The Secret Sex Life of a Single Mom

by Moore, Delaine

  “Yes you are!” Hali responded. “I can see it in your eyes! We all filter information through our own experiences and then judge it. And you are a dear friend who has three kids and has been happily married for fifteen years and you are looking at and judging my situation through your set of glasses! I can feel it.”

  Ultimately, her friend agreed to disagree, and conversation around dating was indefinitely shut down.

  I heeded Hali’s warning, but I already knew to restrict who I told of my escapades. Remember—I’d felt my own pangs of caution during the summer when I’d met with my “mom-friends” at the local pub. They were so curious about what single life looked like for a woman of our age. But my intuition kept telling me to be cautious; they were judging me, consciously or not.

  It’s the difference between not having kids but having an opinion about motherhood. Having wild sex with multiple partners after separation wasn’t a pair of shoes most had walked in, and sexual promiscuity was a contentious zone to begin with; it could be hot and juicy yet still trigger judgment, even moral outrage. Even if the listener was a lovely friend—a strong, mature, independent mother and career woman—her ethical boundaries around sex could be rigid and unforgiving. And I didn’t want to be the next candidate up for a stoning.

  I thought about my three-year-old daughter and what I hoped for her to experience some day, within her own sexuality. In terms of her partner “numbers,” my knee-jerk reaction was to say, “Make sure you can count them on two hands!” But my response came from fear: fear of her being judged and shunned by others, and fear that her choices would come from a place of unworthiness instead of empowerment. Big difference.

  What I really hoped was that her heart wouldn’t be broken too much, that she would find deep, meaningful love and/or friendship in a relationship (or three or ten), and that she would live a passionate, fulfilling life. As for her numbers, I wanted her to be able to make that decision 100 percent on her own terms. No one else’s.

  I now realized that every single sexual partner I’d had thus far had taught me something—about him, about sex, about our relationship, and about me. Bad or good, my Self was expanding, and each liaison had opened new levels of awareness. I wanted that freedom of self for my daughter as well. I wanted her to feel whole and fulfilled, not through self-denial and adherence to some societal code, but through her own conscious choices. I wanted her to sit strongly in her body, to listen to it and trust it; to understand that her sexuality was one of many vital aspects of who she was, and that she was entitled to explore it—however she saw fit. And if she made numerous mistakes along her journey, I hoped she would learn from them, then keep on going instead of wallowing in feelings of regret or shame.

  ACT SIX OPENED with the sounds of banjoes and fiddles filling the gymnasium. Hand-in-hand, two children at a time ventured forth on stage into a fluid circular formation. And here came my son! I joined in with the other parents who were clapping along to the barnyard beat. Wow, look at him dance! He’s quite the performer, my boy.

  At the end of the song, he looked directly at me. BIG smile. He’s so gorgeous! I vigorously clapped and gave him a standing ovation. Suddenly, I felt tears in my eyes. Gosh, I’m such a mom. But I can’t help it. Whenever I look at him, or any of my children, I see white light. They shine and display their loving faith in the world with such ease and brilliance.

  With tightness in my chest, I continued clapping. Silently, I prayed that no man or woman would stomp out my children’s light—that would be the greatest and cruelest sin in my book. Especially my daughter. I knew what she’d be up against. Above all, I wished her the freedom to cultivate and share her marvelous “whole” authentic self with this vast and complicated world.

  CHAPTER 14

  THE LIONESS MUST DEVOUR THE DIK-DIK

  Mission No. 4

  Subject’s Name: Black Cloud Brian

  Age: 43

  Body Type: tall, fit, really nice bum

  Penis Size: undisclosed, but hoping for plenteous

  ALTHOUGH I WAS OFFICIALLY OUT on “assignment” for this date, secretly I hoped it might he more. I’d already met Brian for coffee a few days earlier, and I was pleasantly thrilled by what walked through the door: Mr. Tall and Handsome with a motorcycle helmet under his arm. Not only was this guy really smart, he was also incredibly funny. I nearly spit out my drink from laughing so hard. Turns out, he was a professional comedian. And at the end of our first date, as he strode off to the men’s bathroom, I observed from tableside that his butt looked lovely in his jeans and black leather chaps.

