SEX AND THE INTROVERTED BOOK NERD SINGLE MOTHER

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Kids are the biggest cock block known to man. If you want to have an awesome ongoing sex life 1. Don’t get married (There’s something in wedding vows that subliminally tell women to only have sex on birthdays and anniversaries) and 2. Do not have children. Nothing makes the penis limper and the vagina drier than having to cater to irrational, helpless human beings 24/7.

What’s 1000x worse is being a single mom without every other weekend off to get her groove on (as in my sucky situation). Any single mother I’ve known gets her ass out there right away to ensnare another father substitute, but not me, nope. A man is the reason I’m in the position I’m in, so I no longer trust them as far as I can throw them. I do however, still want to fuck them.

I consider myself more like a stereotypical man than a woman. Sex for me is primarily a physical act, a stress reliever. You will never hear me utter the words, “Make love to me.” I’ll never sprinkle rose petals all over the bed, and I light candles to set the mood only because I know I look better in candlelight. My cuddling limit is about 5 minutes if that, and ideally, I’d prefer to be done with you once the deed is, cough, done.

My ideal relationship fantasy is to be involved with a firefighter, not because they’re built and possess a lot of stamina, but because I’d love a guy who’s gone for 3 days at a time, works 12 hour shifts, comes home exhausted, but still wants to fuck, then rolls over and goes to sleep and is gone by morning.

I (an introvert) used to date nothing but extroverts—lively men who always wanted to do something every minute of the day, and in my 20s it was fine because I had nothing better to do than you know, please them, so relationships consisted of constant togetherness. But now in my 40s, I have too much shit to do; I have books to write and read, rooms to paint, leaky sinks to fix, trees to trim, hair to dye, and I value my alone time like you wouldn’t believe. That’s what happens when you have another being constantly underfoot: you crave alone time filled with peace and quiet like an addict craves his next fix.

I remember years ago in a postpartum group I attended one woman said, “You don’t know how much I miss reading before bed.” Oh, I do, sister,” I told her. It was one of the things I had to give up when I got into a relationship. Yeah, I got sex, but I had to give up reading before bed and I’m not sure the tradeoff was worth it.

So now, I’m in this muddy sort of predicament where I want sex, but I also want to read, and I don’t really want to deal with relationship bullshit or needy men, but meaningless sex does get boring after a while, especially if the person is kinda meh, and it winds up being more trouble than it’s worth. There’s a reason men hire hookers; they want sex without all the hassle that goes along with it. Women are a hassle, men are a hassle, kids are a hassle. Life is one big hassle with the one bright spot being sex, but when sex becomes a hassle, too, it loses its orgasmic charm.

Now I’ll admit I have it easier than some. I can literally step outside my door and find someone to have sex with me within 5 minutes, because the thing is if you’re an attractive female, any male will fuck you once. Really. That’s the only criteria they have: Is she pretty? I’m sorry, guys, but it’s true. I have never had any man tell me, “I can’t fuck you because…” Not a one. So, we women do have all the power. (Men know this, they just don’t like to admit it.) It’s called the Power of the Pussy. I know within 3-5 seconds of meeting a man whether they’re someone I want to have sex with. 3-5 seconds. And If I decide no, then no amount of money, success, or cock size will sway me.

The dilemma the single mother like me has is she values her alone time as much as she’s a slave to her libido. So, when my son decided to have a sleepover at a friend’s house this afternoon, all kinds of possible activities floated through my head so I didn’t feel like “the pathetic female who never goes out at night” like I normally do: I could call my kinky friend and have him take me to a strip club or a dungeon for the first time. I could call my rich friend and have him take me into the city for dinner and a play. I could call my 30-year-old hot friend and go out for beer and a game of pool. I could go 3 doors down and Mrs. Robinson the 25-year-old who made a pass at me last week.

All of these dates would provide me with the sex I want, so that’s a given. It’s almost too easy, but the introverted book nerd that I am sits here on the couch, relishing the peace of not hearing, “Mom, I’m hungry, what’s for dinner?” or rap lyrics blasting and gunfire from Call of Duty. Yes, this introverted single mother book nerd who loves sex, mind you, also painfully realizes she’d have to carry on a conversation with any one of these men for hours and she just doesn’t feel like exerting the energy for what ultimately, won’t be as fulfilling as it sounds.

So, she decides to read a book instead, and eat string cheese and pretzels for dinner next to the cat and dog who could give a crap that she’s wearing sweats and no makeup. And for a short time, at least until the noisy boy returns the next day, all is well in her world.

 

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6 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. sinnerz13
    Jan 15, 2017 @ 02:42:47

    I miss reading.

    Reply

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