I am the other woman. I cook dinner for one. I don’t plan holidays, commit nor adapt. I make no concessions, I don’t meet half way to my happiness. I have it all. My life, myself, my dinners for one. I am mine. I am free but taken, one could not wish for more. My bed, my space, and you, every now and then, when we can, when we have time when it suits all three of us. Romantically polychromatic. We are all in this together, for you I feel love and for her admiration, or maybe love as well, the one that comes from respect. I find myself compelled to indisputable loyalty to the one you call your wife. She’s my partner in crime. Tonight, we meet. As I walk down the staircase of our usual venue, it’s escalating desire I feel. I’m attracted to your mind, your heart and the animal that inside you lives. We meet to release the beasts and the outcome of our encounter is already agreed upon. With all our cards on the table, kisses filled with passion and your hands around my face, we greet, the pleasure is all mine, you will be coming home with me tonight.

The other woman. Short-story from “12 o’clock-tales” (The red table & A scared black cat, book adventure)

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