  For this second date, he’d invited me and a couple of my friends to the comedy club where he was the emcee. I had dressed with an after-hour rendezvous in mind: a fitted black dress with spaghetti straps that concealed a black, lacy bustier and garters. Oh, and of course: fishnet stockings and black high-heeled boots.

  In addition to Hali, our friend Tara, who was in town visiting, was also joining me. She, too, was struggling with an abusive philanderer of a husband and had moved to the West Coast a year ago to be closer to her extended family and make a final decision about her comatose marriage. Now pushing forty, she’d been married to him (a former professional athlete) since she was twenty-four. She’d poured her heart into their relationship and two children, despite his affair, despite his anger issues and physical abuse, despite his feeble communication skills, and even despite his complete sexual disinterest in her.

  For years, I’d listened to Tara grapple aloud about her unfulfilling sex life. Whether she dressed up in lace, warmed him up with a relaxing massage, or backed away from him entirely, he never initiated sex and rarely played along. She analyzed their sex life over and over again: Was her wanting it more than once a month too much? Shouldn’t she just accept the fact that his libido was lower than hers? Shouldn’t she focus on feeling grateful for other, more positive aspects of their marriage? Because that’s what she’d tried to do: count her blessings and love him for the other ways he gave to her and the kids. But inevitably, she ended up feeling like she was convincing herself she was happy. Wasn’t that the same thing as “settling”? One thing was blatantly clear: His consistent disinterest in her was hurting her. Struggle as she did to accept it, his indifference translated into “You aren’t desirable—as a partner or a woman.”

  Tonight, as we indulged in a few greasy appetizers and a liter of wine, Tara brought us up to speed on her West Coast life. And the more I listened to her talk, the more my stomach knotted with empathy. I saw my old self as I looked at her, this long-haired, stylishly dressed woman with sad blue eyes. She was clinging onto the scraps of kindness and physical affection he sporadically threw her, telling herself it was enough to subsist on. Her family was her dream, and she was resolute about enduring whatever life had to throw at them. As she put it, her marriage “hadn’t become bad enough to leave.” Hali and I listened with compassion, love, and support, knowing that only she could make any final decision.

  As the conversation switched to mine and Hali’s lives, the mood suddenly became much lighter. And mischievous. Because remember, up to this point, Hali and I had kept our goings-on mainly between us—we knew our crazy dating/sex stories could be easily misjudged by others. But Tara was a most trusted and welcome exception.

  In the midst of our laughter over some intimate detail or another, Hali’s cell phone suddenly bleeped. She held it open over the table and shook her head. “I just got a text message from Josh. He wrote, ‘Can I come over for coffee?’ But look how he spelled coffee—” She held out her phone and we leaned in to read it: “cofie.”

  “Who the hell doesn’t know how to spell coffee?” she exclaimed. “Honestly, he is the worst speller ever. Yesterday he sent me a text and wrote good morning. Not ‘morning,’ as normal, smart people spell it, but as in someone just died: m-o-u-r-ning.”

  We burst out laughing, drawing curious—dare I say even envious—looks from the table beside us.

  “Now
which guy is this?” Tara asked. “Back up here, because I get your men confused.”

  “Josh is the young guy with the really big penis,” Hali stated matter-of-factly. “I met him by accident when I was supposed to meet another guy on a date.”

  “Oh yes,” said Tara nodding, as if we were discussing an education issue around our kids. “And what’s he like? Besides his big penis, I mean.”

  “Well . . .” began Hali, leaning back in her chair and looking at me. I was already holding in giggles. “He’s not very smart, as his text messages clearly show. He has no money, and he can’t hold down a job. Actually, he just got fired from his construction job on the weekend for telling his boss to fuck off. Ummm, what else . . . We fight all the time. And he’s not good-looking at all.”

  “He’s not?” Tara was bewildered. “I was thinking he must be really hot to compensate! What does he look like?”

  “Well . . . ” Hali began again, a huge grin on her face. I bit my lip. “He’s not very tall. Maybe five-foot-seven. His face is okay, I guess. He has skinny arms . . . a big belly . . . okay teeth, I guess.”

