Paris lover 2

I cannot vouch for the fact that most French married men have a mistress or two. But there are indications that this “practice” is something that is an acceptable secret for most. Ex president Mitterand, for instance, had a mistress with whom he had a daughter that practically represented a public secret during his tenure as president of the Republic. In the US I think this would have been the end of one’s political career! I have also read that certain things could be related to this widespread practice of having mistresses. For instance, the numbers called that are listed on your phone bill normally include only the first 4 numbers with the rest masked by x’s. This way, your partner would not be able to check, I guess, who you’ve been calling at 2 AM! Yeah, right. As luck would have it, in my haste to be Parisian, I met married men who would become intermittent but nonetheless long terms lovers….. Now, how Parisian could you be, I asked myself.

The first man to whom I have been mistress (:-)) for the past six years, has been married for even longer than that. We met on the street in Pigalle as I was rushing to meet a friend at the café Fourmi. We looked at each other, smiled and exchanged phone numbers. I called him after leaving my friend at the café and met him in another café in Stalingrad. Lots of flirts and visits to toilets (with me always backing out because making love in a toilet just made me nervous). Finally we met in a house where a group of his friends lived (to whom he introduced me as someone he had worked with before. The problem was that I had slept with one of them before, which made for a rather uncomfortable situation. Like my then just met lover, he was supposedly straight). I had to wait till 3 AM on the deserted street waiting till his friends went to bed and we could use the kitchen where me made love quietly if urgently. Thereafter we used every corners and nooks we could in Paris to make love: a small secluded park near the canal, a friend of his who loaned us his apartment (he waited in a café below whilst we were there) and even in a sex cinema. Thank goodness I finally found an apartment of my own that made it possible for us to meet. Generally, he calls and I make myself available. But that is the life of a mistress.

In many ways, this type of relationship is exactly what I wanted. There is the romanticism of it all knowing that he is someone that I could not have though I could feel myself falling for him. Like a child that played with a favourite toy that he or she has to return when asked to do so. This makes him the object of my affection for the past 6 years with weekly RDVs that never last more than an afternoon or an evening. In the span of 6 years we cannot help but develop attachment despite the particular circumstance that surrounds our relationship. The RDVs are now punctuated with discussion of our lives. I become familiar with his life despite it being totally detached, yet, very much connected to me via the man that is part of my life for a very long time now. I cannot say if the fact that he is a forbidden garden, at least to me, or the fact that there exist clear limits beyond which each of our lives takes its own direction, or simply our love, is responsible for our long lasting relationship. But a good mistress does not pose too many questions. The least we know the better.