Read The Secret Sex Life of a Single Mom Online

Authors: Delaine Moore

Tags: #Biography & Autobiography, #Personal Memoirs, #Family & Relationships, #Divorce & Separation, #Parenting, #Single Parent, #Health & Fitness, #Sexuality

The Secret Sex Life of a Single Mom (10 page)

BOOK: The Secret Sex Life of a Single Mom
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“So what are these steps?” I asked. Surely I had room for improvement, too.
Suddenly, for a flash of second, I thought of being down on my knees in front of Robert. Planning my day. Willing him to hurry up with my thoughts and hands. What if that scenario presented itself in a future relationship? Once the newness wore off, would I end up in the exact same position emotionally as I was before?
I shook off the thoughts and tuned in closely as Hali began discreetly explaining
and
demonstrating blow job highlights. I smiled and began taking mental notes. I suddenly felt a rush of immense gratitude for the women in my life—our openness and honesty with each other was a source of true personal empowerment. I wondered if my mother had ever talked with her girlfriends like this when she was younger—especially with a newborn baby lying in a car seat beside their table.
 
JUST AFTER ELEVEN o’clock, Hali and I were back at Miss Chiff’s Closet, browsing through the clothes with grins plastered across our faces: policewoman, sexy nurse, latex dominatrix, full body fishnets . . . Bet they did great business here on Halloween. It was hard to imagine myself wearing it any other time of year.
“Hey Hali, is there something specific you’re looking for?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Something I feel good in. Something sexy. Something
slutty,”
she added, laughing.
“Well, you’ve certainly come to the right place,” I said dryly, holding up a black, sleeveless minidress that had large holes cut down the front. “How about something like
this?

Hali laughed. “Jesus, is that a dress? It looks small enough to fit your daughter!” She suddenly looked inspired. “Hey! Why don’t
you
try it on?”
I frowned. “Nah—I wasn’t planning to shop for me.”
“Oh, c’mon, try it on,” she begged, giving me a faux sad face. “You have the body for it.”
Hmmm. Maybe I would,
I thought. Just for fun
.
I’d never actually wear something like this. But, there again . . . that was the knee-jerk reaction of practical Delaine, down-to-earth mother of three
very
small children. It felt frivolous and indulgent.
Oh screw it! Just cause I’m a mom doesn’t mean I have to be milquetoast. I can be sensuous and adventurous, if I want to be!
Especially with a man like The Duke. The sudden thought of him sent a little zing of pleasure through my body. Maybe he’d
make
me wear something decadent. Suddenly, I felt more motivated. It would be nice to have something naughty tucked away for “special occasions.”
Over the next hour, we were like giddy schoolgirls on back-to-school shopping day, scampering back and forth a dozen times from the changing room to the clothing racks. I was intoxicated with the fun and the sense of liberation it engendered, because with each garment I tried on, my imagination took flight. Not just with visions of me wearing it, but with how that woman might feel about herself as she wore it and who she might grow into one day. The possibilities were endless; this wasn’t about “dressing” my skin, but exploring what and who lay within me. Delaine the Sexually-Numb Wife wouldn’t have been caught dead in this store; God, why give her husband more incentive? Delaine the Love-Sick Mistress wouldn’t have lurked here either, for no other reason than because her lover Graham thought lingerie was “slutty.” But Delaine the Soon-to-be Divorcee had no man in the wings; no need to please or impress. The only reason she was in this store was because she wanted to be. It was her choice. And
she liked it. Being in a shop that breathed with sexual mischief reconnected her with the feelings of passion and adventure she’d felt in her twenties. At the same time, it felt like a whole new land of discovery, for she was reentering this world at a different age and different stage of her life.
One hour later, I left the store carrying the inconspicuous “black bag.” I’d bought a glamorous pink corset, thigh-high fishnet stockings, and two very skimpy, “bedroom only” dresses. Grinning, I thought of Hali, who was last seen in the store feeding her daughter a bottle in a black latex minidress and high-heeled boots.
Dominatrix Momma.
As I walked toward my car in the midday sunshine, I laughed to myself.
When am I ever going to wear this stuff ?
As it turned out, just two days later.
 
