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Why I'll never regret my affair with a married man

According to a new book, the peak age for men to commit adultery is between 55 and 65, while for women it is 40 to 45. While research by Illicitencounters.com, the UK’s leading extra-marital dating website, found that 2016 was the biggest year ever recorded for affairs. 

Here, one anonymous woman who became involved with a married man in her late thirties explains how it happened and why she doesn't regret a thing...

I never thought I’d fall for a married man. Aged 37, I had seen marriages torn apart by infidelity - those of friends and my own. I knew the stabbing pain of the man you love straying and had seen first hand how hearts can be broken with a single indiscretion. In that light, my own misstep was worse. 

The man seated to my right at a friend’s dinner party was more than a decade older than me. He was definitely married but, on looking closer, he was like a dog with burs in its coat or a horse with untrimmed hooves. He looked unloved and somehow abandoned.

We had a lot in common: we both loved film and he had a seemingly endless knowledge of good books that whetted my curiosity. I had fully intended to speak to the person sat on my left when the main course was served. It was only when pudding was brought to the table that I became aware of other guests glaring at us - especially his wife. Promising to send me a list of reading recommendations, we parted.

By morning, I knew that I had to be with him - no matter who got hurt. Not to have him as my lover would destroy me

I sat in my car for an hour before driving home. The feeling of something ineluctable descended and I knew I was in the kind of trouble that I had never been in before. Then I gave myself a reality check. Wasn’t I getting carried away? After all, we’d only just met. It was likely he wouldn’t get in touch at all.

Over the next few weeks, he sent me hundreds of pounds worth of books - all the ones we’d talked about. We met for coffee, then lunch. We were “friends” for two years until, at last, I told him that I found him attractive. 

“Sleep with me,” he said. “In a month’s time. Think about it.” 

“I don’t touch maried men,” I said, “Not even you.” 

A few weeks later, I agreed to meet him at a hotel in central London. I thought that because of his age, it would be a one-off. Sex breaks more relationships than it makes, I reassured myself. I foresaw half-an-hour of apologies, embarrassment and backing out. 

By morning, I knew that I had to be with him - no matter who got hurt. Not to have him as my lover would destroy me.

We spent 18 months sneaking around, hiding in pubs, airport hotels and dark restaurants; snogging in his car, his office and holiday home, until finally, his wife found out in the most cliched way possible. Pulling hotel receipts from his shirt pockets (when did she start doing the laundry again?) he was confronted and fled to me.

In many ways, I regret what I’ve done. I regret hurting his wife but she shouldn’t have - as I put it - “left the keys in the car”. She should have loved him more. She should have valued him. 

I regret robbing the children of their father but they are, actually, grown up and all married themselves. I regret the financial ruin he anticipates were to divorce - which I hope he will. 

I regret the impact on my friends, several of whom dropped me after telling me what they thought of me. My parents went ominously silent on the subject, with my mother telling me to be “careful”. My siblings too looked disappointed and the whole subject of my personal life became off-limits.

But I don’t regret taking him as my lover and I never will.