“Sure. It’s okay,” I said. Now it was my turn to lean in a little closer and ensure young ears were out of reach. “I mean, I like the way we have sex—he picks me up a lot and is very aggressive, which is fun—but I’ve never had an orgasm with him. And well, I hate to be mean, but . . . his penis is really quite small.”
Hali burst out laughing. “Really? Like how small? What is small, anyway? I’ve just never had an issue with that.”
“I don’t know exact measurements,” I said, grinning. “But let’s put it this way: When I put my hand around him, I easily cover him from top to bottom.”
“Hmmmm,” Hali said, trying not to laugh. “Not good.”
“Pfft, tell me about it! I mean, if he was into oral sex or he was more sensual, then perhaps it wouldn’t bother me. But he’s so physical. Sexual, not sensual. He fucks like a hockey player.” I lifted my elbows and shoulders. “Like an NHL fighter.” Hali laughed and I joined in.
“Anyway,” I said, shaking my head. “We’ll see what happens. I’m not writing Cal off or anything—”
“No, you’re just keeping keep him around till a guy with a bigger penis comes along!”
I laughed and pushed my chair back. “Let’s go run these monsters through the mall. I promised the boys they could look at light sabers at Toys“R”Us, too.
“Sounds good,” she said.
But our shopping expedition didn’t last long: Hali suddenly began having contractions, and within half an hour, she was leaning on the wall breathing hard. It was time to go.
TWO DAYS LATER, Cal and I had a disagreement and that marked the end of our brief tryst. We had different perspectives about dating. Even though we weren’t in a serious relationship, he didn’t want me to stay active on the dating site, and my feelings for him weren’t strong enough to do that.
While my interest in Cal was casual at best, the fallout hit me surprisingly hard. I was still more fragile than I believed. I had mistaken emotional numbness for healing, not self-protection. I was back in that forest, unsure where the path was—or if one even existed. I had no road map, no compass, no idea of what my future would hold, and I had this unnerving sense that I didn’t know who I was anymore. How would I manage being a single mother of three and how would I support us financially? What if I never again found the kind of love I’d felt with Graham? I still couldn’t see the forest for the trees. I retreated, without resistance, into the shadows of self-pity. I didn’t realize that I could manage my life alone.
Fueled by my angst, over the next eight weeks of summer I met twelve different men from the dating site. I wasn’t just dating “anyone.” I still screened them carefully and adhered to my original age and job requirements. But unconsciously, my mission was clear: Seek and Replace.
The problem was, there wasn’t a single man I wanted to see beyond a first coffee date. I simply wasn’t attracted to any of them. But in place of desire, something else was surfacing. Something I needed, something I was grateful for. The seedlings of confidence.
“WHAT WAS WRONG with the last guy, the skinny guy in the convertible?” asked Hali. She and her kids were over for a playdate, and we were sitting in my sunny kitchen, drinking tea. Hali’s daughter, Teah, was now six weeks old, and Hali, true to her word, was dating again, too.
I grinned over my teacup. “I liked him, and we got along well. But at the end of our date, he kissed me. And well . . .” I scrunched up my nose. “He gave my face a bath.”
Hali laughed, then said, “Hmmm. A kiss is important. Maybe he was just nervous?”
“I considered that. So I let him kiss me again. But nope, same thing.”
“Yuck. Well that’s no good. If he can’t get a kiss right, don’t risk finding out what he’s inept at in bed.”
“Moooom!” My three-year-old daughter suddenly hollered from down in the basement. “Evan said I’m a stupid dummy.”
I rolled my eyes. “Ah, the joys of parenting . . .” I got up and went to the foot of the stairs. My five-year-old, Evan, was bursting to proclaim his innocence. “Listen up guys: Evan, there will be no name-calling. And that goes for the rest of you, too. Play nice or I’ll separate you.”
“Yes mom,” came their voices in unison.
I sat back down at the table. “Let’s see how long that lasts.”
Hali grinned. “Anyhow,” she began again. “I find it strange that you’ve met so many men and rejected them all. Maybe if you got to know them better, someone would grow on you.”
