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I feel sorry for her husband, presumably unaware that the mother of his children is pursuing cheap thrills with strangers.
By now, I have been contacted by scores of women, so I arrange dates with the ones who are prepared to meet me in the next few days. Blonde, slim and relaxed, she has already told me by email that she's been married for ten years, has young children, time on her hands and wants to add a frisson of excitement to her life.
Reading it on my laptop in the aptly named Cafe Affaire in central London, I consider what she really wants: a no-strings-attached sexual relationship.
So I paid £119 for a month's membership, giving me an entre to thousands of faithless females.
They are allowed to sign up for free as a way of ensuring the numbers are balanced between the sexes.
I reply, telling her to come over and ask me face to face. She looks furtively around and asks me if I'm nervous. There is tension in the air like North and South Korea coming together to hammer out a treaty.
Suddenly the realisation of how odd it is to meet a stranger with the express intention of having an affair dawns on me. It's more like Alan Sugar interviewing an apprentice.