I Wanted to Cheat on My Wife

This article is part of a series. To read the first part, click on the following link: My Wife Didn’t Desire Me

I never thought it could happen to me.

Not to me.

I’ve always seen myself as a faithful guy. Stable. Responsible. Married for 12 years. Two kids. A house. A normal life.

And yet.

The Lausanne - Yverdon Train

It was a Tuesday. Late afternoon. I was heading home from the office. Tired. As usual.

She was sitting across from me. A colleague. We were talking about a case. Nothing special. And then there was a moment. A look that lasted a little longer than usual.

I remember that moment very clearly. The train was moving. The windows reflected our faces slightly. She smiled at me. Not a polite smile. An open one. And I felt something. A possibility. Like a door slightly ajar.

I’m not saying she wanted something. Maybe I’m projecting. But in that instant, I felt that it was possible.

And it felt good.

It scared me, too.

What I Was Really Looking For

At that time, I felt invisible at home.

My wife was exhausted. The kids took up all the space. Evenings were logistical. Not sensual.

I was masturbating more often. Fantasizing about acquaintances. About women I passed on the street. I’m not proud to write that. But it’s the truth.

I felt a quiet anger. A sense of abandonment. Sometimes I thought my wife was selfish. It’s unfair, I know. But I thought it.

I kept asking myself: why do I have to pretend everything’s fine? Why is my need secondary?

And on that train, sitting across from that colleague, I felt one very simple thing: I’m still attractive.

It wasn’t just sexual. It was validation. Proof that I hadn’t become invisible.

The Messages

After that train ride, we exchanged a few messages. At first professional. Then a little less so.

Nothing explicit. But there was ambiguity. A light tension.

I knew I was playing with something.

One evening, I suggested we grab a drink.

I remember typing the message. Rereading it. Deleting it. Rewriting it.

When she replied, “With pleasure,” I felt a mix of excitement and panic.

The Moment I Understood

I didn’t cheat on my wife.

But I was ready to.

And that shook me.

The night of the drink, I looked at myself in the mirror before leaving. I thought about my children. My wife. What I was risking. And I realized I wasn’t looking for another woman. I was trying not to feel rejected anymore.

I asked myself what I was really missing. It wasn’t just sex. It was the feeling of being desired. Of being chosen.

I wanted to prove to myself that I could still spark something in someone.

And I realized something hard: if I crossed that line, it wouldn’t be out of love. It would be out of hurt.

Temptation as a Symptom

What struck me was that this temptation appeared precisely when I felt most fragile.

Less sure of myself. Less confident. Less desired.

The temptation wasn’t the cause of my problems. It was the symptom.

I could have crossed the line. Many do. I don’t judge.

But that night, I saw that I was capable of putting my marriage at risk just to soothe a wounded ego.

And that was more disturbing than the drop in libido itself.

What It Says About Me

It says that I’m not above that.

It says that frustration can make you blind.

It also says that I didn’t want to lose my wife. Or my children. Or my life.

I understood that if I kept staying silent, bottling things up, pretending it didn’t affect me, I would eventually look elsewhere.

And it wouldn’t be a story of passion. It would be an escape.

I’m not proud of that period. But it forced me to see something: the problem wasn’t just her libido. It was the gap that was growing between us.

That day, on that train between Lausanne and Yverdon, I felt that I could slip.

And it’s probably what pushed me, a few weeks later, to agree to see a sex therapist.

Marc

My name is Marc. I’m 42 years old. I’ve been married for 12 years. I have two young children. And I’m a normal man who suffered deeply from no longer feeling desired by his wife.After years of feeling like I was wandering through a desert, I can finally say that things are better. And I’d like to share what I’ve learned from that experience.

This text was originally written in French. It was then translated to be readable in your language.

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