’m a size 18 and insist they have to appreciate my “Rubenesque figure”. One man said he loved curves, but on our first date told me I needed to lose weight. We never made it to the bedroom.
Friends ask me whether I’m racked with guilt (normally the ones moaning about their husbands, it has to be noted). I do have a conscience and I never want to hurt the other woman. But by midlife, lives are complicated. I meet a lot of men in their 50s who unhappily married but can’t leave their wife because they’ll be financially crucified, or there are other issues. Remy, my partner, has an English wife of 20 years. They never had children and she has health issues, he’s lonely.
I provide Remy with comfort and support as well as joy – and she gets a happy husband who looks after her and isn’t frustrated about sex. When you’re having a wonderful, intense affair it’s really not all about sex; you share each other’s lives as close friends and each other’s achievements (or their children’s or grandchildren’s). But let’s be honest, the only people who are having lots of sex in midlife are the ones having affairs.
I’ve never forgotten my very astute personal trainer who took me aback when he said, “You’ve got a real thing for married men don’t you?” It had never really occurred to me before then. As I was lifting weights and pulling ropes, he suggested it must be validation. And he cheekily told me to think about these questions: “What are you getting out of this? Have you ever stopped to think about the people you’re hurting? And could you be doing something better with your time?” I’ll always remember this, I actually went home and wrote it down. It pricked my conscience.
But it didn’t stop me. I’m conscious of the damage an affair can have on a relationship and am meticulous about not carelessly blowing up anyone’s lives.
And I have morals. I’ve rejected younger men because I’m not interested in anyone under 50 who might have a young family – they should be spending their time with their children. One man told me he’d literally married the mistress, and now there was a vacancy. I thought that was disrespectful and ridiculous.
But for most of the wives, I honestly think I’m doing them a favour. In military circles I’ve discovered it’s almost expected to have “a girl in London” to keep husbands happy. I’ve even met one wife, at a social occasion. The colonel I was sleeping with introduced us. She knew exactly who I was. We air-kissed politely, sizing each other up. She was thinner than me, with different colouring. It didn’t change a thing. That relationship ended only when he moved abroad several years later.
Don’t get me wrong, being the other woman can hurt. I’d never contact a man unless it was safe to, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel utterly furious sometimes if I haven’t heard from them for several days. Christmases are hard, so I generally volunteer at homeless shelters if I’m not seeing my son. But I ask for just one text to show they’re thinking of me. I can’t buy birthday presents and I send only electronic cards, nothing they can keep and be caught with.
Sometimes I naturally worry who will look after me in old age, or if I get sick. But even when the affair ends, Remy and I will always be friends. I told him recently that he filled the void of what would have been a life partner and he told me: “Lydia, I’m never not going to be your friend.” He’s already offered to step in if anything happens to me and advise my son financially.
There are no guarantees about “in sickness and in health”, even in marriage. I’m still friends with virtually everyone I’ve ever dated. In fact, my first affair with the exec who had ED messaged me recently explaining that he’d just been diagnosed with Parkinson’s – another argument for carpe diem surely, when you’re past 40.
I don’t have any married female friends who seem genuinely happy. They’re generally not having sex (or bored of the kind they’re having), fed up with being taken for granted, and sick of the snoring. If that’s what you have to endure for companionship in later life, I think I’ll take what I have now.
*Name and some details have been changed for privacy
As told to Susanna Galton
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