The Secret Sex Life of a Single Mom

by Moore, Delaine

  Who could blame me for being insecure. He was Greek god Adonis in a snowboard T-shirt, and I was a single mother, ten years his senior.

  I didn’t want to care so darn much about what any man thought of me, whatever his age. But, like my role as chaste wife/ mother, it was pretty ingrained, this need for validation of my desirability. That’s why I liked this bizarre arrangement with Shane. It pushed me to be tougher about how I managed my dating/sex life. It challenged me not to seek validation from every date, conversation, and sexual experience. To be less sensitive.

  What’s that? You don’t like the fact I enjoy the odd cigarette? Bye-bye, then.

  Oh, you prefer women who aren’t moms? Okay, see ya.

  Hmmm? Long legs up to her ears, eh? Might I suggest the zoo?

  I just needed to shift my brain into objective gear and wrap some Teflon around my heart.

  Daniel did end up calling me again. Half a dozen times actually, over the next three days. Finally, I “reluctantly” agreed to his invitation to watch a movie at his house. My insecurity was replaced by excitement. Here was my chance to have sex with the yummiest of young men and begin applying Shane’s lessons.

  Fresh and beautified, I got in my minivan, anticipating what our night of movie-watching would hold. Too bad his roommate is home, I thought. I’d wanted to arrive wearing some knee-wobbling attire. But I felt good in what I was wearing: jeans, a cool belt, and a trendy, tight T-shirt. Casual but sexy.

  As I started my car, I looked through the windshield at my children’s darkened bedroom windows. Everyone’s snuggled safe in bed, dreaming sweet dreams. Meanwhile, look what their crazy mom is up to, I thought, shaking my head in disapproval.

  Suddenly, over the quiet hum of the minivan engine I realized I heard guitar strumming. It was coming from my speakers: Rihanna’s “Good Girl Gone Bad.” Smiling, I reached over and turned it up. Live in the now, girl, I thought, looking ahead out my windshield. Go have some fun!

  I shifted into gear and drove off into a night full of stars and opportunities.

  Two hours later, I unlocked my front door and quietly crept inside. My baby sitter, Janice, peeked around the corner in her flannel pajamas. “Hello,” she whispered. “How was your night?”

  “It was really fun,” I whispered back, wondering if my hair was a mess (she thought I was just out with “friends”—if she only knew!). “Everybody sleeping still?”

  “Yes-yes. No problems. Not a sound all night.”

  “Excellent. Thanks, Janice.” I walked down the hall to my bedroom and quickly changed and got ready for bed. I wasn’t tired. In fact, I was kind of glowing, lingering in a post-orgasmic wonderland. My body felt wonderful . . . fulfilled.

  The health experts were right, I thought to myself with a grin. Sex is good for our health. I guess sex doesn’t have to be heart-centered to be of value. Maybe fun and physical pleasure could be meaning enough.

  I sat down at my desk and began composing my “date report” to Shane. Overall, our evening had gone really well. But in terms of my “dominating” him, hmm, that was another story. Prior to ending up in his bedroom, my behavior was anything but assertive. I acted more like a demure, wholesome teenager than a confident, dominant woman. All that was missing were my braces and big Madonna bow. What I wanted to do was pounce on him and tear off his clothes. What I really did was sit beside him, watch TV for half an hour, and wish I was ripping off his clothes. First, we pretended we didn’t notice we were touching legs. Then, we graduated to hand-holding. Then, a hand with a mind of its own got to leg rubbing. And finally, we met in the middle for a kiss.

  But mmmm, that kiss sure melted away our awkwardness. As soon as lips made contact, we full-on attacked each other like horny teenagers on their parents’ couch; cushions were either tossed or stampeded hard! And when he whispered “let’s move to the bed” and stood up to whip his shirt off, I struggled to get up like a horizontal toddler in a ball pit.

  My domination mission pretty much flew out of my brain and out the window. The sheer beauty of his god-like physique was one thing, but to see it and feel it ripple and flex in action was enough to send my brain into overload. My little snowboarder was ripe with style and endurance to match—and he zigzagged around my body like I was his human black diamond run (godDAMN, I could never do a ski team!). A couple of times midcourse, I did try to teach him the Chad Maneuver. But he didn’t quite get it—blame it on different rhythm. But guess what? I squirted anyway! This time it happened with deep penetration while I was on top. Apparently, I have more to learn about my body than I thought.

