以下为原文
Male Mistresses on the Rise Quietly
Phoenix WEEKLY Official Account
Long ago, when people mention “the third party,” they almost instinctively point to women. In traditional narratives of marriage and romance, men are more often placed in the position of the cheating party or the rival, and rarely seen as the interloper.
But in recent years, an anti-common-sense role has appeared frequently: male third parties.
Not long ago, a husband publicly accused that his marriage was intervened by a highly educated man; the other party knew the wife was married, yet still developed an intimate relationship with her. In another report, a man in a gym publicly defended his rights, accusing a fitness coach of an affair with his wife.
Beyond reality, films and television works have long quietly laid out this kind of relationship. In the domestic drama “Becoming One’s Own Light,” after the male lead falls in love with the married female lead, he tells his friend, “Her marriage is her business; I’m single, I’m qualified to love someone else’s wife.” In another show, “I Know I Love You,” the male lead knows the female lead has a boyfriend, yet confesses to her: “I know there’s already someone by your side, but I still can’t help myself.”
〓 Domestic drama “I Know I Love You” still
In these relationships, the roles are often not equal. Age, resources, and living conditions create a boundary that, at the outset of the relationship, presumes “no need to bear the consequences.” Male third parties often play a “functional” role, sometimes a long-sought passion, sometimes just a temporary escape from reality.
Why do some men choose to become the third party? For them, dating a married woman somehow becomes a seemingly low-risk, low-cost emotional plan.
Ten profiles and three men who have been in such relationships share their thoughts. We are not here to judge right or wrong, but to explore possible answers through their stories.
“I met someone older than me by 12 years on a dating app”
@Lian Wei, 25, shop manager
The year before last, I prepared to study abroad for a “water master’s.” The path ahead was clear; I had just broken up with a girlfriend of three years, and life suddenly felt empty. I vaguely sensed that whatever happened in the months before going abroad would probably be temporary.
It was in this state that I swiped her on the dating app. At 2 a.m., she ranked first, 500 meters away. After matching, we quickly started voice chats; her voice was the kind I liked—mature, a little tired, husky. After less than ten minutes, she said, “I’m 35, quite a bit older than you, right?” Her tone was frank, as if waiting for me to back off. But I stayed; the topic soon drifted into flirtation.
Two hours later, she asked, “Want to meet? I’m at home alone.”
I roughly understood what that meant, but didn’t think it through at the time. I only felt that this thing probably wouldn’t bring me much trouble. She was married, with a child, and I would go abroad in a few months. This asymmetry, paradoxically, made the relationship feel with a boundary. At least at that moment, I comforted myself this way.
〓 Image source online
That night, what needed to happen did happen. I thought this would be a one-off experience not to be mentioned again. But a few days later, I was the first to contact her.
The second time we met, she began talking about trivial daily life: taking the child to the hospital alone, her parents urging her to “put up with it for the child.” I said a few words of useless comfort, but she listened very seriously. At that moment, I realized she didn’t just need physical companionship.
Afterward we met two or three times a week, mostly late at night after the child fell asleep. The relationship was simple: meet, talk, sleep; occasionally watch a movie together, then fall asleep in the middle.
At that time I did not define this relationship as “love.” She never asked me “do you love me” or “what about the future.” In front of her, I did not need to explain, commit, or pretend to be mature. This kind of intimacy without facing the future made me feel relaxed.
Of course there were concerns. Every time I entered the community, I would instinctively scan the surrounding cars; in the living room, there was a photo of her husband, and I tried not to look. But more often, a sense of luck played a role—the husband was thousands of miles away, and I could leave at any time.
This relationship lasted about three months; later, as my going-abroad preparations increased, the meetings naturally decreased. Strangely, even though I had planned to withdraw first, when the countdown began in earnest, I felt an unsettled anxiety I couldn’t articulate. I sent her messages from time to time, and once even went to her neighborhood in the afternoon to see if she could come down.
At first she would respond; later, her replies became shorter and shorter.
A week before departure, we met for the last time. I could clearly feel her unusually silent. When she saw me off, she helped adjust my collar. I blurted out, “Will you wait for me?” She stared at me for a moment, then her eyes became alert and she backed away a half step: “Let’s end it here.”