  Tara’s eyes were enormous. “So why are you seeing this guy? I must not be getting something.” She looked at me, then back at Hali.

  “Honestly Tara, it’s because he has an enormous cock.” I couldn’t hold in my giggles anymore. Though I already knew Hali’s story, listening to my gorgeous, usually classy girlfriend tell it made it all the more hilarious.

  Hali continued, attempting to look serious. “There is absolutely no other reason, Tara. We have phenomenal sex and he makes me orgasm like crazy. Plus—” Hali paused. “I guess I shouldn’t say it’s the only reason. He also makes me feel great about my body. He has so many imperfections that I’m not as self-conscious about my baby weight.”

  “Hali,” replied Tara, leaning in. “You really need to wake up and realize that you and your beautiful curves are pretty much every man’s dream come true. And God—” She gestured at Hali’s ripe chest. “Look at those fucking boobs!” We laughed.

  “But back to his big penis,” Tara continued. “As I see it, a girl has her needs and they should be taken care of; it’s great he can satisfy you in that way. So tell me, have you introduced him to any of your friends?”

  “No way!” Hali declared vehemently. “Not even Delaine has met him.” Tara looked at me and I shook my head.

  “But we do go out for lunch and shopping sometimes,” explained Hali. “The problem is that he doesn’t have a car. So I always have to go pick him up and drop him off.”

  By now, I was straining hard to keep my composure. I mean, “Auntie Hali” picking up and dropping off her dependant, delinquent lover? They were a walking oxymoron, and I never, in a hundred years, would have imagined her dating (or having the patience) for a goofball like this! I was laughing so hard, I had to wipe away tears.

  “Tell her what happened the one time you went out to the Red Robin restaurant,” I finally managed to squeak out.

  “Oh yeah,” said Hali, nodding. “And he curses a lot and has no manners. We went out for lunch one day—” She glanced at me and added: “A lunch I had to pay for, by the way. We’re sitting there in this family restaurant, there are young kids at tables all around us, when suddenly he says something and drops the “C” word three times in one sentence! He said it loud, too. I was totally shocked; I wanted to crawl under the table. I have no doubt that people heard him.”

  “Hopefully they couldn’t understand him,” I offered between laughs.

  “No, they would have heard him. He might be hard to understand, but certain words come out of his mouth crystal clear, like the ‘C’ word.”

  Tara was confused. “Does he have a speech impediment, too?”

  “No no,” said Hali laughing. “He’s got an accent. He’s from Newfoundland. And his accent is really thick.” Hali looked at me again and pushed out, between giggles, “I can’t even understand what he says most of the time. We can hardly even COMMUNICATE!” And with that, Hali roared with laughter too. She added, “Why am I with this guy? Oh my, I really must be desperate.” That was it; all three of us were in tears now.

  Two minutes later, just as we started to compose ourselves, a deep lively voice boomed over the microphone: “Good evening, everyone! How are y’all doing tonight?” The crowd cheered. I smiled; I’d almost forgotten why I was here.

  “Is that him?” Tara whispered, her eyes glued to the long-legged man on stage wearing blue jeans and a Budweiser T-shirt.

  “Yeah,” I whispered back.

  “He’s hot.”

  And very funny, too, as it turned out. I’m not sure if it was entirely his talent or my giddy mood from Josh stories that made me laugh so much. But by the end of the evening, my jaw muscles and cheeks were aching.

  As the club began to clear out, Hali, Tara, and I lingered at our table to finish our last sips of wine. “Go over and talk to him,” urged Tara.

  “Nah,” I responded. “He knows I’m here. He’ll come over when he’s ready.”

  “And here he comes now,” said Hali, on high alert. All three of us got to our feet as he approached the table. Hali and Tara started putting on their coats.

  “Hey ladies,” he said casually, while staring at me from head to toe. “You heading home already?”

  “We are,” said Hali, gesturing to Tara. “But she’s free.” She poked me in the side.

  “Would you like to grab a drink next door?”

  “Sure,” I said. I turned and hugged my girlfriends.