  As we removed his sheets to let the mattress dry off, I could tell he was astonished by how wet it was. “I’ve only been with one other girl who squirted,” he revealed. “And it was a long, long time ago.”

  I thought, What, were you twelve or something? I did feel a tiny bit embarrassed by my mess, but on the other hand, I thought, You better get used to it, junior!

  So, although I had a great night of sex, I didn’t quite succeed in my mission. My main objective in dating younger men, other than expending some pent-up sexual energy, was to step outside the lines of my safe little boundaries and take more than just a “peek” beyond the fence. I wanted to sit in the feeling of power and see if it had anything to teach me. I wanted to be more aggressive, self-assured, demanding, risk-taking—in bed and out of bed. I wanted to verbalize what I wanted, play with his mind a bit, and stop being so self-conscious. And tonight, all the cards were perfectly lined up. In fact, I knew he wanted me to dominate him. So what if Daniel’s roommate was home. I should have tossed the movie disc across the room, pushed him against the wall, kissed him hard, and then told him to sit in a different chair while I watched my favorite TV show—in my bra and panties. Now that would have caused some tension. But instead, I’d reverted to “nice girl” conduct—urghh! I obviously still had some pretty ingrained habits to shed; this mission would require another attempt.

  I quickly hammered out a brief synopsis of my evening for Shane and added a couple happy faces at the end. No use rambling on to him about my personal revelations; those were mine, not his. At the end of my email, I added: “I’m talking to a couple of other guys too. I’ll keep you posted.”

  Cigarette time. I threw on my winter jacket and went out the backdoor to smoke beneath the clear, starlit sky.

  Shane’s email awaited me in the morning:Finally, the woman had sex. Just don’t wimp out on seeing the others now. The “Queen” needs to see all the candidates. Whether you decide to have one lover or five, there is no shame in having non-lame sex. You now need to accept the responsibilities in getting what you are entitled to, including pursuing it more consciously and regularly.

  My sense is that you are still being the classy, nice girl of old. You need to be judgmental; you need to actively set the terms of how any ongoing situation is set up. You are the BOSS. It is fundamentally up to YOU to decide what happens.

  With that, I went after my next conquest. A week later, I was in his apartment.

  Mission No. 3

  Subject’s name: Minotaur Brent

  Age: 28

  Body Type: 6 feet tall and husky

  Penis Size: reported as “plenty and then some” (unconfirmed)

  I quickly foresaw that Brent was going to be a harder case to break than Adonis Boy.

  In our correspondence, we clearly jockeyed for the dominant role. I said he was not to kiss me without permission; he said I’d beg him to. I said I was the one in control; he said, we’ll see about that. I said I’m older and will demand what I want; he said he’s been with older women before. Not once did he show signs of submissiveness. Nor did our age difference seem to be fulfilling some juvenile fantasy.

  I agreed to meet him spur of the moment on a Wednesday night (after the kids were in bed) at his condo. Not inside his condo, but outside, so I could assess him. I watched as he exited the main floor elevator and walked toward me. He was clean-cut, with a full hea
d of short dark hair. He was wearing a heavy jacket so I couldn’t see his physique, but he looked fit—more thickly built than Daniel.

  After talking outside for about fifteen minutes, it was clear he was normal and that we had chemistry. Since we were darn near freezing out in the cold, I accepted his invitation to go up to his condo. He promised to behave; we’d simply chat.

  We sat side by side on his couch and chatted for about half an hour while the TV played quietly in the background. I was surprised at how comfortable I felt. You’re in some guy’s condo that you just met! a voice screeched. What if he’s hiding a knife under the couch?

  Oh, hush. I smiled at myself and leaned further into the couch. I was actually really enjoying his company. His energy was strong but calm, and I found it rather sexy.

  Suddenly, I realized he was staring at me with a big smirk on his face. “What?” I asked, eyebrows high. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  He chuckled. “I just can’t help but notice that you’re not nearly as bossy in person as you are online. You’re actually really sweet. And really hot.” And before I could cleverly respond, he pulled me down on top of him on the couch.

