Inside the Guilty Mind of The Other Woman

By Genevieve Field

We all have an image of the other woman in our heads: the calculating predator who moves in on happily coupled men. The cloistered, diamond-draped mistress. The office sexpot who's always just a little too close to your guy at his holiday party. She's a staple of novels, movies, tabloids, even history books—from the restless Emma in Madame Bovary to Fatal Attraction's bunny boiler to, most recently, Eliot Spitzer's hotel call girl. And if you've never seen it, go YouTube the legendary clip of Marilyn Monroe purring "Happy Birthday, Mr. President" to her rumored lover, J.F.K. That's the other woman as we usually imagine her.

For most, the idea of borrowing or stealing another woman's man is unthinkable. And that's exactly why the OW is such an object of fascination: Why does she do it? Does she want to get caught? How does it feel to be her? Full confession: I was an OW years ago, and I can tell you it felt destructive, decadent, impossible, inevitable. And it was also lonely. Every day I vowed to end the damage I was inflicting on my life, his life, her life … But then he'd pull me into bed and my good intentions would fall away as quickly as our clothes. The highs of loving someone you can never see enough of (and thus never get tired of) are downright addictive.

Why am I admitting to being a former man stealer, home wrecker, [insert unflattering noun here]? It's not something I normally broadcast. But somehow, after interviewing the women you're about to meet, my past doesn't seem so shameful. We all can learn from our mistakes. So here you go: seven true stories of heartbreak, hijinks and huge life lessons told by OWs (whose names and identifying details have been changed—you'll see why!) and the women whose relationships OWs have rattled. Decide for yourself, but I'll bet you'll find these other women aren't so "other" after all.

I was the other woman—and I got pregnant with his twins
At 25, after divorcing my husband of only a year, I met a man who made me feel alive again. Unfortunately he was married. I fought off sleeping with him for months, but eventually I did. At the time I was very thin and not having regular periods, so I was shocked to find out three months into the affair that I was pregnant—with twins, no less! What had I done?

I gave birth with a friend by my side instead of the father, who by that time wasn't part of my life. I felt greatly remorseful and believed I'd been given my due: The children were a blessing, of course, but raising them by myself sometimes felt like a punishment. I'd grown up in a Christian family, and I felt like I had a scarlet A on my chest. Maybe that's why, years later, when he called to say he'd gotten divorced, I let him back into our lives.

It was hard, but we were trying—until I found out that he was seeing someone on the side. I'd gone from being the other woman to being cheated on, just as my friends had predicted. These days, he visits our daughters, but we're over. I learned that two clichés are true: What comes around goes around, and a leopard never changes its spots. —TERRI, 35

I joined forces with his other girlfriend
The entire time I dated a guy I'll call Hef—yes, after that Hef—he insisted on keeping me a secret. He said his "crazy" ex would hunt me down if she knew anything about me. At first, I had no reason not to trust him. But before long he told me about other girls he was seeing. Why did I put up with it? I guess because it was a hard time in my life and I was down in the dumps. Besides, he assured me that I was his "alpha dog" (I know—ick). Eventually, though, I felt strong enough to tell him our relationship was over, and I moved on.

A few months later I heard that Hef  had actually proposed to one of his supposed on-the-side girls. I was hurt, so I decided to reach out to his "crazy" ex to get her perspective on the situation. Turned out they'd been together the whole time we were, and he'd told her that I was the crazy one. We'd both been played. After that first meeting she and I stayed in touch, and now we're good friends. And we eagerly await the day he sees the two of us together. Hopefully at his wedding reception, which we fully intend to crash. —ESTHER, 23

I caught my boyfriend in bed with another woman
My boyfriend and I had been together seven years when I unlocked the door to his apartment with the key he had given me and saw him, a tangle of limbs with another woman! He didn't even get up; he just froze, staring at me. I stared back in shock, then left—but not before opening a drawer and taking a pair of socks and a bottle of perfume. I have no idea why!

I never spoke to my boyfriend again. I was heartbroken then, but today I can tell you that while the experience was horrible, it was also one of the best things that has ever happened to me. That *&%#! was no good, and everyone had seen it but me. Every day I thank God—and weirdly, that naked woman, whoever she was—for that moment! —JENNIFER, 29

I was a married-man magnet
From ages 23 to 25, I attracted nothing but married men. I didn't seek them out,
but I realize now that I gave off a "come hither and I won't ask for much" vibe because I didn't feel worthy of real love.

It started with The Lawyer. I didn't know he was married, but I wasn't looking for clues that he was, so I guess I was in denial. After a few months, I got an angry e-mail from a woman who said she was his wife. He claimed it was just a prank, but I did a little sleuthing. Turned out she was his other mistress, who was pregnant and trying to get The Lawyer's wife to divorce him! I told him it was over.

But two years later, during a low point in my life, I reconnected with him. Only this time, I was seeing other people as well—two hunky, unreliable workaholics who were good distractions. And guess what? Both of them turned out to be married too. I was miserable. Finally a girlfriend told me something that turned my life around. She said, "Every woman deserves to be loved exclusively." Simple words, but I took them to heart. I had to let go of these married guys and get emotionally healthy. So I got counseling, stopped partying so much and started dating nicer men. One of them became my husband two years ago. After years of compromising, I'm in a relationship that's sure and steady. And that's how I feel about myself now, too. —NATASHA, 35

I was his secret office fling; now we're married
Todd and I started out as work friends—he had a serious girlfriend—but it quickly turned into a major flirtation: e-mails, meetings after work, lunches together. I still remember the day we were driving back from one, and he put his hand on my knee. It sounds corny, but I swear it was electrifying. Nothing else happened until a few weeks later, when I couldn't help myself: I gave him a hug, which led to a kiss, which led to a full-on make-out session. Before long, we were sneaking off together whenever we could possibly get away. We were both racked with guilt. I never thought I'd be "that" kind of girl, and he was really a good guy—really! And he still cared deeply for his girlfriend. We just couldn't stop. Not for anything. I pushed my guilt aside with that classic justification: If he were happy with her, he wouldn't be playing with me, now would he?

We carried on this way—secretive looks across the office, racing to meet at "our spot," laughing off colleagues' comments—for a year. Then one weekend, I went on a trip with another guy, and all I could think about was how much I wished he were Todd. As soon as I got home, I told Todd I loved him and wanted to be with only him. The way he looked at me, I could tell he felt the same. The following week he broke up with his girlfriend; she never knew about us, and I'm happy about that. I don't think anything good could have come from her knowing.

Four years later, we got engaged. We've now been married for more than two years, and have worked through our guilt over how we started. And despite what people may think, I don't consider for even a nanosecond that Todd would cheat on me. There's just too much history, love and potential for it to be worth it. And those are his words. —LISA, 36

I was the other woman—with a woman

Three years ago, I became the other woman. The twist in my case is that my lover was married to a man. I'm a lesbian; she's bisexual, and her husband said he understood her need to sometimes be with women. His one caveat: He didn't want her to fall in love with one. But she did, with me. From the beginning of the affair, she told me she would never leave him, and while I'd been fine with that at first, a year in I realized I loved her too much to share her. It's too hard to be the "other"—too draining, too negative.

One night, after she left my bed at 3 A.M., I realized I had to let her go. Otherwise, it would drag on, in all of its wrenching ambivalence, for years. My lover had needed me, a woman, to make her feel whole. But I didn't feel whole without having her completely. And so I let her go. My affair was the most selfish thing I've ever done. Giving it up might have been the bravest. —SANDRA, 38