This is the first installment in the Traveler’s Tales series
A Guest Post by Simone
I miss sex. There, I’ve said it. At a slightly old, and not at all cougarish 42, I really do miss having someone that knows my body. That knows what to touch, where to touch, and (perhaps most importantly) when. The person who knows that exact spot on my neck that makes my knees go weak.
As a single mother of a teenager, opportunities for meeting someone to actually have sex with are slim. When I first got divorced, and met the man I dated for a year, it was great. Friends got it. There were sleepovers and all sorts of fun things for my kid to do, so I could – well, so I could get laid. It was great. And the man I dated was pretty great, too. I knew he wasn’t Mr. Forever (and I certainly wasn’t looking for it), but dang. He reminded me, after a very long time of being married to someone who wouldn’t do that to the mother of his child, that oh yes, that felt really, really good. We had some fun, and then I broke it off. I had gotten what I wanted out of the relationship, and he was actually pretty okay with it. His new wife is a lovely woman.
But here I am, several years later, and my best friend is my vibrator. I like it (heck, I recommend every woman get a pocket rocket), but it’s not particularly good for cuddling, and impossible to make out with. For all the shuffling and scheduling and disruption, I’d like a real, live human being now, thanks. There’s this spot on my neck that makes my knees weak, you see, and, well…
Oh, yes. Right ….there.