  As his hands began roaming my back, Shane’s words came back to me: “Nobody takes from you without asking. Got it?” I hear you, Shane, but it’s really hard when it feels so good! Plus, my left arm is pinned underneath him!

  Calmly, masterfully, Brent turned his head so that our lips were dangerously close. “I told you not to kiss me,” I warned him. “Any kissing will be decided by me.”

  “I know.” His dark eyes went from my eyes to my lips. “I’m not kissing you.” Strong, gentle hands explored my body through the outside of my clothes. My one free arm was no match for his two stronger ones.

  My body roused at his touch . . . and I realized I was caving. I had to get out of there before I went AWOL on my mission. With a sudden spurt of resolve, I yanked my pinned arm out from underneath him and jumped to my feet. “I’m going now, Brent,” I said, brushing my disheveled clothes back into place. I marched to the door.

  “It was very nice to meet you, Brent,” I added, as I fumbled in the corridor to zip up my high-heeled boots. His large presence loomed beside me.

  “You too, Delaine.” That same smirk . . . Grrrrr.

  I pulled my jacket off the hangar and swung it over my arm. “Alrighty then,” I said firmly. “I think I’ve got everything.” I faced him directly for a split second. “I will talk to you later.” I turned and walked the few steps to the door. Just keep moving! Do NOT look back.

  Suddenly, his hand was on my arm. He pulled me around and pinned me solidly against the door. He kissed me hard, and oh my God, he was so deliciously sexy, I caved. My jacket and purse fell to the floor. He picked me up, held my legs around his waist, and carried me back down the hallway toward his bedroom.

  “No Brent!” I said breathlessly, in between his determined kisses. “I’m not going to have sex with you.” He quickly turned and backed me into another wall, still kissing me and gripping my legs around him. No one had ever picked me up for that long before, but he made it seem so easy. His strong legs leaned into me while his thick shoulders and back rippled with the power of a bull. Oh my God—I was being devoured by a Minotaur!

  I’m not sure how long he held me there or how long we kissed. My head spun and my body raged with lust. Eventually, I slid to the floor, after which he grabbed me and turned me to face the wall. Again, his big hands seemed to be everywhere on my body. I had to make a decision!

  I crouched down and ducked out of his reach. “’K, I’m leaving!”

  I raced to the door, grabbing my stuff along the way, and opened it. Once safely outside in the corridor I looked back at him, breathing heavy, hair disheveled. “Good night, Brent,” I said, unable to hide my exasperation.

  He leaned in the doorway, smirking in that same infuriating but sexy way, his dark thick hair screaming to be tousled. “I’ll talk to you soon, Delaine,” he murmured. And his gaze warmed my back as I walked to the elevator.

  Once home, I quickly shooed out the baby sitter and dove onto my computer.

  Shane:

  So I met with my other young man tonight. I’m so turned on right now I can’t even think straight. He may be young, Shane, but I think he’s a budding alpha. He refused to let me lead and picked me up and pinned me against the wall at the end of the night. I walked out on him before my clothes were off, but it took every ounce of my strength!

  His demeanor—and his TOUCH—wow, they made me melt, Shane! I really don’t know if I have it in me to make him submit to me. I just feel the insatiable desire to have sex with him!

  True to form, Shane’s response was waiting in my inbox the next morning.

  Hmmm. I think you need to get through a mega-slutty phase before you can focus on dominating this or any man. Until your pussy is satisfied, I think domination will take a back seat.

  Again, there is no shame in having great sex on your terms with as many partners as you choose. I don’t want to hear any more whining about you being lonely and horny on weekends anymore. In fact, I think it might be good for you to venture even further outside your comfort zone: Why not take two different lovers on any given weekend? Just think, double the satisfaction . . .

  Two lovers in one weekend? I sat there wide-eyed. No way! Hah, what kind of girl does he think I am?

  Well, hold on . . . hmmm. I needed to think about this with a level head. Maybe, just maybe, I could. I was already heading down that road with Adonis Boy Daniel and Minotaur Brent. I just assumed they’d be spaced out.

