But men don't cheat because they can. Men cheat because they must, because they need to. This is the male struggle. Need compels us to try again. Because copulation is not in any way about fate. It is not about two individuals destined to meet on some dark night. It's about random collisions.

And I know, believe me I know, that hell truly hath no fury like a woman scorned. I have made my mistakes. There are women who despise me. Women will never understand how men can cheat because they think of it in terms of themselves —as something done to them. They treat it as an affront first, as a breakdown in social order, then a wound, then a mortal wound. And this is a key. They do this because women are singular, in both their desire and their demands. This is why I serve women well. I treat them as planetary objects, individual and quirky, gravitational and unique. When I am with a woman, in a hotel or in her car, pressing her up against a soda machine in the stairwell, I let everything else fall away. I am with her without pretense, obligation, or fear.

My local life is clean. I am more focused than they are. Stronger and better suited to what is near me —my family, my wife, my job. In some ways, that's because I don't hesitate to cheat.