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After a long pause, I got her only thought: "No, I get it," she said emphatically. But it's kinda like asking the newly vegetarian fox to guard the henhouse, isn't it? I worked hard to become the embodiment of seduction." I thought about it, and unfortunately her statement wasn't too far from the truth. To quickly read the spoken and unspoken clues of what a woman was looking for in a man, and then give her the perception I was that guy.There were redundancy problems at work; my marriage was showing strains; and there was something large and unnameable missing from my life.I ignored it until I could do so no longer, until eventually, for what felt like the sake of my sanity, I resolved to do something about it.Letting go of such intoxicating nourishment seems unimaginable.

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While my husband spent most evenings catching up on the horse racing he'd recorded over the weekend, I began perusing chatrooms – not in pursuit of cybersex necessarily, but initially more for harmless flirtation, a little virtual attention.

And it's easy to grow apart because you're not sharing day-to-day life.

That said, I know people who had HUGE distances between them and survived that and ended up committed and together.

Soon, I was spending hours in the parallel universe of cyberspace, often through wonderfully wide-awake nights, uninhibited in a way I never could be in reality.

I told no one, immersed and isolated in my secret life. In moments of fleeting clarity, I wanted to understand what was happening to me. Was it just my marriage problems, or was there something deeper causing me to behave that way?

So began the pitch I gave my wife to let me join the marrieds-looking-for-affairs website Ashley Madison.

It would be part of my research into women who cheat, why infidelity is increasing, and what can be done to possibly affair-proof a marriage.

These addictive love chemicals feel so good that it's difficult for you to even imagine ending contact with your friend.

Your connection feels genuine and even life-sustaining.

I met all sorts of people, from all over the world, older and younger, and each seemingly as desperate for a true connection as I. Should I be blaming my mother, or my – mostly absent – father for feeling that something was eternally missing? I was born to a woman that didn't much want children, and who fell foul to postnatal depression a good couple of decades before the term was even coined.

And for a while at least, it all felt harmless and innocent, and fun. My father leaving didn't help, and for the first six months of my life I was placed with a notional "auntie", a family friend who became my surrogate mother throughout my childhood.