Men like me don’t cheat because we want to destroy our families; we cheat because we’re trying to save them.

I love my wife—or maybe I love what she represents. A picture-perfect partner, the mother of my children, the backbone of the image we’ve so carefully curated. She’s gracious, nurturing, and handles our home with a precision that rivals any CEO. But love? That’s a complicated thing. It’s exhausting pretending to feel something that no longer sparks within me.

Still, she’s important. She keeps the machine running. Without her, the house, the kids, and the veneer of our perfect life would crumble. And let’s not forget the inheritance. That’s a delicate game we’re playing—one she’s already overleveraged by spending money we don’t yet have. Divorce? Out of the question. It would shatter everything we’ve worked for and expose us as frauds.

But what about me? My needs? Men are built differently. We express love with our bodies. We need physical connection, and it’s not just about lust—it’s about feeling seen, powerful, needed. My wife can’t give me that anymore, but my personal, personal secretary? She understands.

She doesn’t nag me to spend more time at home. She doesn’t ask why I’m late. She doesn’t care about my failures as a husband because, frankly, they’re irrelevant to her. With her, I don’t have to pretend. I can be who I really am—primal, dominant, powerful. At home, I’m the dutiful husband. At work, I’m the boss. With her, I’m a god.

She thrives in her role. She likes being a secret—it’s fun for her. And for me, it’s necessary. She satisfies the needs my wife ignores. She gives me physical attention without strings, without expectations of emotional intimacy. She organizes my life in ways my wife never could: ensuring anniversary flowers are delivered, picking out thoughtful gifts for the kids, briefing me on family gossip so I can fake interest at gatherings. She makes me look like the man I’m supposed to be while letting me feel like the man I want to be.

And yes, my wife has almost caught me. The residual perfume on my clothes, the freak accident scratches on my back, the empty hangers in my closet—she’s not stupid. But she won’t leave. She can’t. We both know the stakes are too high. If I’m caught I lose my marriage, my reputation, my career, so much.

So, I keep both worlds balanced: one for show, the other for necessity. One where I’m the devoted husband, the perfect father, the respectable man everyone admires. The other where I’m untamed, unburdened, and worshipped.

I need her. Both of them. One for the world, the other for myself. Is it selfish? Perhaps. But it’s survival. It’s how I hold everything together while keeping myself intact.

————————————————————— Let’s push the limits. Maybe you want more attention. Maybe you come to my house after dinner just before bed. I think u are crazy! My wife just finished her wine and is getting ready for bed. Will I invite you in anyway? Will we risk it?