HALI PHONED ME Friday morning, excited. “So I took the stripping class last night.”
Why was I not surprised?
“How was it?”
“Great,” she said, dismissively. Apparently, she had more important news to share.
“After everyone left, I was there with just the teacher. And all night long I had been wondering, what the heck
is
this place? It almost looked like a condo, but there were high tables and stools, like in a bar, and a dance floor with a pole—which we learned to work, by the way. The room actually looked quite elegant. But I didn’t understand why a place like this was located way out in an industrial area. It was in a warehouse building, and there were no signs on the outside door.
“I kept asking my teacher, ‘Is this someone’s condo? Does someone live here?’ But she kept avoiding my questions. Eventually, she gave in: ‘Actually, it’s a
sex club.
’”
“Wow.
Really?
” I asked, incredulous. “I’ve heard of them before, but I didn’t know there was one in Calgary.”
I sat there on the phone, waiting for Hali to express her disgust. I assumed these places attracted desperate, sleazy men, and that did
not
interest me. But instead, she said, “I want to go.”
“WHAT?
What!
Are you out of your flippin’ mind?”
“No, I’m not,” she said laughing. “I really want to go.
Tonight.
They’re having a party and I want to go. And I want you to come with me.”
I had to laugh too. “Hali, you’re crazy.”
“We don’t have to
do
anything. We can just go and check it out. I looked at the club’s website and talked to the woman in charge. It’s not at all what you think. You have to be screened to get in. No single men are allowed; only single women and couples. They have over four hundred members. Tonight, the theme is ‘Wear What You Dare
.
’”
“Ohhhh, Hali,” I said, shaking my head. “Wear What You
Dare
?”
“Yes. A perfect opportunity to wear your new pink corset.”
“Yeah, right.”
“The owner assured me it is
not
sleazy at all. She said their clientele are mainly professionals, the kind you’d see downtown in a suit on a Friday afternoon. You would never know they go to a sex club. She also said that in this club, a woman’s choice is always put first—no means no, and it must be respected at all times. We are not obligated to do anything. We can just watch if we want.”
“Soooo . . . how does a first-time visit work then?”
“Well, first you have to fill out a form on their website . . .”
As Hali went over the registration how-to’s, I sat on the line, trying to swallow Hali’s proposition. I exhaled loudly; so many questions—
ethical
questions: Even if we didn’t participate in any sexual goings on, could we be considered indecent or corrupt just for visiting
such a place? What if something actually happened? What if we
liked
it? What if we ran into someone we knew? What if we bumped into someone from the sex club somewhere else in the future?
“Okay, okay,” I sighed. “What’s the name of the website?” I was totally fascinated but a little disgusted, too. Warning bells rang in my head like a truck in reverse: Stay clear! Back up! Don’t go this way!
Why do I consider this so lurid?
I wondered.
What was wrong with consenting adults mingling in this way? Who was I to judge the spectrum of sexual expression? Is there even a barometer?
In my mind’s eye, I saw myself standing alone in a spotlight. A game show host is whispering to a hushed audience. “Will she take the challenge folks? THAT is the million-dollar question. Or will she turn her back and stick with her cloistered stay-at-home mom existence?
Screw it!
I promised to fill out and submit the application. “I’ll ask my sitter if she’s free after the kids are in bed tonight.”
“Thanks, Delaine!” said Hali, clearly elated. “I don’t know why I’m so curious about this, but I really want to see what it is. And I won’t do it unless
you
come. I can’t ask anyone else but you.”
I hung up the phone and immediately logged onto the club’s website. I browsed around attentively, searching suspiciously for sleaze or any red flags. Instead, it reiterated a lot of what Hali had told me, highlighting their many rules, requirements, and policies. The site itself was very tasteful and professionally presented. I navigated to the application page and ten minutes later pressed “send.”
Then I walked over to my children’s school and joined the other moms who were picking up their kids for lunch.
 
