My husband is happy that I’m sleeping with someone else

WAnyone can have sex, but very few people have the kind of intimacy that I have with my husband

hen I met my husband, he had a high-powered job in the music industry. He was everything I wanted in a man: intelligent, kind and exciting. His job was stressful, but it didn’t affect our marriage. However, a few years after our wedding, he became less interested in me physically. He said it was because he was tired and he had a lot on his mind with work. This was believable. His job was cut-throat and he worked all the time. I didn’t take it personally at first, but then as time went on I started to feel unattractive and unloved. I’d ask him to stay in bed on weekend mornings. He wouldn’t.

I did feel some resentment, but because everything else was perfect, I felt I shouldn’t complain. We tried to solve our lack of intimacy by talking about it, but nothing changed. We just lived in hope that it would sort itself out one day.

Although we never lost our strong, loving bond, eventually it became clear that we had drifted too far apart sexually. When my husband had a back operation, that worsened the physical distance. At that point we both quietly accepted that we had lost our sex life forever.

Eight years passed. I became friends with a record producer/songwriter on Twitter who lived in the States. He initially contacted me because he liked an article I wrote. I met him when I was out in Chicago, celebrating having finished my first novel. Quickly we became very close; we talked about art, philosophy and everything in between.

The friendship became intimate. One evening I just couldn’t hold it in. I blurted out my affair to my husband. I still loved my husband and told him so. There was no shouting or blaming – he took it calmly, understanding why it happened and not asking for details.

He said he had a feeling that something had happened. He forgave me. If anyone was at fault, he said, it was him. In fact, he actually loved me more, for being a person who thought she deserved more and actually doing something about it.

So, this other person exists in my life – and has done for three years. There is no resentment between me and my husband. He’s accepted that after eight years of not having a physical life with him, this was inevitable. The experience has been enlightening: if we had agreed to end the marriage, it would mean that sex was the be-all and end-all of marriage – and it’s not.

Real intimacy is showing someone your truth and all your secrets. They hold you close and you feel safe. We still have that. Anyone can have sex, but very few people have the kind of intimacy that I have with my husband.

Most of my friends who know of the situation realise it’s a mature arrangement in which everyone knows the score. In fact, they hold up my marriage as one of the best in our social circle since my husband is 100 per cent my supporter. In fact, many of them feel their own husbands do not respect them or care for them as much as mine does. And I have to agree with them.

Not all my friends are so perceptive. Some have not been too pleased with this other person. “He must be seeing other people,” they say. “He’s using you.” I have reminded them that it’s me who is married. He is free to do whatever he chooses.

If I were a man, I would be the villain in this story. Just because I’m a woman, I’m being held up as the victim. But I’m simply having my cake and eating it.