God, You Are So 24!

One of the ugly truths about older successful men in finance is that despite having lavish homes, gorgeous wives, a few adorable kids and multi-million dollar bank accounts, they often yearn for more. “More” may be a distraction as innocuous as golf.  It could also be a darker vice—gambling, drugs or prostitutes a la Spitzer. Unfortunately, it is rare man, rich or poor, that can withstand the temptation of forbidden fruit. That’s where I come in. My name is “Courtney” and I’m the other woman.

My married man’s (let’s name him “Charles”) Achilles’ heel is having a Mistress.  Definition: a young, attractive woman who offers love and affection along with kinkiness in the bedroom.  Charles treats me just as well as, if not better than, many of the unmarried bankers I’ve dated in the past. I would call myself his “girlfriend” in the sense that I receive constant attention via text messages, emails and phone calls, fabulous vacations while he is on “business trips” and a never ending supply of gifts, gourmet meals and affection. I get all this AND I get to leisurely continue to date in search of my own Mr. Right. Win-win, don’t you think? I certainly did… until the mortgage meltdown.

Suddenly, I found myself being taken out less and less frequently. A recent argument went along these lines:

Me *pouting*: You haven’t taken me on a trip since we went to Bermuda in September. What’s going on?

Charles: Honey, finances are tight right now so my wife has taken it upon herself to check up on all of our accounts.  She will notice any big expenditures.

Me *cute voice*: Wellllllllllllll, what are you going to do to make it up to me?

Charles: Can we talk later sweetheart? I’m really busy right now.

Me: No. Give me an answer NOW. Don’t you realize what you have? I’m way too hot to be treated like this. (Disclaimer: Yes, I come across as bratty here, but it typically works when trying to get something out of him)

Charles *yelling for the first time in our almost two-year relationship*: I’VE GOT TO FIRE TWENTY PEOPLE BY THE END OF THE WEEK. Z has four kids, X just had a baby girl, Y just sent his son to college and I’ve got to get rid of two of those guys… and you’re complaining about vacations and dinner? God, you are so 24! GROW UP!

Me *stunned*: Okie dokie, let’s talk later lover.

He apologized a few hours later.  He promised my age was one of the things that endears me to him the most, but that I just don’t understand the tremendous amounts of pressure he is under right now. Fair enough. But damn, it’s tough to date a banker, even for the girl on the side.

-“Courtney’s” story, as retold (almost verbatim) by the DABA Girls.