  My imagination shot off, my protests left coughing in the dust: me on a Friday night, greeting Adonis Boy at the door in a dynamite red dress; there’d be no silly hand-holding on the couch this time. Then me, on a Saturday night, being pinned hard against the wall by Minotaur Brett. Mmmm . . . those big shoulders, those strong legs. Wow. Talk about a weekend smorgasbord of sheer yumminess.

  But would I feel like a slut afterward? Or would I be skipping down the street with a mischievous twinkle in my eye? I couldn’t figure out which was crazier: to act on such opportunities, or not act on them.

  That darn Shane! I growled, smiling all the same. Even though he was pushing me outside of my comfort zone, I felt compelled to do it simply to prove to him that I could.

  “Are you really a powerful lioness, Delaine?” he seemed to taunt. “Or are you nothing but a poor little scardie’ cat? I dare you, Delaine.”

  And the headstrong part of me snapped: “You just watch!” But I would never do it just for Shane. This had to be something I wanted; nothing less.

  CHAPTER 12

  OPERATION DOUBLE SATISFACTION

  MORE THAN SIX MONTHS HAD passed since the Graham bomb went off—198 days to be exact—and the trees surrounding my house were almost empty of leaves. Another 176 days in the wilderness lay ahead of me before I’d hit the one-year mark, that pivotal first anniversary where my life was bound to look “way better,” as Hali put it. I really did feel like I’d made progress. But then again, maybe when you’ve gone a little insane, you really don’t care where you are.

  In my mind’s eye, I still saw myself trudging through the wilds, feeling lost and unsure. But periodically, I caught myself having a laugh—no, sharing a laugh—with someone else. It was that part of me I liked to call my “Wild Woman,” an aspect of myself I’d suppressed throughout my marriage who was really doing much of the guiding in my postdivorce metamorphosis.

  And not only had I gotten used to her presence, I’d grown to like her. She was energetic, fun, playful—and she egged on my more inhibited, overly cautious self. I felt like she was propelling my life forward, setting things in motion . . . though I sensed my wiser, more “mature” aspects were standing by, cringing and white-knuckled.

  Now before you start thinking “multiple personality disorder,” let me explain. I believe that women have different aspects or sides of themselves. Kind of li
ke wearing different “hats.” And each of these “aspects” of me came with a set of her own distinct qualities—strengths and weaknesses—that together served a specific purpose. Collectively, they represented the expansiveness of my soul.

  I’m sure behavioral scientists and academics have a fancy term for the layers of our personalities, but to me, they were like a series of inner-Delaines, all slightly different in character. And I liked to name mine: Wise Woman, Little Girl, Mother Soul, Warrior Woman, Wild Woman, and so on. I pictured these aspects sitting on a committee together, and as life situations arose, each one took a turn sharing her opinion about the matter at hand. For the past seven years, the head chairperson had been my Mother Soul. Her voice and opinion carried the most weight. But when the Graham bomb exploded, I think the boardroom flew into a state of chaos and mutiny. Low and behold, I believe a new leader mongered her way into the chairperson’s seat: Wild Woman.

  But because I was still getting to know this side of me, I was wary of her judgment. Maybe I should be ignoring her or throwing rocks at her. Maybe she was trouble in disguise and luring me to the dreaded “Dark Side.” Hmmm. Would that make Shane my Darth Vader?

  But my instincts said she didn’t mean me any harm. In fact, it felt more like she was trying to help me, teach me. Maybe even remind me or reconnect me with a part of myself I once knew.

  My sense was that she wasn’t going to hold onto her “seat” for too long though. Other committee members wanted to throttle her! Nonetheless, not only did she make good company in the “wilderness” I was currently slogging through, she seemed to know these parts; I was in her territory. And my gut said she might be the one to guide me out of here.

  I SWEAR I did not set out to do it intentionally, despite Shane’s challenge. I swear it was more by chance than deliberate effort. But yes, only two weeks after the challenge was issued, I had sex with two different men during one weekend! To my credit, it was a long weekend, with a forty-eight-hour gap between lovers instead of twenty-four. Still, it counts in my rule book.