Now, this may come as a surprise to some of you (those who have never read my blog before, or have been trapped in a concrete bunker on Mars for the past year or so) but I am not overly fond of adultery bloggers.
That is not to say I tar the whole genre with the same brush. There are some who write sensitively and honestly. Then again, there are some who write with a thinly veiled glee at how clever they are at this duplicitous lifestyle and a desperate need to be found sexually appealing by strangers.
Still, these I can understand. I get what they are doing and why. I have a harder time getting to grips with those who seem to have lost the ability to use private email, letters or the telephone and instead conduct their break-ups and make-ups as publically as possible, via the medium of blogging.
Is it a wannabe celeb thing? A chance to feel a tiny bit like Katie Price and Peter Andre, to feel like the world is watching your love life through a lens and that everyone is agog to know what happens next? Does it add that sub-Hello magazine touch of glamour as you slop about your council flat in your Matalan dressing gown, cheap mascara streaming through your fake tan into your balled Kleenex, as you detail the minutaie of your illicit relationship to an undiscerning handful of online misfits and social inadequates who just love to watch a train wreck?
Does it stem from a desire to wallow for a just a brief moment in the low wattage spotlight of what paltry online fame you can generate as the author of yet another unoriginal, uninspiring sex blog? "Look, we are sex bloggers, we both have blogs, we are fucking each other! Look, we are like a blog celebrity couple! Oh no, we have split up. Boo hoo. Oh no, we are back together again and we are in love forever. Smooch smooch. Except now I've dumped him." And so on.
Or is it, as I suspect, more about the fact that such people need an audience to validate what they have? After all, when you are meeting up with someone other than your life partner for secret sex you can't just turn to your friend, family member or colleague and ask their opinion on what your lover just said or did without giving the game away. It starts to feel unreal, this secret relationship that exists only online, in hotel rooms, in your memory, in a bubble. Rather than talking to each other in private it all comes out online. Tearful recriminations, doleful dumpings, lurid tales of spunk and sodomy, along with declarations of undying love, all carefully performed to the peanut gallery. On a repetitive loop. Because that makes it better, more special, more real, like a proper relationship, and not just a fantasy fuckfest.
It all comes back to the philosphical question of: if two sex bloggers shag but nobody blogs it, did it really happen?