Last night I met a friend for a drink, she was in a confused state after having received an unexpected phone call earlier that day from a man she'd had a brief relationship with a number of years ago. It was a casual call, enquiring about her well being and suggesting they met for a drink. They chatted briefly, lamenting about the inclement weather and asking about each others personal health and happiness. She declined his offer of a drink, wrapped up the conversation and bid farewell.
Nothing strange about that, you would think. Why, if anything, the ex in question appears to be demonstrating goodwill and high spirits. And usually I would agree, however, on this occasion, sadly you'd be wrong. The caller in question had a significant other to speak of, namely, a wife.
Wives, it would seem, can be pesky things for men to have around at times. Fairly useful at christenings, and family get-togethers, not so much when they fancy letting their hair down and having no questions asked sex on demand.
My friend was in a quandary as to what to do in the situation. She had feelings (read - great sex) for the husband in the past and was considering, in a moment of pre-summer boredom, re-lighting the flames of the affair.
I like to think of myself as a reasonably non-judgemental person and before I decided to remind her that screwing a man with a wife who doesn't call you for three days at a time is one thing, screwing a man with a wife who hasn't called you for three years doesn't make you sloppy seconds, it makes you regurgitated doner kebab after 18 pints of lager. I thought that I would do some market research on the subject. Apparently, there are advantages to having an affair with a married man. Including:
Great sex.
One would hope. Please, ladies, if your'e going to be an after thought, make sure there is some decent bonking thrown in the mix.
Illicit excitement and stolen moments of passion.
In the side alley/ pay per hour hotel/ back seat of a car/ Starbucks toilet. After all, who needs a bed when you can spend half an hour on your knees in somebody else's piss. Whoever said romance was dead?
You can relax knowing that you'll never have to worry about him being too nice.
In fact, could there be a more ideal situation for women who like their men with a bit of an edge? Anyone who recoils at the idea of being smothered by a man, may I suggest having an affair immediately. A married man will only ever call you when he wants a blow job or to shout at you for texting him after 6pm the night before. Problem solved! No more Mr Nice Guy.
You don't have to worry about getting him to commit.
Oh, except the ones who have been 'living separate lives for years and don't even sleep in the same bed anymore'. Yep, and a lifetime of commitment and loyalty are just around the corner, but in the meantime, get on your knees love, there's a good girl.
You dont have to worry about him making you his number one priority.
Christmas? Weddings? Plus ones at friend's birthdays? Phone calls after a bad day at work? Pah! Why would you want moral support and an honest, open relationship when you could have a new pair of crotchless knickers once a month and a quick shag on your lunch break for half an hour every fortnight? Tsk ... no contest!
An affair fills a void of loneliness while still allowing you space.
You're lonely? Join a book group. An affair doesn't give you space, it just means that you spend a significant part of your waking existence staring at a phone while he spends a significant part of his existence getting/thinking/telling all his buddies about extra marital blow jobs. This will not give you space, it will turn you into Glenn Close ... with a drink problem.
So there we have it. My advice to my friend in a quandary? Crack on if you're bored, if you don't mind being a three year old after thought and you're fully aware that your talent for giving head is about the deepest thing that will ever come from the relationship.
Affairs can be fun. They can also give you really pissy knees, lock jaw and another Christmas day solo at your parents' house.
Don't say I didn't warn you.