At that moment, I felt as if I had woken up.
We never contacted each other again. I sometimes think of that last look in her eyes, whether my reluctance was for her, or for that easy state I had with her; I still can’t tell.
〓 Interviewee photo
This relationship indeed affected my later choices in a partner. I am easily attracted to mature women with stories, but I never again fell into a love triangle. Looking back, during that time I needed a kind of intimacy without long-term responsibility, she needed a temporary outlet. We tacitly shared a brief transitional period.
Some relationships are seductive precisely because they cannot last.
“I was the third party to the third party”
@Liu Dong, 30, entertainment operations
I have been a third party twice. The target was the same person.
Before I was 28, I hardly dated. Introverted, not good at socializing, worked backstage in a troupe, life routine. She was the partner’s supervisor, married, efficient, with a family background and education higher than mine, the kind who stands out in any setting. Logically, we should have no intersection.
The first crossing of the line happened after a project celebration. After the event, only the two of us left, riding in the same car. As we approached her home, I said, “Let me escort you home.” At my community gate, I was about to bid farewell; looking at her, I, by instinct, asked, “Come up for a drink? Sleep off the alcohol.”
After saying it, I immediately regretted it. She opened her eyes, looked at me for a few seconds, and nodded. I went blank and brought her upstairs. That night, I clearly knew she had a family and that it shouldn’t continue, but a long-suppressed impulse overruled reason.
Thus we began that relationship. Most of the time, she would come to my north-facing rented room, a shared space, my heart always in my throat, afraid of being seen by roommates. We were indeed seen once; I awkwardly explained it was a colleague. I even seriously considered renting a whole apartment; she listened and said casually, “No need, I won’t come often.”
〓 Interviewee photo
I asked her why she would be with me like this. She thought for a moment and said two words: “Easy.” Then added, “Being with you, not thinking too much.”
Later I realized the weight of these words. In her life, men are often purposeful, calculating, demanding; while I am simple and safe, I don’t ask questions, and I don’t need her to expend extra energy. She rarely asks for anything, yet gives more—she pays for meals, casually gives gifts on holidays, often worth half a month’s salary for me.
At first I resisted, feeling it was inappropriate. But she always said, “Don’t overthink, take it.” After a few times, I stopped resisting, and even began to get used to this state.
Once, needed money urgently at home, I was flustered; the first thought that appeared was, “Will she help me?” I didn’t say it outright, just hinted at my situation. That afternoon, a sum of money far beyond my expectation was transferred. In that moment, I breathed a sigh of relief, yet felt a bit ashamed.
〓 Sister treating Lin Dong to a meal, interviewee photo
This relationship’s “ease of mind” made me increasingly unwilling to face reality. She is even more afraid of exposure than I am; she never asks about my whereabouts, does not demand commitment, and never gets emotional. With her, I do not need to plan the future, nor explain who I am or where I’m going. That ease made me both indulge and feel uneasy.
I never intended to let her divorce, and I knew I could not afford such a life. At first I felt it was flattering to be chosen by her, but later I grew to detest that dependent self who always thought of “solving it with her.”
Family pressure to marry grew stronger; I realized I couldn’t keep going like this. Later I met a college student online, sincere and passionate, and we quickly began a formal relationship. I cut ties with her.
Being with a girlfriend is a completely different experience. Who pays, which movie genre, planning for weekends in advance. She would seriously discuss the future: graduate studies, work, city. Once she excitedly showed me school materials and asked which city sounded good. I gave a half-hearted answer, but inside, I had no interest.
Just as I felt anxious about these questions, at a work event, I ran into her again. A few words of small talk, and that relationship quickly resumed.
I found myself torn: on one side, the richer, more responsible but authentic relationship with a younger girlfriend; on the other, the comforting, no-pressure but illusory solace she offered. The younger girlfriend’s purity made me more guilty; the dangerous relationship, however, became my escape from reality.
〓 TV drama “Daytime Love” still
Whenever my girlfriend trusted me unreservedly and poured her heart out, I felt I did not deserve that purity. Yet on the other hand, being with her was too simple—no future planning, no need to account for whereabouts, not even thinking. That was a sense of “ease” toward reality.
