An Adulterer's Inventory

I slept with women I would not have found attractive today. I slept with women I did not love--and wouldn't look at twice today. I lied to women who loved me and trusted me. I have played the part of a trusting man while on the prowl for a side piece. This is not a dick swinger's chronicle, a "nice guy's confession," or testimony to Jesus for forgiveness. I hope to impart my wisdom while also coming to terms with my past and banishing the ghosts that still haunt my life.

It might sound cliché, but my marriage fizzled. Sex started with a bang, no pun intended, but then after the kids were born, the weight gain, the bills, long work days, and vanilla sex every three or four months, we stopped doing it. I can't point to one moment in time. We just stopped. I stopped looking at my wife with desire and longing, and I hated that. Moreover, I hated what that said about me, about her, about our marriage we built and the silence we let grow between us. Thus, I did what 55% of all other American Men do. I turned to porn for a sexual outlet. It began out of frustration. My wife fell asleep on one of the evenings we penciled in "sex." She did that a lot, and instead of telling her it bothered me, I let it go and retreated to the bathroom with my phone. I watched porn four or five times a week. I vividly remember looking forward to "jerking off" to whatever adult actress, fantasy, or fetish beckoned my attention at the moment. On the rare occasion, my wife and I coupled, I timed watching porn to get hot and bothered so I could have sex with my wife. My tastes for porn got more "sensational," however, that is a discussion for another time. For me, porn and masturbation stopped satisfying me. I wanted the real thing. That's when I found Ashley Madison and Tinder.

I became a quick learner of the hustle on those sites. I met a lot of women. When I matched with a woman, I felt "special" and "wanted." Most matches did not lead to sex, but when they did, I felt whole again. This made me feel like the man I used to be. Honestly, I was never that man. My self-esteem propped itself up on the lie and the double life I began to lead. I met women my age, younger, and older. Ironically, I never lied about being married. Women knew they were getting involved with a married man. Over seven years, I participated in several affairs, situationships, FWBs, and ONS. Guilt, self-loathing, and denial, mixed with ego and self-aggrandizement, became everyday feelings for me.

The Price I Paid

I told myself, "It's just fucking." I met married and single people willing to validate me. No harm. No guilt. No consequences. We were all consenting adults. We all had our reasons — or at least our excuses. I sacrificed my masculinity for sex and attention. Afterward, always the same: guilt, shame, and the slow creep of fear. I wasn’t just afraid of getting caught. I was afraid of being known. During sex, I wondered if my wife knew what I was up to. No warm feelings or intimacy washed over me while I lay with my affair partner. When I got home from acting out, my daughters asked me where I had been, and I lied with "I was at the gym" or "I was helping a friend work on his car." Truthfully, I looked at my daughters and dreaded that they would marry a man who cheated on them. I would kill the man who might break their hearts, but here I was breaking their mother's heart.

This is my inventory. Not all of it. But enough for today. I’ll be back soon — with more. Not because I want to relive it. But because maybe my wreckage can build a map for someone else.