“Believe me Hali. I want to like these guys. My body wants me to like these guys. I wish I wasn’t so damn picky.” I shook my head in frustration. “But something kind of positive has actually come out of all this serial dating . . .”
Hali raised her brows. “What’s that?”
“When I first started meeting men, and someone would give me a compliment like, ‘You’re so funny,’ or ‘You’re so smart and interesting,’ I couldn’t believe they were talking about me. I literally sat there going, huh? I wasn’t able to fully receive the compliments, as if there was a big wall there. But now I’m starting to internalize them a bit. And wow, it feels pretty darn good.”
“Well I can tell you why you’ve had trouble believing their compliments,” Hali said adamantly. “It’s because you were married for seven years to a bully who constantly put you down. He ridiculed you constantly Delaine, even in front of all your friends. I’d sit there growing angrier and angrier, just waiting for you to stick up for yourself. But you just laughed it off. Grrr, I get worked up just thinking about it. Thank God you’re divorcing him.”
“But . . . I—”
“And don’t get me started on Graham!” she said, cutting me off. She was on a roll. “You said he was so wonderful. You always said you had no idea he was having an affair. But did he call you when he said he would? No. Did he make an extra effort to see you? No. Did he show you in a thousand ways that he thought you were the most amazing woman on earth? Not even close. That’s not love.”
“Okay, okay! Uncle, already,” I said, even though I didn’t think Hali’s assessment was fair. Hali hadn’t seen how he treated me when we were together—how attentive he was, how he looked at me, how he laughed and shared and showered me with his love. The possibility of him cheating with a second woman had never crossed my mind!
“Let’s not go there, okay hon? I’m all about trying to move forward. Speaking of which, what about that guy you accidentally met on your date the other day?” Only Hali could go out on her first date in thirteen years, go to the wrong place, and pick up a different man while she waited.
“Josh? Oh, it’s nothing really. I just gave him my number. I enjoyed talking to him, but in all honesty, I had trouble understanding him. He’s from Newfoundland and his accent is really thick.”
“How old is he?”
“Thirty-three. And he’s not good looking. I mean, he’s okay, but he’s nothing special. God, listen to me, eh? That sounds terrible. Anyway, he might be someone I can hang out with . . . or maybe even have sex with,” she added, smiling coyly. “We’ll see.”
Suddenly, Teah started stirring in her car seat. As Hali got up to prepare her bottle, I couldn’t help but admire how pretty she looked: Her blue satin blouse complemented her skin and blond hair, and from behind, she looked sexy in her stylish, hip-hugging blue jeans. “By the way, you really look fantastic, hon,” I said.
“Thanks. I feel pretty good about how I look. But you know me—there’s always a battle raging with body image. Look at this—” She lifted her shirt and squeezed the soft skin around her waist. “See? Mommy belly. It’s so obvious. And I worry that any man I sleep with will get stuck on the fact that I recently gave birth.
“If he has a problem with it, it’s his. You gave birth only six weeks ago! Your stomach is supposed to look like that.”
“I know I know,” she grumbled as she tested the milk on her wrist. “I’m also really worried about being too ‘loose’ down there. Pfft. As if da
ting again wasn’t challenge enough.”
“Just keep kegeling, hon. Do it for the sake of continence first and foremost. Said by a woman who’s given birth to three! Besides, at the end of the day, when it comes to sex, I think most men are just happy to have it.”
We each sat quietly for a moment, watching Teah as she drank her bottle. “I still can’t believe this is our life right now,” murmured Hali, gently rocking her daughter. “I just never, ever, would have imagined myself going through all of this.”
“I know,” I said, shaking my head. “Isn’t it wild that we’re going through this at the exact same time?”
“Yeah . . . But I know that a year from now, our lives will look completely different. Way better.”
“WAY better,” I said, nodding. I then added thoughtfully: “I remember an older lady once saying to me, ‘Every woman goes through a period of insanity at some point in her life.’ Not as in ‘she loses her mind’ or she ‘caves to hysteria’ but that life tests her so hard that she’s forced to question and own and grow into all that she can be.
“And you know what, Hali? There’s no doubt in my mind that we’re right in the thick of ours.”
