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Authors: Delaine Moore
Tags: Family & Relationships, Personal Memoirs, Biography & Autobiography, Health & Fitness, Divorce & Separation, Parenting, Sexuality, Single Parent
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came from a place of insecurity.
“But yesterday’s meeting was not about him, not in the least. Sure, I wanted him to have fun too, but my primary objective was to satisfy myself. I decided I wanted sex, I decided where, how and with whom, and I felt mentally and emotionally entitled to have it as I pleased.”
It felt good to admit this, to own up to my newfound conviction, which felt fresh and liberating. It was a good feeling—no, not just good. Great.
“I get you,” Tory said thoughtfully. “There is a big difference. It was mainly about the man back then. How many times did we put up with men being selfish in bed? How many times did they orgasm and we didn’t? And we just accepted it. We women are trained to be so darn polite.”
“And how many times in the aftermath did they not want to cuddle or spend the night like we wanted?” I added. “That’s why it felt kind of good to push him out the door. It felt like role reversal.”
I paused as the waitress served our food. “In a way, the whole thing almost feels imagined now. It was like some wild persona came over me; I was me . . . and yet, I wasn’t me.” I shook my head trying to understand. “I keep thinking I should feel bad about myself for what I did. I almost WANT to feel bad about myself so that I’ll know I have some morals. But the truth is, every time I think of it, I can’t stop smiling.”
“Well I think you have every right to smile,” Shiloh piped in, having listened quietly up until now.
Tory laughed. “Of course you do! You’re having sex with two different guys.”
“You are ?” I said with surprise. I still thought of Shiloh as being so young and innocent, even though she was twenty-five. It
seemed like just yesterday she was fifteen and telling me about losing her virginity. Now, as I gazed at this poised, dark-eyed woman across from me, I realized it was time to get current. “How did this happen?” I asked. “Do they know about each other?”
“No. I met them off a dating site, too,” Shiloh said, pushing strands of her long, curly hair away from her face. “Until the ‘exclusivity’ conversation comes up, you’re free to date and have sex with whomever you please.”
I was flabbergasted. I thought my generation of women was sexually liberated, yet here she was already doing what I’d never done before.
“That’s the way it works today,” Shiloh explained. “So I have one guy who I enjoy spending time with—he’s really sweet and the sex is okay. And one other guy—Rocko (laugh)— who I call just for wild, passionate sex.”
Tory, seeing the shocked look on my face, jumped in: “Dating has changed a lot since we were younger, Delaine. I hear Shiloh’s stories and one thing’s for sure, things move a lot faster than they did before. The rules are whatever you make them.”
OUTSIDE THE RESTAURANT, I had just said goodbye to the girls when I remembered I owed Tory money for a girls’ trip to Las Vegas she was organizing. I caught up to her on the sidewalk, gave her a check and another hug goodbye.
Vegas. I couldn’t believe it. It was the ultimate fabulous cliché trip for any group of women to take, and I couldn’t be more delighted. A couple of months after the Graham bomb went off, I kept feeling the need to get away; escape. “How about Vegas?” I threw out to my girlfriends one afternoon, when we’d met for lunch. “I’ve never been there before. Anyone want to come?” I crossed my fingers that one or two would be free; we’d tried to organize such trips in the past, but careers, kids, or some life variable always
choked our plans. It seemed that once women got to a “certain age,” getaways were reserved for partners, spouses, and kids, not girlfriends (unless you counted weekend scrapbook parties, which I didn’t). But for this trip, to my surprise and absolute delight, the timing for everyone was perfect, and a gang of seven gals had committed to go in November, just
“But yesterday’s meeting was not about him, not in the least. Sure, I wanted him to have fun too, but my primary objective was to satisfy myself. I decided I wanted sex, I decided where, how and with whom, and I felt mentally and emotionally entitled to have it as I pleased.”
It felt good to admit this, to own up to my newfound conviction, which felt fresh and liberating. It was a good feeling—no, not just good. Great.
“I get you,” Tory said thoughtfully. “There is a big difference. It was mainly about the man back then. How many times did we put up with men being selfish in bed? How many times did they orgasm and we didn’t? And we just accepted it. We women are trained to be so darn polite.”
“And how many times in the aftermath did they not want to cuddle or spend the night like we wanted?” I added. “That’s why it felt kind of good to push him out the door. It felt like role reversal.”
I paused as the waitress served our food. “In a way, the whole thing almost feels imagined now. It was like some wild persona came over me; I was me . . . and yet, I wasn’t me.” I shook my head trying to understand. “I keep thinking I should feel bad about myself for what I did. I almost WANT to feel bad about myself so that I’ll know I have some morals. But the truth is, every time I think of it, I can’t stop smiling.”
“Well I think you have every right to smile,” Shiloh piped in, having listened quietly up until now.
Tory laughed. “Of course you do! You’re having sex with two different guys.”
“You are ?” I said with surprise. I still thought of Shiloh as being so young and innocent, even though she was twenty-five. It
seemed like just yesterday she was fifteen and telling me about losing her virginity. Now, as I gazed at this poised, dark-eyed woman across from me, I realized it was time to get current. “How did this happen?” I asked. “Do they know about each other?”
“No. I met them off a dating site, too,” Shiloh said, pushing strands of her long, curly hair away from her face. “Until the ‘exclusivity’ conversation comes up, you’re free to date and have sex with whomever you please.”
I was flabbergasted. I thought my generation of women was sexually liberated, yet here she was already doing what I’d never done before.
“That’s the way it works today,” Shiloh explained. “So I have one guy who I enjoy spending time with—he’s really sweet and the sex is okay. And one other guy—Rocko (laugh)— who I call just for wild, passionate sex.”
Tory, seeing the shocked look on my face, jumped in: “Dating has changed a lot since we were younger, Delaine. I hear Shiloh’s stories and one thing’s for sure, things move a lot faster than they did before. The rules are whatever you make them.”
OUTSIDE THE RESTAURANT, I had just said goodbye to the girls when I remembered I owed Tory money for a girls’ trip to Las Vegas she was organizing. I caught up to her on the sidewalk, gave her a check and another hug goodbye.
Vegas. I couldn’t believe it. It was the ultimate fabulous cliché trip for any group of women to take, and I couldn’t be more delighted. A couple of months after the Graham bomb went off, I kept feeling the need to get away; escape. “How about Vegas?” I threw out to my girlfriends one afternoon, when we’d met for lunch. “I’ve never been there before. Anyone want to come?” I crossed my fingers that one or two would be free; we’d tried to organize such trips in the past, but careers, kids, or some life variable always
choked our plans. It seemed that once women got to a “certain age,” getaways were reserved for partners, spouses, and kids, not girlfriends (unless you counted weekend scrapbook parties, which I didn’t). But for this trip, to my surprise and absolute delight, the timing for everyone was perfect, and a gang of seven gals had committed to go in November, just
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