The Secret Sex Life of a Single Mom (26 page)

But I knew that was no way to live. I could be at the grocery store and something terrible could happen. And I knew my deeper, restless self wouldn’t settle for staying put. I’d be a tiger in a cage, pacing my kitchen floor, only half present to the kids, unless I followed this personal journey to its end. Plus, I could plan my trips for the weekends the kids were with their dad.
Okay, Guilty Conscience, try again!

Good point! But I wasn’t talking about love here. This wasn’t about finding a replacement husband, nor even a boyfriend—
or
a friend with benefits. I just wanted to explore ME more.

Besides,
Wild Woman chimed in mischievously,
why limit it to one man? Nobody has to know . . .

Hmmm. She had a point.

Potential scenarios played out in my head. At home, I would have my own fulfilling and independent life—which included dating anyone I pleased—and the same rules would apply to my out-of-town lover. The difference would be that each month or so, we’d look forward to meeting for a couple of fun-filled days in one another’s city. Maybe even in a third location. Like Vegas . . .

Perfect.

One guideline: I’d want them to be my age or older, and successful and independent. From my experiences with younger men, I definitely wanted wisdom and smarts over brawn and muscle.

I knew of only one place to find such men.

I cancelled my membership on the local dating site and logged
on to the Sugar Daddy site with renewed interest.
Time to upgrade my profile and photos. Time to recast my fishing line into deeper waters.

 

WHAT WERE THE chances? They seemed so slim that I figured it must be some kind of sign. Out of all the thousands of men on the millionaire dating site, I attracted another sexual dominant.

There was just
something
about the whole dominant/submissive thing that seized my attention. I chastised myself for my curiosity around it; why would I want to be “dominated” when I sought my own empowerment? That made no logical sense. I just exited a controlling marriage and a love affair that was heading down the same path. Was I subconsciously pursuing the same dynamic yet again?

But the pull was there. My body responded to it and I needed to learn more.

When John first messaged me, his photos immediately piqued my interest: He looked boyishly handsome, in a younger Harrison Ford kind of way. And as I read through his lengthy written profile, I grew increasingly impressed by how expressive he was. I gasped when I got to the very last sentence: “And by the way, I am a dom, as in D/s.” As if it was an afterthought!

Right away I arranged to chat with him by phone; I had
lots
of questions. But unlike my first call with Shane, I felt no panicked need to write those questions down. And as our conversation gradually moved to D/s, I listened closely for any signs of danger or freakishness.

Immediately he explained that he (like Shane) was more interested in the mental side of D/s, though it “might” include some tactile elements, such as spanking, hair pulling, and using toys. “It really depends on what the submissive wants,” he said. “People have this misconception that a submissive is vulnerable and weak and at the Dom’s mercy. But that’s completely wrong. A Dom never takes away. He only
builds.”

A D/s relationship, in its truest form, is all about the submissive, he explained patiently. It’s about
her
wants,
her
needs,
her
fantasies. Some of her desires may be conscious, but others may be locked in her subconscious. The Dom’s job is to build a bond so strong with her that she feels safe enough, connected enough with him, to unleash her creativity and explore her innermost self. Through submission, she actually becomes empowered because she connects with her body, heart, and mind in much deeper ways.

“Trust. Honesty. Communication. And Respect,” he said firmly. “Remember those four words. Those are the four pillars that a genuine D/s relationship is built upon. And until they are in place with any dom,
always
meet in a public place and
always
keep your clothes on,” he warned, “because there are men out there who use D/s as a way to abuse women. They think sex is all about them, that they can take whatever they want. I’ve been active in the D/s lifestyle for the past fifteen years and I’ve seen enough and heard enough to know that subs have to be
very
careful. Otherwise, you can end up in the hospital.”

Okay, now I was scared.
Hang up, hang up!
a voice shrieked in my head.
This is a sexual underground full of wackos. You’re still WAY too naive to go here.