CHAPTER 5
AFTERNOON DELIGHT
IT WAS THE FIRST TIME Robert had ever taken the children on a weekend instead of midweek. Better still, it was a long weekend. Elated with my newfound freedom, I spent the latter part of Friday night glued to my computer, trawling the online dating site; this had to be the weekend where I’d find a meaningful relationship.
By 2:00 AM, I had no real prospects; a few potentials though: a cute electrician from a neighboring city, a divorced dad with three kids. Normal guys, average looking, but missing something all the same. Hopefully tomorrow, I thought optimistically, as I climbed into bed.
Early Saturday morning I quickly signed in at my desk and sorted through my inbox. A few men had responded to my inquiries, but still, nobody looked promising. My body gushed with sensual agitation. I yearned to feel a man’s hands on me. Not just yearned, craved. Every nerve ending was alive with need, and the clock was ticking down the weekend. Dammit, Delaine, look harder!
But I was struggling with competing desires. I dropped my face into my hands. I couldn’t just go have sex with any “body.” The physicality of sex alone wasn’t enough for me—I knew too well from marriage that body parts “getting satisfied” could feel empty, even gross. Sure, that hadn’t happened with Cal, but maybe I just got lucky. No. I couldn’t risk it. Above all, I needed connection. Respect. Because of my relationship with Graham, I knew what it felt like to make love. If I couldn’t look into a man’s eyes or talk with him for hours afterward, at least as a close friend, why bother? I’d be selling myself short; I’d be moving backwards.
But my body was screaming for sex. It was affecting my mood. I couldn’t concentrate on anything. I was uptight, irritable, and only a marathon of fevered, animalistic sex would pacify me.
At that moment, the sexual energy that Graham had unleashed in me felt like both a blessing and a curse. I was thrilled to know I wasn’t sexually dead, like I had been during my marriage. But all that concentrated energy seemed to be pooling and leaking into my brain; it was taking on a life force of its own, and I didn’t know what to do with it.
My thoughts jumped impatiently to Hali and her new lover, Josh. Soon after their accidental meeting in the bar, she’d taken him to bed—despite the fact that she wasn’t very attracted to him, despite the fact that he wasn’t relationship potential. But Hali quickly recognized his other merits: he stroked her ego and made her feel good about her body. Moreover, he was well endowed and regularly supplied her with sensational orgasms.
I was happy for her. Taking another lover after thirteen years of marriage was a huge deal. But I was also envious. Here she was, barely two months postpartum, having only dated for a couple of weeks, and already “getting some.” No, not “some”—she was getting lots. Cal and I had sex only three times, I hadn’t orgasmed at all, and he had a penis the size of a thumb. Why was this taking so long for me? Why did I have so many rules and expectations—of me and the men I dated?
I so rarely get time off to myself, I’m sure as heck not going to waste it, I thought determinedly, as I picked up the phone and called my longtime friend Patty.
Patty was my older totally striking single girlfriend. I didn’t know her exact age, but I’d wager somewhere in her midfifties, even though she looked ten years younger. Petite, exotic looking, with ample breasts, she made men, young and old, do triple takes when she walked into a room.
“Hey, Delaine!” she said warmly. “How are you?”
“Not good, Patty. I need your help.”
I explained my situation to her, no candy coating required. “I feel like I’m going crazy, Patty; sex is all I can think about. But I have all these rules, these stupid, ridiculous rules in my head about what I should and shouldn’t do. But . . . today I’m feeling wild and irresponsible. I keep telling myself I need a relationship and it has to be with a man over thirty-five. But screw it. Today I’m lifting the restrictions.”
“You want me to find you a young man,” she said matter-of-factly. “Yes!” I said, relieved that she got it. I felt emboldened. “I want a hot young man to come to my house, preferably one with a large penis, and have him screw the heck out of me. It’ll be a onetime thing only.” WHAT? Have you lost your mind?
She laughed, but knowingly. “I know a guy who’d be perfect for you.” Give me a few minutes and I’ll phone you back.”
Half an hour later I was frantically pulling garments from my lingerie drawer—a hot twenty-seven-year-old was on his way over! What to wear? What do I feel sexy in? How does a woman even dress for this?