  “Have fun,” whispered Tara with a giggle. “But play carefully.”

  Goes without saying, I thought, giving her a big squeeze.

  Goodbyes done, Brian and I stood facing each other: a tall, bright-eyed comedian, and an equally bright-eyed babe wearing garters, each of us thinking the same thing. Let’s get this show on the road.

  GRAVITY WAS FAST in motion and there was no stopping it. Halfway through my steaming cup of tea, I actually wished Brian’s mouth would stop moving. Where did the funny, confident man from my first date go? The one I just saw on stage? I sat there shell-shocked as this guy lamented about his ex-wife and past girlfriend, both of whom thought he was a dead-beat dad and loser: “They never understood my need to chase my dream, you know? Sure, life as a comedian is tough and the pay sucks, but it’s what I wanted to do. As soon as I got rid of them, I sold my car, bought a Harley, and started going on tour.”

  Now, I’m all for dream chasers, so I perked up and threw him an easy shot at deliverance: “Being on tour must be exciting; traveling to new cities, meeting new people, standing in the spotlight . . .”

  “No. It’s not glamorous at all. I’m only doing small venues in hick towns across the prairies. And I’ll tell you, it gets really damn cold this time of year on my Harley.”

  In my mind’s eye, I caricatured him cruising down the highway with a scowl on his face, a black cloud floating above him, pelting him with rain. Behind him, his female demons chased him, screaming.

  He continued: “Most of the time I don’t have money for hotels, so I try to crash at another comedian’s house. Even when I’m here in town, I can only afford a dingy basement apartment in some lady’s house. Actually, I have a comedian friend crashing there tonight on the couch.”

  I nodded my head slowly in response. So to top things off, you live like a student in a basement. Hmmm. Well then . . .

  “I have to use the ladies room.” I excused myself and walked down the hallway purposefully: I had to get away from him.

  I leaned over the bathroom sink and shook my head. What the hell was going on here? He wasn’t an alpha male, he was an alpha whiner! I really just wanted to leave. Ohhh, but I couldn’t. That would be so mean.

  Well, since sex was out of the question, I might as well get back to my “assignment.” Maybe if I steered conversation down a sexier, less gloomy path, he’d revert back to his former, chipper personality . . . ?

  I catwalked back
to the table with fresh lip gloss and a fresh attitude. That glimmer was now in my eyes. I deliberately positioned my chair so he could see my body and I oh-so-demurely lifted my skirt a tad, to show off a bit of thigh. “So, do you like my fishnet stockings?” I asked. C’mon buddy, let’s see what you’re made of.

  He reached over and pinched a piece of netting. “Yeah. I haven’t seen tights like those since the eighties.” Cute answer, but his eyes glinted with insecurity.

  “Actually,” I began. “These aren’t even tights—they’re stockings. I have them attached up here to my garter belt.” I lifted my skirt ever-so-slightly so he could catch a glimpse of a clasp.

  And that’s when Comedian Man went to J-E-L-L-O. I folded my arms and leaned forward on the table looking him straight in the eyes—unyielding, bold, powerful. His eyes dilated. He twitched. He sweated. Without even trying, I stared him down. My God, I thought, this date is the biggest joke of the night! I couldn’t get out of there quick enough.

  Very soon after, I was back home in my bedroom taking off my sexy clothes—alone, of course. Five minutes later, I was clean-faced and sporting my Super Girl jammies. I kicked my lingerie drawer closed with a thud.

  Down in my office in front of my computer, I brewed over the night’s events. Alpha Whiner’s black cloud had followed me home. I hastily typed a short message to Shane: “I’m not even sure this guy had any vertebrae. I won without even trying. Get out the rejection stamp. I don’t want to see this file in my face again.”

  The next morning, I walked to my computer knowing that Shane’s reply would be there.

  You are now at a place where the lioness catches the little “dik-diks”: http://wikipedia.org/wiki/Dik-dik (check it). But instead of devouring them, you let them go. You need to get your blood lust up to make use of the rejected ones. Winning isn’t enough. A lioness can always “win” with a dik-dik. You have to kill them, totally dominate them. That is the whole point in why the lioness hunts them.