Shit, My Undies Are in the Couch

Nothing to see here, kids!

I lead a double life.

Half the time, I’m a working mom. I get my boys on the school bus, work and clean the house, prepare snacks, help with homework, and make dinner. You might as well put a little halo over my head, I’m such an angel.

The other half of the time, when my kids are with their dad, I’m a single, sex-hungry middle-aged minx. I’m perusing the apps, going on dates, bringing men home with me. I’m sure, to a lot of people, my alter ego is basically the devil.

My identities aren’t really moral opposites. There’s nothing wrong with being a woman who enjoys casual sex and also happens to be a mom. But tell that to everyone else — like the guy who started chatting with me on Feeld earlier this week and said this:

nice opener sir

My interest in casual sex is apparently not wholesome, according to this fellow, who seems nice. But I know he’s one of many who think this way, so — because I have a career I don’t want to give up and boys who are too young to understand — I’m doing my best to ensure these two seemingly opposite personas never overlap or intersect. It’s why this newsletter is anonymous, after all.

But damn, it’s difficult leading this double life. I’m carelessly frolicking around my house naked, leaving underwear and condoms in my wake, then forced to transform into a paranoid middle aged neat freak who double-checks all the crevices (including her own) for signs of debauchery before her kids show up.

There are no classes in this. I don’t know what I’m doing. I keep almost royally fucking up.

A couple of weeks ago, for instance, about an hour before my eldest came home on the school bus, I found my black lace underwear sticking out from under my couch cushion. The only reason I saw it was because I happened to be dutifully removing that couch’s recent sex-related stains. (Who would have guessed that the best post-divorce couch color might actually be white?)

My underwear, as discovered

If I hadn’t rescued my undies, what then? What would I have replied when my son said, “Mom, why is sexy black underwear sticking out of the couch?” I’d probably have mumbled something and changed the subject, which is exactly what I did a month ago when that same son asked about a screenshot on my phone of a half-naked guy from Feeld. Whoops.

I did, however, expertly handle the situation that occurred about three months ago when my younger son walked into my office with my vibrator in hand, saying, “What’s this?” Readers, I had left it artfully displayed on the kitchen table. I’d brought the vibrator over to my A/C repairman’s apartment the night before, and I had apparently successfully removed it from my purse, but had not actually put the goddamn thing away.

Thankfully, that particular vibrator doesn’t look like a vibrator, so I thought fast and said “Uh, thanks, that’s …… my computer mouse,” smiled, and put it in my desk drawer without provoking additional questions. (I accidentally brought that vibrator to church with me, once, too, because I’d left it in my purse after another evening romp. That discovery was fun, which you’re not supposed to have at church, along with vibrators.)

Oh, and on Christmas day, I found a condom — unopened and unused, thank god — sticking out of a shoe on an upper shelf of my closet. I have absolutely no idea how it got there (Santa?!!), but I think I managed to put it away before anyone else saw it.

Ok so maybe I am slowly developing the skills to be a spy. Just like Keri Russell in The Americans! Only with bigger boobs. Do I get Matthew Rhys for the night? Even just 30 minutes would be fine.

His eyes say yes.

I’ll admit, I do find this double life exciting — in part because it is rather terrifying. I should probably buy more sunglasses. Spies wear sunglasses, and I look hot in sunglasses. They hide my totally nonexistent crow’s feet.

In truth, I know I’m going to screw up again. It’s inevitable. But with every mistake I make, at least I am learning. Practice makes perfect, they say — so I guess it’s time for another adventure. Let’s hope my boys don’t find my dildo this time.