I Dated Married Men for Many Years. Here's Why

Ironically, I felt that I was finally in control, and psychologically safe, in these circumscribed relationships. I established rules: I had to matter to them emotionally. I never got involved with someone with young kids or a man whose wife I knew. Maybe you think I should have felt guilty. At my core, I’m a woman’s-woman, and I should have worried more about safe sex. But it felt so good to be desired, without strings attached, that I never thought of the consequences.

That came later, when I realized, with biting remorse, how risky my strategy actually was.

Here are a few examples of why I played this game for a while.

Ricky, my age, smart as heck, a high-level political figure, Cool, charming, laugh-out-loud funny. We had dinner at a conference and then he came to my city on business. No wedding ring; I thought we were dating.

Then, he abruptly confessed he was married. He laid out a proposal: 10 percent of his time, his attention, his adoration. I truly didn’t want more, anyway. He set up a secret phone for us. A few months later, on the eve of a proposed romantic weekend, Mr. Ten Percent ghosted me. Next?

A 6’4" neighbor with a sailboat asked me out. A farm boy with a high school diploma, the CIA recruited him due to his technical aptitude. I learned that agents are exceptional liars when my minivan almost plowed through him walking a bulldog while holding hands with another woman. I learned he had gotten married on a Saturday a few weeks before. I checked my calendar; he had begged me to sleep on his boat the night before the wedding. Next?

"MARRY ME AND MOVE TO HAWAII" read the email from Jonathan, a former investment banker who’d been intrigued by a magazine article I wrote. Via email, he was erudite, humorous and kind. I found myself falling for a man I’d never met. After weeks of this “dating,” he asked me to visit. He said his ex-wife would happily vouch for him.

It’s my fantasy to check dating references the way employers check work histories. I called her the next day and explained who I was.

“I’m not Jonathan’s ex-wife,” she said, sighing. “I’m his current wife. Jonathan developed a serious alcohol issue after our daughter was killed in a car accident. He’s not in Hawaii; he’s passed out in our upstairs guest room. I suspect he’s emailing you late at night when he’s in the sauce. I’d be grateful if you took him off my hands.”

Nothing chills one’s ardor as fast as a woman offering you her husband. That was the end of Jonathan.

Maybe you think I’m a bad person. Maybe you see why I found this satisfying. I had been burned in marriage. Men who sported a wedding ring offered excitement, but they could never get close enough to destroy me. Most were frank about being married, clearly had been having affairs for years, and spoke about their wives with affection. They were interested in me, obviously and openly, because they wanted intimacy with an intelligent person who asked nothing of them. Which was all I wanted, too.

Until I fell for Paul, a very tall Navy SEAL I reconnected with at a reunion. In a corner of the school gym, he confided that his wife had cheated on him while he was in Afghanistan. They now utilized a “don’t ask don’t tell” arrangement where both dallied when out of town. “I love my wife, but our marriage died long ago,” he told me. He was an adventurous lover, a thoughtful conversationalist and my heart cracked ajar.

One afternoon, I opened my phone to a string of text vitriol from his wife. She’d discovered he’d been seeing me for six months. Apparently, their marriage was not as open as I’d been led to believe.

As she wrote (without punctuation):

You brazen slut you uterine sock puppet you ugly twat how does it feel to destroy a 33 year marriage Ill break your legs if you ever come near my husband again.

Her wrath stung, and like a kick in my teeth, he suddenly disgusted me. I found my allegiance was to his wife, and to myself, which was fortunate, because Paul did nothing to soften the blow of his deceit. I realized he’d never actually cared for me.

I absorbed this lesson: a person who commits infidelity, at its core, belies deep and blinding self-centeredness. A few months after I’d last slept with Ricky, I unexpectedly stood next to him in an elevator, and he pretended not to know me.

Most of the married men I’d gotten involved with were concerned, exclusively, with their own pleasure and well-being. And what did that say about me?

These realizations obliterated my interest in married men for good. And I stoutly advise other women to avoid them too. This, no matter how lonely we sometimes feel, or how fervently a witty man wearing a wedding ring pleads that his marriage has been sexless for years and you’re such a special woman. It’s not worth the scald that comes from getting involved with someone who thinks of himself first, above everyone else in his life, and then encourages you to do the same.

Obvious, right? I am grateful for this knowledge, although I regret it took me so long to gain it. Older means wiser, and I’m glad to report I’m done with this losing game. Next?

Would you ever date a married man? What do you think of the woman above? Let us know in the comments below.