I never thought I'd be the type of man who'd see escorts. Fifteen years of marriage and suddenly here I am, living this double life in a small city where everyone knows your business. Margaret and I haven't been intimate in years. She'll tell you it's menopause, I know it's just that she's stopped caring.
The first time was nerve-wracking. I was sweating just booking the appointment. But that first encounter... it was like remembering who I was before becoming just 'Dad' and 'husband'. Not just a functional body paying bills, but a man with desires.
I'm not proud of the lying. I'm not proud of the sneaking around. But I'm also not willing to just accept a sexless existence. What's the alternative? Divorce? Break up my family? Over physical intimacy? It feels ridiculous.
Small town problems mean I'm always looking over my shoulder. Can't risk running into someone I know. Can't risk Margaret finding out. The guilt is real. But so is the need for human connection.
Some nights after an encounter, I feel almost normal again. Alive. Remembered.