Being the other women is not an accomplishment, it’s a chore…It requires more of you…

More that you’re willing to know.
The other woman…

A tangled Web an older man weaves

His eyes are piercing, so focused. He doesn’t blink. He looks into the depths of your soul as if he knows every little secret. It’s almost as though he sees right through you. He sees the way you vacillate between your choices, the way you pretend to be so damn sure of yourself while toting your cute work satchel, walking up the stairs to your cubicle in your very sensible heels. Your fake-it-til-you-make-it game is strong, but he pokes holes through your facade.

He has twenty years on you. While he lets you think you’re making all of the rules and setting the pace of this unfolding game you’re playing with him through flirty emails and work lunches that hint at something more, the truth is, he has you figured out. As frustrating as this is, to constantly be one step behind a man who appears to consistently make power plays, it’s thrilling. Because each time you attempt to outsmart him, you wonder what it would feel like to surrender. You’re curious. You want to know what would happen if you suspended all logic and let him call the shots. How would it feel to let him show you tonight what it will take men your age years to master? Because the truth is, deep down inside, not only do you want him, you want to be him. You watch the way he wields his power in his corner office on the floor above you and wonder, “What does it feel like to be so confident, so sure?”

You look at those delicate flecks of gray in his beard, betraying his very youthful eyes and smile, and picture him doing very adult and very naughty things to you. The rational, safe girl you’ve always been is slowly being eclipsed by the daring woman you think you want to become.

And then you remember: his daughter could practically be your sister, as you’re just a mere nine years apart in age. And even though he claims his relationship with his wife is strained, he is still very married, albeit unhappily. If you wanted something more (and you can already tell you would – those hands indicate that this man has all of the right weaponry), you could not have it. Because the fact of the matter is, affairs are ugly, divorces are messy, and eventually, you’ll get tired of only being able to call and text him during designated hours. There would be no picking up takeout, enjoying his company without restrictions, and lazily waking up to each other in the morning. He made his choices, he made his commitments, well before you were even old enough to legally drink.

So here you are, stopping this budding attraction before it goes too far, because you know that in the end, it’s you, the potential young mistress, who will lose. And while this small remnant of power is satisfying, the fantasy is always more compelling.


Originally posted on From A Wildflower

Is This Really The End? (part 6)

No joy comes from being the other woman.
Lust will never be enough to sustain you.


You beg and plead. I even have you on your knees But that won’t change my mind. She needs to know EVERYTHING!!

You get angry. A volcano of emotions explode all over your body. Trying to scare me with your Hulk like anger. Baby you wouldn’t even harm a fly. What makes you think you would lay a hand on me?

[Remember when you’d strut around like a god? When the world was at your feet and what you desired, you got. Your gloating to your homies- you got them both. Puny god…]

You gather your stuff and leave like a wounded puppy.

I’m left alone with my thoughts. I’m ready to tell. I want her to know about our sins and secrets. This heavy load on my shoulders is weighing me down. Am I ready to ruin our friendship? I’m not ready to cast dark clouds over HER happy…

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Confessions of A Side Chick. . .





You probably don’t remember the first day we met…


Standing behind me,

In the line of the club,

With your shadow all over my back.

Your girl’s name rolling off the tip of your tongue-

During your annoying conversation,

But you can’t figure out how to ignore me,

Because I’m walking, breathing temptation… 

With frequent giggling in between –

Ohhhh, how I wish you would both shut up

{and focus on}

My ass filling each air bubble

Between Me and my ‘oh so tight’ freakum dress.  


Looking like an unavoidable Thirst Trap,

Continuously tossing and flipping my hair…

Finding angles that could navigate my ass to your head,

Just to estimate the amount of endurance

I’d be able to contain

Whilst you’re tugging on my hair-

Expressing aspects of pleasure or pain.


Couple of weeks down,

No wifey around your arm,

Just a vulnerable – umarked you

And a Pack of your boys-

Boy what would I do without your Jokers?

Telling you to try yourself out,

Indulge in a little more Goose,

And let the urge to fight temptation loose…

Loose like my waist on your pelvis.

Dirty dancing more potent than the drink in my cup.

Subtle whispers in my ear,

Like you need me.

Sounding like me when I make Lean Inspired Calls

To the asshole who

And activated my whore’ish ways.

I had a short dress on,

Which was easy to rip off,

And memories waiting to be erased.

Your tongue rolling up and down my navel,

Followed by deep stokes of breath taking penetration.

Barely realising that you never looked me in the face,

And that you missed my lips,

And nibbled on my neck instead.

So blinded by sex,

I didn’t see you in the morning.

Hec, how did I even get to my bed?



Parallely touching my bed,

Defying all the laws,

Even those of gravity.

Far from grounding thoughts in my head.

Longing for someone to hold me down,

Spank me, satisfy, stimulate, arouse and pull my hair.

With no intentions of being cuffed,

      Just dying to be tied.      


I get a text that reads:


Unknown number,

No signage at the end,  

I just knew it was you-

Your voice resignates in my dreams,

I memorised your tone so well during sex,

That I could hear it in a text.