Nonetheless, I kept talking to him. I appreciated the fact that he was warning me. And I liked that our conversation switched easily to other aspects of our lives: family, work, past relationships. Unlike Shane, who’d been secretive and much more about the sex, John seemed an open book. He talked about his family—his younger sister who was pursuing her dream to become a violinist in New York City, his widowed mom and divorced brother who were very active in the church community, and his fourteen-year-old nephew, who regularly dropped in to play his Wii and raid his fridge. I found his devotion very warming, and when I mentioned this, he replied: “I am a very loving and caring man, Delaine. I love and laugh and work and
play just like everyone else. The only difference is that I’m also a dom. It’s who I am and who I must continue to be. Once a person explores D/s, once he or she experiences the intensity of that connection, he can’t go back to regular ‘vanilla’ relationships.”

As our conversation progressed, I gazed over at my computer screen where my favorite profile photo of him sat open. Arms loosely at his sides, he was leaning back against a wall wearing dark jeans and a simple white T-shirt. His gaze was slightly off to the side of the camera lens, and a soft smile spread across his clean-shaven face.
He looks like the “man next door,”
I thought to myself, knowing that he lived in the suburbs. Then:
I sure wish a cute dom would move onto my street!

I asked: “But since you’re single, I assume you must get sexually frustrated sometimes. Do you have a friend with benefits somewhere to help you out? Don’t you ever have one-night stands?”

“No,” he stated matter-of-factly. “It’s been over a year since my last relationship and since I’ve had sex. I’d rather take care of myself than pick up some woman at a bar. I’m not twenty-five years old anymore; I am in control of myself, my body, and my life. I choose to wait for the mental connection.”

He then asked if I’d heard the term “subspace” before. When I told him I hadn’t, he explained: “Subspace is the name given to the state that a submissive often goes into with her dom. Usually it happens after she’s had multiple orgasms and her mind and body are on overload. It’s kind of like being half-asleep, half-awake, yet it’s euphoric and she can remain in that place for up to an hour—at least, from what I’ve experienced.”

“And what do you do when she’s off in subspace? Go have a coffee?” I asked, cheeky.

He ignored my flip tone. “I may exit the room, but only for a few minutes. It’s my job to watch over her, stay close to her, and make sure she’s okay.”

“But don’t
you
ever want to go into subspace?” I blurted.

“No. I’m a dominant. My pleasure comes from giving her what she wants and needs. My pleasure is derived from the connection I feel with my partner.”

“I see,” I answered weakly. But I really didn’t see or understand at all.
You mean to tell me a dominant is someone whose goal and greatest pleasure is to explore and satisfy a woman’s every sexual want and need? WHAT?
My body raced with excitement—this news couldn’t get any better! But my brain was scanning for the loophole. Surely there had to be a catch....

John, noting my long silence, gently asked, “What are you looking for Delaine?”

“I . . . I’m not really sure.” He patiently sat on the line. “I’ve never been in a D/s relationship before, and I don’t know if it’s what I really want. But I do know I’m drawn to it, even more so now that I’ve talked to you about it,” I admitted. “I do believe I have a submissive side to me. And I
do
want to explore it. My body totally responds to it—it shocks me, actually. But it scares me too,” I went on. “There’s so much I don’t know. And from what you’ve told me, a real element of trust needs to be in place between the dom and sub. And I’m kind of lacking in the trust department.”

He waited, his attentive silence coaxing me to talk. And so I told him about Robert’s and Graham’s betrayals. And it felt strange to tell my stories again out loud. On the one hand I felt removed from them, yet at the same time, a few silent tears fell while I spoke. John listened quietly until I finished.

“Good God,” he finally said, exhaling loudly. “What a twisted story. And I have to say, though Graham sounds like a jerk, your ex is even worse. He sounds like a selfish little boy.”

