Sometimes I wonder if my wife knows how lonely a marriage can get. Not the kind of lonely where you're physically apart, but where you're emotionally disconnected. Where conversations become transactional and touch becomes routine.
When I first started seeing escorts, I thought it was purely physical. A transaction. But it's never that simple. Maria, a Brazilian girl I see occasionally in city center, understands something my wife doesn't. She listens. She makes me feel seen in a way that goes beyond physical contact.
I'm not proud of the infidelity. The guilt is real and constant. But there's a raw honesty in these encounters that my marriage lacks. I'm paying for more than sex. I'm paying for understanding, for connection, for a moment where someone is fully present with me.
The economics of this are complicated. I'm not rich, but I budget carefully. Each encounter is a calculated decision. Not just about physical gratification, but about emotional survival. Some months it's a dinner and drinks with an escort. Other months, it's just a brief encounter.
My wife would be devastated if she knew. But would she be more devastated by the sex, or by understanding how emotionally starved I've become?