Originally published in Boston Magazine, February 2016, under Anonymous
Now more than ever, Bostonians’ sexual identities, mores, and mating habits have become fluid. Confessions from the front lines of our secret sexual revolution. —Edited by Rachel Slade and Julie Dugdale
We Get Booty Calls While Our Kids Play Soccer
Confessions of a recent divorcée, who figured out how to work around her extenuating circumstances.
Divorced in Chestnut Hill, I found myself browsing the man market again after 25 years. Dating now has all the efficiency of online shopping: Plug in your preferred size, income, age, and voilà! An array of men with handy (if optimistic) tag lines—from “Lust It or Leave It” to “Plymouth Rock ’Em”—areat your disposal.
So I shopped.
I wasn’t prepared for the, uh, merchandise to look so old. But I got over it—likely because of the surge of hormones roaring through my loins. I had kept my knees mostly shut before marriage. Suddenly, who cared? And, as I happily discovered, what older guys lack in physique, they make up for in technique. Yowza.
Only one problem: kids at home. This is not insurmountable. Here’s how I did it. —Anonymous
I perfected the late-night booty call 2.0: My 12-year-old daughter would typically fall asleep by 11 p.m. So “Lobster Man” would come over late and leave very early the next morning. The only witness was the dog, who developed a Pavlovian response to the text alert from my beau waiting outside. We’d use my son’s bedroom—he was away at school—on the third floor. When he returned on breaks he was none the wiser. New stains on the mattress? Damn dog.
I used my time wisely: My daughter had soccer practice, guaranteed, twice a week for two hours. I’m not ashamed to admit that sometimes, that’s all it took. Enough said.
I bought toys—and hid them: I threw my stash of new paraphernalia on top of old tax returns in the back closet. Those files never saw so much action.
I covered up telltale signs: Mussed hair? Accidental hickey? That sweaty sheet smell? Dead giveaways. I’d have perfume and makeup at the ready when I needed to cut it close. My daughter once asked, “Mom, why did you take two showers today?” I said that I believed in being extra clean and someday she would, too.
I never let go of my phone: Sexting? Oh yes. But please note: I used to let my kids borrow my phone. Never, never again. Did I say never? Never. In fact, my phone stays on my body at all times. Nothing stops breakfast in its tracks like a naughty text hitting your screen when your phone is face up on the table.
I guess I’m proof that anyone, at any age, can get broadsided by that thundering train called Sex Drive. At least when my daughter goes crazy like this, I’ll be able to handle her with empathy, support, and…a chastity belt.