The ending came quickly. My girlfriend discovered it, and everything collapsed. She soon found a new partner, younger than me. When I learned of it, I wasn’t as angry as I had imagined.
Now I’m still single. Family pressure to marry persists, but I’m not in a hurry. I date occasionally, but as soon as the other person starts seriously planning “our” future, I instinctively want to retreat. I am nervous about deep relationships, and wary of relationships that are too easy. To be honest, I have no hope left for love.
“I was the third party of the third party”
@Mai Er, 29, Sales Manager
When this relationship began, I didn’t think I was the “third party.”
My girlfriend had already been involved with a senior in our company before we met. At that time I only vaguely heard some rumors and didn’t attribute them to myself.
That executive, middle-aged, divorced, remarried; his current wife is more than ten years younger. At drinking gatherings, people would half-joke about his private life; his wife even laughed and said, “I am very generous; I allow him to make small mistakes, as long as he doesn’t bring those ‘mistakes’ home.”
My relationship with my girlfriend developed outside of work. She is outgoing, well-off, generous, often inviting colleagues to meals. At first, my impression of her was simple—warm, a bit spoiled, not from my world. We became closer after several dinners; she always pulled me into drinking games, calling me her “golden finger.” When the atmosphere was tense, she would secretly grab my hand under the table.
At first I hesitated. That kind of flirtation excited me, but also made me uneasy.
Later, some details made me suspicious. One time I drove for my boss, and the navigation history stored her home address; a limited-edition perfume entrusted to me by a collaborator appeared on her desk the next day.
After learning these, my initial reaction wasn’t to back off; instead, I felt a complex mix. She was no longer just a “perfect target,” but someone with flaws and risks. I didn’t expose this layer of the relationship; the flirtation instead continued to advance.
Her and the boss’s interaction wasn’t intimate. He was preoccupied with his career and seldom accompanied. She is young, restless, and needs someone by her side. Many times, I just did a few trivial things: carry her bag, remind her to bring water when going out, listen to her repeatedly complain about her ex-boyfriend not being considerate. These things are not laborious, yet quickly bridged the distance.
Knowing this relationship was built on another marriage, I still chose to begin. The reason isn’t noble; besides physical attraction, there is a hidden sense of self-esteem satisfaction—I stood on the same line as someone with status and resources in the industry, and she chose me.
In front of outsiders, we were cautious about this relationship. She rarely mentioned me publicly, and I did not show off in front of colleagues. She probably worried about how to explain to her boss, and my mindset was more complicated: afraid he would know, yet vaguely hoping he would know.
The conflict came when, during a team-building event, in the private room there were only the three of us. The boss looked at us and suddenly asked, “Are you two in a situation?” I denied without much thought. Later she blamed me: “If you had admitted the truth, he wouldn’t bother me anymore.” She described her relationship with the boss as “one-sided harassment.”
That was the first time I felt obvious discomfort. All along I believed I was clear-minded, that I could read her subtle intentions and control the situation. That moment made me realize: she didn’t intend to cut off the old relationship with me; she just wanted the boss to be jealous.
What embarrassed me even more was that I had rehearsed confrontations with the boss in my mind countless times, imagined how I would stand my ground. But when the day came, my first reaction was fear—fear of losing my job, fear of trouble.
〓 TV drama “Daytime Love” still
To my surprise, the boss did not give me a hard time. That sense of being “let go” gave me a misperception that, to some extent, this was tacitly allowed.
Later I realized that if I had to label this relationship, I probably stood in a more marginalized position, like “the third party of the third party.”
This identity is not decent, yet at times it gives me a strange sense of intimacy. We both understand each other’s position, and neither of us is qualified to blame the other.
To some extent, we were more like people on the same boat.
Conclusion
In the stories of the three narrators, no one truly “wins.”
Some filled the void of a transitional period with a secret relationship, some sought a sense of existence within power imbalances, and some used the triangle as a bargaining chip. What they crave may not be love, but an intimacy without responsibility, a sense of being needed.
And when a “third party” becomes a functional solution, perhaps what truly needs to be questioned repeatedly is not who entered whom’s marriage, but why our intimate relationships are increasingly unable to bear the weight of real, equal, and lasting expectations.
Original link: 【一点资讯】男小三，悄然增多 www.yidianzixun.com
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