The other women.

Linda

You don’t know me. But then you don’t know Phil either - not really. If you did, you’d know that I existed, and why I existed in his life - and by extension, in yours.

I am Phil’s lover. I have been, for a while now. Exactly how long you don’t need to know. Trying to pin it on incidents or other people won’t help you to understand Phil any better, or why he feels a need for a lover when he already has a wife.

Perhaps you’ve forgotten who Phil is, so caught up as you are with seeing him as your husband, that convenient if slightly irritating presence around the house who fixes things, lifts kids, takes you places and brings in money. You see a role, you no longer see a person.

You see him as obsessed with work - staying late at the office, forever on his computer at home. You don’t know that his late evenings at work are spent with me, his computer sessions are chats, mail or virtual sex with me, when he’s trapped at home and we can’t be together.

You see him out a lot with his friends, escaping the confines of home and family - which you tolerate as “giving him space”. You don’t see the cover they provide - a quick beer with John so that no one need lie, before he heads out to me.

You see him as boring. What you should be seeing, is bored.

Phil is a great guy. A charming and thoughtful companion, delightful to be with. An entertaining conversationalist, whose quick mind and lively manner make every interaction enjoyable and engaging. A skilled and considerate lover, whose touch and attention and response bring out the fire in me. When did you last listen to Phil, enjoy his body, or delight in his company?

Have you ever? Phil tells me how wonderful it is to spend time with me, how proud he is to be seen with me and much he values my wanting to be with him. Is this because you take him for granted? He tells me how much he enjoys talking to me, the range of things we discuss, and how interested I am in so many things. Is this because that passes your lips is a litany of complaint, an interminable string of demands and a repeated cycle of small-minded minutiae of domestic trivia? Phil thrills in our lovemaking - he’s never had sex so good, never had a lover as desirable and desirous as me, never knew such things could be possible. Is this because sex is something you tolerate, barely and infrequently, with undisguised resentment? Or do you see your behaviour as entirely incidental, not related in any way to the pleasure Phil draws from me?

One day you might find out about me - perhaps even from Phil himself. You will probably experience a mix of reactions - anger, disappointment, hurt - and you will likely have many questions. But perhaps the question you need to ask is: why did you care so little - about Phil, about your relationship - to allow yourself to stop caring, stop trying, stop loving? Was he not worth it? Or, were you not worthy of him?

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