Shagtastic?

There are some mental images that I could well do without. Amongst them are snapshots of Ken Barlow and Tony Blackburn shagging their way across the nation. Apparently boring old Ken's had thousands, whilst Tony is at five hundred. I am of course referring to the number of comely wenches that the pair have bedded down the years. Perhaps I should feel inadequate? I mean, I've slept with three women in 41 years. That's not exactly suggestive of a gigolo, is it?. Thing is, and call me unmanly, but I've never been one for shagging around. I'd much rather commit my energies, sexual and otherwise, into maintaining a relationship that really means something to me. For a couple of years during my late teens, early twenties I had a "friends with benefits" kind of relationship with one lovely girl, and at first I was the cat that got the cream. We enjoyed each others company, had fun, got drunk, and she looked great in black stockings. It was a total no strings arrangement right up until the moment she confessed that she had always wanted more. You see that's the problem with relationships. They're never totally equal. Always one person a little more invested than the other, always one a fraction less. And the really odd thing was, towards the end whenever we awoke in the morning I often felt just a bit hollow. It wasn't that we hadn't had a ball; it was just there was something important missing. My  heart just wasn't in it. Perhaps I'm atypical of what it means to be a man, but It just wasn't for me. A bit ironic really because I absolutely love women and I make good connections with them. And frankly I'm regularly tempted to do the wrong thing, but I've always just about stepped back from the brink. Fact is, whilst my mind goes off on all kinds of fantasies and indiscretions, at the end of the day I know just how much I have to lose. I'm a married man with a family and the amount of harm I could cause so outweighs any selfish benefit that it just ain't worth the risk. So there you have it. I'm no Ken B, and I'm no Tony. At least not in the practical sense. In my mind I've probably committed adultery countless times, as have the majority of males alive. But thus far, and thankfully, I've not made that fatal mistake. I'm writing this because I want to be real, and I expect a lot of men in relationships secretly have the same inner quarrel. The libido, ably aided and abetted by the imagination pulling in one direction, whilst the conscience and the heart tugs in the other. I don't want to hurt people and I'm acutely aware that I've got some real points of weakness when it comes to self control. This is just me, I'm afraid. Just contradictory, unpredictable old me. I often want to do the wrong thing and take those crazy risks, which is kind of laughable for a man in his 4th decade. I wonder, am I really such an isolated case?