I move faster than the speed of your favorite superhero

On your childish bed.

Upside down irony,

Unbeknown to me,

That you’re Captain Save a Hoe. 


Lips lined with your girl’s favorite MAC.

Being disrespectful enough to remark her territory…

Hoping my smell would linger on you

Like a layer of your very own skin.

I want her to smell me on you.

I want her to feel insignificant,

Especially when the lights turn off.


When she accuses you of cheating,

She should know that you associate yourself with girls like me…

Girls with the same colour lipstick she uses to kiss you goodnight.  


She couldn’t prove a thing though,

Little did she know,

Whenever I called;

She would hand you the phone,

In exchange for a gun,

Because you saved my number as

I.C.E Mom

[In Case of Erection,  My Orgasm Mistress]


Your long arms lock me in like seat belts,

Til now, I’ve never known how sweet kisses felt,

In the mist of the heated passion,

I vow that I’ll live in your sheets for eternity.

Use me.

Abuse me.

Let your untruthful kisses wrap me in.

I’m not good at standing still,

But I’ll keep my feet cemented if you let me in.

You’re everything bad,

Without any of the good.


And I know when you walk back into her room,

Her bed greets you like a criminal in a line up,

Because mine does too. 

So we sleep on the floor instead,

But in parallel universes.

I swear they can feel your fingerprints on my bed.            

The heavy fabric of sex lingers all over…

A dead give away.

But we cover it with sweet kisses and endless lust.

Still hoping we can do it all over again.


Doing everything within my power

To make this ‘Side’ relationship your comfort zone.

Trying not to weigh you down

With all my baggage of emotion.

So that you can consider Me,

If you ever had the option.  


Upon her arrival,

You stay on the floor,

Because her bed is too holy for you to lay on.

She slips in the covers,

Feeling light years apart-

The distance between you;

Measured more in feelings than in feet,

And time?

In the number of hours you kiss another woman and actually telling her…

And she could feel it.

A deep, encompassing pain

Lingering on every part of her,

As if it were swallowing her up. 

And I bet when she assumed you were entangled in deep sleep,

You heard the pain in her chest-

Struggling to breathe,

Unable to move her lungs.

You couldn’t help but feel the guilt.

Knowing that our pleasure is causing her

So – Much – Pain.


She knew she had competition…

She didn’t give up easily though,

She had a spirit of a fighting tiger.

When dawn fell,

She tried everything she could in her power

Before both arms of the clock,

Stood upright like your cock. 

So shocked by her gesture

(especially when she dropped down on her knees and did the same thing that I do, that you love)

You didn’t even warn her when you were about to cum.

You just left your kids to swim to the back of her gums…


Drowning in your insecure subconscious, you couldn’t help but blurt out 




Because when one is guilty,

They can’t help but shift the blame when given a chance.


She doesn’t even bother answering your question.

Instead she asks you

If you noticed the fake smile on her lips?

The forced laugh she has adapted to?

And the way she no longer cares about those she used to love?

And how misery now fits her happiness like a glove?


But none the less,

As our relationship grows deeper,

I see no signs of you leaving her.

Silent frustration begins to kick in.

I begin to wonder what’s so special about her…

Why can’t you just walk away?

I couldn’t help but become obsessed with her.

Stalking her network, more than I did your page,

Tryna figure out her net worth.

Because I could clearly see that you wanted to be with me.    


I could have gotten affirmation from

Other guys that actually wanted to be with me,

But instead,

I considered the opinions of the boys beside me,

Tryna get inside me.    


The pain of loving you; The Forbidden Fruit was,

It didn’t matter to me

That you treated me like a Princess at the table,

And a Mistress between the sheets,

It just made me feel a lil shit that you never held my hand in public…


Thing is…

I know what your girl is going through,

Because I’m just a reincarnated version of her.

I’m all the best bits with none of the stress. 

Reality and fantasy, both in indestress, 

Because at my lowest?

Someone once told me to drop the good act…

That I can get into relationships with men,

If I really wanted them.

I just have to deal with the fact that I might not be the only one. 

I know I’ve been side-chicked once upon a time,

But I was the accidental kind,

I hadn’t done my homework,

I failed to see that the one I thought was the one

Had many other ones.

I settled for his vague answers,

And didn’t probe that much.  

I just wanted to know

How it feels like being on the other side of the sheet.

I must admit,

I still feel cheap.

If it’ isn’t scraps of love,

It’s second hand lust I receive.

I had my heart open,

Like a church on Sunday.

My legs parted for this guy,

Like the Red Sea did for Moses.


All I ever got were empty promises,

A dozen roses

And cheap oil based perfume

That smelled like a Damsel in distress.


So I stopped chasing monogamous commitment,

And started taking whatever I could get,

Even if it meant being second best. 


i battle with the self-esteem issues.

I place myself in positions where i readily and greedily accept less than l deserve.

Sadly, my mindset has adapted to these situations.


Day by day,

I console myself with the thought that you really want to be with me,

You’re just thoughtful enough to break it down to your girl gently and at the right time and I understand that all this takes time. . .

♥ Kamiz