As a new user, my profile is given prime place in the gallery of fresh young meat for the taking. A few are from the same persistent man, who tells me he “just wants to talk to me” because “it’s refreshing to see a genuine person on here and not some troller”.
He sounds lonely – his family is away in the countryside and he works in London Monday to Friday, longing for someone to “share a glass with”.
I’m also dismayed to find that Naughty Boy69 is also unavailable. Two hours later my inbox is still ringing hollow – not a single response.
Testing if the experience is gender-specific, I coax a female colleague (see right) into signing up to a rival site. On a separate account, posing as a woman, I get chatting to a male user.
” An unnerving number advertise themselves as “clean” and phrases such as “weekends are a no-go” are casually dropped in as a cold reminder of unknowing families who sit waiting for daddy to come home on Friday night.
One user in his forties and working in finance says he wants to whisk me away for a weekend by the sea.
Aping a provincial nightclub, women are granted full use of the site free of charge, while men have to pay. I can’t help but wonder why he didn’t just sign up for the Affair Guarantee Package of 2,000 credits at a reasonable £229.80.
While I um and ah about forking out another wedge, the messages start to arrive.
Some commentators have rejoiced in what they see as a deserved comeuppance for those who have been indulging in digital infidelity, while others argue the users are victims of a grave breach of privacy.
While it has been assumed that the scandal would sound the site’s death knell, it has also generated a vast amount of free publicity – and led even those of us who would never dream of cheating, less still giving away our personal details to a website to do so, wondering what it would be like to enter an online den of marital cheaters.