Spontaneity is tough. You need to plan it, do it and then get the hell out because you have to get the kids from school and you haven't even thought about dinner.
Secrecy is tougher. weekly requests made to grandparents to "keep the kids overnight...I need a break," will sooner or later lead to questions.
Never mind the forcefully whispered "Get back to bed! You've already brushed your teeth, and you cannot have a granola bar!" while covering the mouthpiece on your phone. Then, "Hey, baby...no, I'm still here. Now, about that cock of yours..."
When I was first separated I didn't go out for about 9 months. The sting of betrayal...or something. When I did, I hooked up with a friend of my brother's. Scot was a few years younger than me--okay, eight years younger--and knew about my sneaky life as a single parent. He was a shameless flirt, like me. Slightly perverse, he was the perfect first post-breakup boyfriend: no strings, short-lived, sweet and honest. And very enthusiastic in bed.
One night I was at his apartment, having let myself in. He would be home in about 20 minutes. I moved the folded laundry off the bed, undressed and lay down. It was late, and I couldn't be gone all night. I looked around me: There was the requisite collection of shot glasses, band posters and an electric Michelob sign on the walls. I remember thinking that this will make for an amusing anecdote one day..
I woke up with my wrists held over my head; his breath on my neck. We didn't speak. He pinned me down and took his time. We would be here for a while. He thought my flexibility was so novel and loved to push my legs straight back, folding me in half as he fucked. He'd let me cum, wait a minute, then somehow grab a leg and flip me around. (I wonder if he was a wrestler in high school, now that I think about it...)
All of a sudden I was on my back, my hips the only thing touching the bed. Back arched, arms braced on the floor for balance and leverage. The boy was getting my g-spot every time--and he didn't even know what a g-spot was! I was impressed! And he was so enthusiastic, like I said. So eager to be a good lover.
I took this as a sign.
Over the next month we saw each other regularly. We divided these meetings into two parts. The first part we would warm up, get naked, have a little sex and talk about what we'd like to do that day. Part II would be something he'd either never done but always wanted to, or something he wanted me to explain or critique. There was something so sweet about it: I'd teach him anatomy and demonstrate, for example, how a well-placed finger makes an ordinary blow job anything but. Questions, answers, practice drills!
One day he was paying more attention to my breasts than usual. I had stopped nursing Jack six months before, but apparently my breasts were holding out for more takers. Poor Scot got a mouthful of milk when he bit my nipple while sucking. He was very surprised; I was very embarassed. We laughed for a long time. But it didn't freak him out; he wanted more. Such a sweet, strange boy. I really liked him.
The last time we were together, I was riding him on the floor of his bedroom. It was very quiet. I came, then he did. I curled down onto his chest, his arms circled me. We stayed like that for a few minutes, breathing. He whispered into the silence,
"God, I love you."
"No you don't. Don't say that."
I broke up with him three days later. He met a cute girl the next week. They're getting married in September.