I decided on a black, lacy bra and matching panties—simple, sophisticated, sexy. My breasts looked perky and full; tummy, relatively flat from not eating and smoking too many cigarettes last night. I look good. I am a sexy woman. And unless he takes a close look at my skin, he’ll never know I have three kids. Hmm . . . hold on a second, if I end up on top he’s going to see saggy Momma Belly. I quickly reached up and closed my window blinds to the max.
Wearing black stilettos and a short satin housecoat, I clip-clopped over to the bathroom mirror. Lips looked full, freckled skin clear and smudge-free, no boogers hanging out, dirty-blond hair curly and luxuriously long. I didn’t look like I was twenty-five—my crow’s feet made that impossible. But I’m a damn good thirty-seven, I said to myself. And I’m entitled to do this. Everyone in the world might call me a tramp right now, but I don’t care! They’re mistaken: I am a Woman Entitled.
But what about the kids’ rooms?
I clattered down my bungalow hallway and shut their bedroom doors, not before admonishing myself for their messiness. Don’t think about that now! Right now, I am not Delaine the Mom, I am Delaine the Vixen, the Seduction Goddess, a woman who demands and receives what she wants.
Back up the hall, I stood by the front door. I told him exactly what I wanted: that he was to just walk in; that he wasn’t to talk to me. I would be ready and waiting for him. No other details were required.
Oh, but I couldn’t stand THERE, it looked too contrived, and I felt like an idiot! I moved back a few steps, slightly around the corner. Much better.
What if he thinks I look fat? What if he thinks I look old? I’ll KNOW it—I’ll see it on his face.
Oh get a grip on yourself! I screamed in my head. You look hot, this entire scenario is hot, so step up, and for God’s sake, shut up!
I leaned against the wall, hearing only the sultry music of Fiona Apple coming from my bedroom and my heart hammering in my ears. The squeak of the doorknob turned; a tall, hunky, dark-haired man in blue jeans and T-shirt entered, looked around, and saw me: two strangers meeting for the first time. He quickly slipped off his shoes and took me in with his eyes. He walked toward me, a moment frozen in time. All that mattered was right now.
Suddenly, his lips
were on my ear: “You are so hot,” he whispered, his breath tickling my skin. Desire shot through me—ferocious, yearning. I placed my arms around his neck and felt his big hands slide under my housecoat across my naked back. I opened my body to him . . . and kissed him passionately.
Down the hall he carried me, my legs wrapped around his hips, our lips never parting. As we stood at the foot of my bed, I looked up into his unfamiliar face and thought, Oh, he has a crooked nose. But as he pulled off his shirt, my eyes beheld such yumminess that all conscious thinking was decimated by lust.
I have to admit, Yummy Stranger’s sexual skills were pretty novice. I had to take control and show him what to do, especially to achieve the orgasm I desperately wanted. He knew where to find my clit with his fingers, but the motion, the pressure he applied, was way off. I reached down and began guiding his hand with my own, whispering and directing him with my words and moans. Moreover, not to dwell on this point—or this part of a man’s anatomy—but his penis was on the small size, too. Does penis size and shape matter? Ask ten different women and you might get ten different answers, including: “What a shallow thing to ask.” My honest answer is, “Maybe . . . still under investigation!” I’d never realized before how different men are in terms of size and aesthetics. I’d experienced numerous partners before getting married, but back then, I was so preoccupied with the emotional side of sex, that I didn’t dare analyze the merits or shortcomings of my partner’s tackle. All I knew was that today, had Yummy Stranger been well- and beautifully-endowed, I would have been delighted. Morally right or wrong, I think I had a new appreciation developing.
Once Yummy Stranger and I finished and we lay in my joyfully disheveled bed, catching our breaths, I felt rather awkward. I’d just gotten naked with someone I knew nothing about. Now what? Good manners prompted me to start making casual conversation, but then I stopped. Truly, why bother? Instead, I laughed and said, “Thanks, that was fun. Hope you enjoy the rest of your day.” He quickly took his cue to get up, get dressed, and get out. I didn’t even walk him to the door.
The Secret Sex Life of a Single Mom Page 5