Free The Secret Sex Life of a Single Mom by Delaine Moore

four months away.
    As I strolled down the street to my minivan, with the midsummer sun warming my face, I felt exhilarated. Another twenty-four hours without kids still stretched before me. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had lunch or hung out with my girlfriends on a Sunday afternoon. For seven years, I’d spent virtually every weekend running around catering to my kids and their activities. And usually I’d done it alone, since Robert was often out of town.
    I passed by patio cafes and noticed all the adults hanging out—talking, eating, people-watching. So this is what childless adults do with their time on weekends. I couldn’t stop smiling. I’m like you, I called to them in my mind. It’s just for today, but look, I’m enjoying a nice Sunday afternoon down here too! I even noticed a few men checking me out. I wondered if any men had looked at me these past years . . . Not that I’d been aware of. I’d always been too preoccupied, pushing a stroller, holding kids’ hands, and getting from point A to point B without losing a child or my sanity.
    As I climbed into my minivan and started it up, I remembered the new CDs Tory had gifted me at lunch. I loaded them into my player and Fergie’s “Big Girls Don’t Cry” began to play. I pulled out of the parking lot, speakers cranked up high. As I sang along and shoulder-shimmied in my seat, I realized other drivers and pedestrians were looking at my car. That’s right guys, I thought with a smile. That loud dance music you hear is coming from a MINIVAN.

CHAPTER 6
    STAY-AT-HOME MOM MEETS A DOM
    I LOGGED ONTO THE DATING website with new resolve. I’d made a decision: to eliminate the over-thirty-five age restriction I’d imposed. Surely there was no harm in seeing what the younger men had to say.
    Within two hours I was flipping through so much new mail, I couldn’t keep track of which young man was which. I wondered: Did younger men secretly fantasize about being with an older woman? Did they actually believe they would have anything in common with me, or were they strictly sexually curious? I had heard the term “cougar” before, which in my book, I am not— I hate the word. And I had recently learned that “MILF” stood for Mother I’d Like to Fuck (how endearing). Is that how these younger men saw me? Should I be flattered or appalled?
    Some of their emails were so blatantly immature, I laughed out loud: “Hey baby, how YOU doin’?” “You are so HOT!!!!” or “Holy MILF?!” Most of their profiles were clones: they liked to “hang with friends,” “go to the gym,” and they were looking for some “fun.” Their photo galleries commonly showed them with a beer bottle in hand, standing in a lineup of intoxicated friends.
    I enjoyed the attention though, and I wrote and chatted to a few. I had no intention of pursuing any of them seriously; this was just harmless play.

    It was 1:00 AM. I was getting bored but not tired. My eyes kept returning to an advertisement in the corner of the screen. It boasted to be a site for millionaire men and gorgeous women—“Sugar Daddies” (cue eyes rolling), and “Sugar Babes” (good God!). On a whim, I clicked on the link.
    Surprisingly, it didn’t look too shoddy. In fact, the site itself was professionally presented and their mission statement, which focused on coupling attractive, educated, and like-minded men and women, actually made sense to me. Maybe it would weed out the riff-raff?
    I was feeling feisty, so I signed up. I revised my current profile and uploaded it with a few of my best photos. They paled in comparison to other women’s photos; many had professional modeling shots. But why not try it out? It could prove entertaining at the very least.
    An hour later, my profile was approved and I was officially a new “Sugar Babe” (eyes still rolling). It was late and time for bed. Yawning, I went to click out of email when a “new mail” icon flashed on my screen. I quickly opened