“Yes, he made some bad choices,” I replied. “But he was younger than me and I just don’t think he was ready to have three kids before the age of thirty. I changed a lot when I became a
mother: I didn’t want to party and get drunk anymore. He, on the other hand, did
.
I didn’t think it was my place to tell him when or if he could go out at night, so I gave him his freedom. And the next morning,
if
he came home, I would usher the kids downstairs and try to keep them quiet so he could sleep it off until noon.”

I continued: “Sometimes though, he never even came home—he crashed at a friend’s place, which of course was his girlfriend’s house. But I’d always been okay with him staying at a friend’s place because he had a history of drinking and driving. At least this way I knew he was safe,” I said, laughing dryly. “I didn’t realize I was enabling his affair.

“Oh well,” I sighed. “It’s all water under the bridge now. It’s all worked out for the best.”

“Why are you defending him?”

“
Pardon?
”

“Why are you defending him?” He was irritated. “The man chose to abandon his wife and kids at night so he could go out, get drunk, and fuck other women. I don’t care how hard he worked or how many days he worked out of town. He should have come home and risen up to his responsibilities as a husband and a father. It doesn’t matter if he was younger than you, he chose to have children. He chose to have sex with you, get you pregnant, and bring them into this world. But instead of acting like a real man and taking care of his family, he was more interested in getting drunk and getting his rocks off.”

The force of John’s words caught me off guard.
I mustn’t be describing this fairly
, I thought to myself.

“Remember John, you’re only hearing my side of the story. I’m sure I was an imperfect wife in many ways. I contributed to the demise of my marriage, too.”

“Of course you weren’t the perfect wife. There’s no such thing,” he answered curtly. “But the bottom line is that when things
got tough, when life was demanding and you and your kids needed him most, he only thought about himself.”

He exhaled long again.

“Sorry to be so upfront, Delaine,” he said more gently. “I know it’s none of my business and I’m inserting my opinion without your asking. I’m ferociously protective of the people I love—I would do anything for them. And when I hear stories about men putting their cocks before the needs of their wives and kids, it repulses me.”

Later on that night, as I lay in bed trying to sleep, John’s comments around Robert kept jabbing me awake. I knew he was just an outsider, a stranger, looking in on my marriage for but a few minutes. But his judgment of Robert was so absolute. And I wondered:
Was his summation right? And did it even matter anymore?

For a few brief minutes, I allowed myself to go back in time to revisit my marriage. It didn’t take long for the old feelings of hurt and anger to resurface. I knew that dwelling there would only suck me in and downward, so I quickly fast-forwarded to the now.

But John’s vehement words wouldn’t let go. Why
do
I defend Robert and make excuses for his behavior?

I didn’t think I was “defending” Robert so much as trying to be fair. We’ve all heard, after all, that “relationships are complicated things” and “the truth lies somewhere in between two people’s stories.” In essence, I was trying to view and speak of our history from a place of empathy and objectivity. That required I assume culpability for the role I played in its failure; to balance the scales, so-to-speak. I didn’t think that should be perceived as “weakness.” I think it was a very female way to perceive the world, for better or worse.

After all, we’d both lost: Our family was torn apart, and the wounds we each carried were real.

Over the next two weeks, John and I continued to talk every night by phone after I put the kids to bed. It felt strange, sometimes,
going from snuggling with my bath-fresh babies, reading
Goodnight Moon
or
Where the Wild Things Are,
to then crossing into my own
Wild Things
territory soon after they fell into slumber. But it felt right, this distinction between my Mother Self and my Adult Self.
I was finally getting it . . .
I thought, feeling my equilibrium shift more to center.
It’s okay to be a woman, too.

Each conversation we shared was as lengthy and open as the first. An intense yet warm connection was developing between us; I’d dare to even call it a “special friendship.” Would we ever go further? I wasn’t sure. He never talked as if he was
my
dom. He referred to D/s in the third person. He never made any suggestion of us meeting, nor did he ever attempt to have phone sex with me. He just seemed to want to get to know me.

And I was letting him in.