HALI AND I agreed to meet at the Big Town shopping mall parking lot and drive to the club together. I’d squeezed into my pink corset, feeling sexy but exposed.
How could I leave the house in this?
I thought. Hali planned to deck herself out in a latex dress, with a cardigan over the top, just in case.
Driving in my minivan, with Shakira belting out “Hips Don’t Lie,” I felt weirdly
free.
I was up for the adventure, whatever it would be. I turned the music up, grooving in my seat and singing along. My minivan suddenly felt more like a dance club on wheels than a mommy-mobile, with its empty car seats and stale Cheerios. After years of tolerating toddler and kids’ tunes to make car rides bearable, I had forgotten just how much I enjoyed dance music. How many renditions of “The Wheels on the Bus” had I endured? I’d listen to anything in lieu of sitting in rush-hour traffic with three screaming toddlers in the car. Oh, the number of red lights I had willed to turn to green . . .
I looked out the window as I sped through the night, and the glimmering lights of the downtown core winked back at me, inviting me to discover its hidden secrets.
 
HALI’S CAR SAT idling in the middle of the mall parking lot. I pulled up alongside her and got out—gingerly.
Damn corset.
I opened her passenger door and sat down—
gingerly
. Hali was putting on lipstick in her rearview mirror. “Okay,” I said, “So how are you doing?”
“I’m good,” she said, automatically. Then she looked at me. “But I’m nervous. Are you?”
“Yes!” I laughed. “This is crazy. Absolutely
freaking crazy
. But, whatever.” I leaned back in the chair. “Let’s do it.”
The club was located in the back of a long, monochrome industrial building. Except for the club’s unmarked black doors, this side of the building was as dull as the front. It felt like gangster territory, and behind these closed doors I imagined smoky poker rooms and car thieves reassembling stolen parts. Hali and I were completely silent.
“That’s it there,” she half-whispered, “The one with the small red light out front.” She parked a few doors down, but kept the car running.
“It’s kind of funny that it has a red light,” I said lightly. “It’s like we’re going into the red-light district.”
“You sure you want to do this?” asked Hali, nervously rubbing her hands.
“ME?
You’re
the one who wanted to come! And now,
yes
, I want to check it out. We didn’t come here to just sit in a parking lot. It’s right there, we look great, so let’s go—before I lose my courage.” I opened the door. “Worst-case scenario, we stay for ten minutes then leave.”
“Okay.”
My heart beat faster as we approached the entrance. I lifted my chin, thrust my shoulders back, and swung open that door like I owned the place.
We stepped into a dimly lit entryway. Further passage was blocked by another closed door, beyond which I could hear dance music. To our left, a man and woman sat behind what appeared to be a coat check.
Phew, they’re both dressed.
“Hi,” the woman said loudly. “Can I help you?” Not friendly, but guarded.
She’s a watchdog.
“Hi, my name is Hali. I spoke with the owner earlier today, and my friend, Delaine, and I are visiting for the first time tonight.”
The man behind the desk was looking at me as Hali talked. He was slim and short—maybe five foot seven—and had a goatee. I half-smiled at him and tried not to fidget. His appraising look made me feel even more self-conscious than I already did. Guard Woman pulled out a sign-in sheet and pointed. “I need you to write your name
here
and sign
here
. I also need to see your driver’s licenses.”
Yes Ma’am!
I quickly jumped to do her bidding.
“And
I’ll
take your jackets,” said the man with the goatee, his
voice rich, creamy . . . like butter. I felt naked as I shrugged it off my bare shoulders into his hands.
He can’t see anything,
I reminded myself.
Just relax!
But he knows you’re sexually curious! That’s why you’re here!
trilled a panicked voice in response.
Front door admin complete, Goatee Man opened the inside door. “Welcome ladies,” he said with a brush of his arm, and we stepped into a large room. It was much like Hali had described: a bit like a condo, but in lieu of living room furniture, bar tables and stools were spread across the hardwood floors. About fifteen people were scattered around the dimly lit room, but I didn’t dare look at anyone directly. Instead, I looked around them and above them, at sensual red-wine walls and dark wooden tabletops. The overall feel was warm. Mysterious.
Sexual
.
“I see you brought some alcohol,” Goatee Man said. I looked down—yes, I had forgotten. Knowing the club wasn’t licensed, I had grabbed a half-bottle of white wine out of my fridge on my way out the door.
BOOK: The Secret Sex Life of a Single Mom
4.54Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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