[ad_1]
In this week’s story, a divorced dad has sex with a woman he’s a little afraid of, and goes on a date with a 31-year-old lawyer: 43, single, Brooklyn Heights.
DAY ONE
8:59 a.m. I am finally alone. I’ve dropped my two children at their various schools and am walking back to my apartment with a hot coffee in hand.
9:10 a.m. As I turn the corner onto my block, I walk past a celeb. He’s always very cheerful and “normal.” My neighborhood is filled with celebrities. It’s very exciting.
10 a.m. Get to work at my home office. I’m an architect. I’m also newly divorced. So most of my days, whether I like it or not, are split between work and dating apps. I share custody with my ex, who lives down the street. It’s as amicable as can be given she left me for someone she met at work (she’s also an architect). They are still together though I try not to know too many details. It wasn’t a physical affair but it was an emotional one, which is arguably worse. The truth is, we got married right out of college and drifted apart. She did us both a favor by ending things, but I’m a bit overwhelmed by the world of dating as a 43-year-old single man with a dad bod and a bald spot.
5 p.m. Pick up my kids from their after-school activities. We stop at a diner for dinner on the way home. The extent of my home-cooking includes French toast and grilled cheese and that’s about it.
9 p.m. With my kids asleep in bed, I respond to some messages on the apps. One girl asks if I want to come over and “party” tonight. Is “party” still code for doing drugs? I am in over my head with most of these ladies. I don’t respond. I set up a drinks date with one woman, Maggie, who is a very pretty single mom in the area. I sort of recognize her but I’m not sure from where. I’m not that excited by it — she seems slightly depressed.
11 p.m. Maggie and are texting a bit about our lives and our divorces. She’s very long-winded in her texts. I now know more than I needed to about her ex, even the fact that he was a crap lover. Now she’s telling me about her therapist. Okay, I can’t deal with this right now. I need to go to sleep. Also, I’ve worked hard to feel happy and stable over the last year when the divorce became official, and this stuff from her feels energy-zapping. But let’s see.
DAY TWO
5 a.m. My 5-year-old is awake, so I am, too. He is my more emotional child and is not only awake, but awake and teary because he wants “mommy and daddy BOTH!” This is the shit that breaks my heart. I let him watch a TV show so that he’ll stop crying and I can make myself a pot of coffee. I’m not sure if that’s lazy parenting but it’s the best I can do at the moment.
7 a.m. I take a shower in the hopes of waking up. I’ve jerked off in the shower pretty much every morning of my life, since at 14 or so. I try to imagine Maggie, as a test, but … it’s a boner-killer. Not a good omen for tonight’s date.
8 a.m. My ex takes the kids to school this morning. I hug them good-bye. Whenever this happens, handing them off to her, I fight back the tears. Sometimes I can’t believe this happened to us. I come from divorced parents and I swore that would never be me. And yet.
12 p.m. In the office today. I’m a partner at my firm so my role is slightly more corporate than creative at this point. A lot of Zooms. A lot of lunches. I wear a suit. Sometimes I miss being a hungry and scrappy young man instead of a smooth and shiny bossman. But I’m finally making decent money, and I have a corporate card, and an occasional car service, so there’s that.
4 p.m. Maggie has suggested a new taco spot in Brooklyn that is BYOB. I tell her I’ll bring the wine. So I sneak off to the wine store and purchase something nice and enjoyable … I have a feeling I’ll need it.
7:30 p.m. Maggie is already at the taco place. My first impression of her is … head of the PTA? There’s just something so “Mom of the Year” about her. But I mean, look at me? I’m not exactly Harry Styles pulling up. One of my kids says I look like Phil from Modern Family, so let’s go with that, but balding.
8:30 p.m. As Maggie drones on, I am drinking the wine and wondering if I want to have sex with this woman. We finish the first bottle of wine, as I’m sure she’s asking herself the same dubious question about me and trying to drink to find answers, and we decide to go to a bar next door for more cocktails.
9 p.m. She’s loosened up a bit. I order us negronis. While drinking, she says, “Should we go home together? Let’s just figure that out right now.” I’m literally like, “Check please!” YOLO, right?
10 p.m. We got to my place because it happens to be about three blocks closer. We open the door to my apartment and fortunately feel drunk enough to start going at it. She’s an animal! She starts talking dirty right away. She wants to sit on my face. She wants me to bite her nipples. I’m actually struggling to keep up with her demands, but I can’t complain.
11:30 p.m. We are both naked, sweaty, and satiated. She gets herself dressed and says, “Thanks for that.” And then she’s gone.
DAY THREE
8 p.m. The joy of sleeping past 5 a.m.!
9 a.m. Nursing my hangover while trying to process what exactly happened last night. I’ve slept with a couple women since my divorce but that was pretty wild. I’m not even sure if the sex was good for me. It was technically pretty raunchy and “hot,” but Maggie also scares me, I think.
11 a.m. I’m too hungover to think clearly and try to focus on work. I have a lunch soon and need to be in tip-top shape.
1 p.m. Nice lunch in midtown with clients. I never talk about my personal life with work people. My colleagues and clients know I’m divorced but I simply refuse to talk about dating or sex or anything even close with anyone.
3 p.m. Maggie is texting. She wants to know what I’m doing tomorrow. She has tickets to a show in the city. Again, I’m not sure if she’s the sexy freak of my dreams or a scary mom I don’t want to engage with.
6 p.m. I honestly didn’t have time to text her back until now, but finally I write her that I have my kids tomorrow night so it won’t work. She writes back within two seconds, a thumbs-down emoji. Then she says she can suggest some great babysitters for them. Yeah. She’s a lot.
9 p.m. I’m still hungover so tonight I just watch basketball and order in sushi.
10 p.m. I match with a French woman, Cleo, from the neighborhood. Also a single mom. She seems like the opposite of Maggie. Aloof. Private. Busy. I’m into it.
DAY FOUR
8 a.m. I pick my kids up at my ex’s place this morning to walk them to school. From the little I know, she and her new boyfriend aren’t living together because she feels it’s too soon to do that to the kids. But this morning, I see that he’s there for breakfast. We shake hands hello, and for the sake of my kids, I act happy to see him. I play it real cool. Obviously I hate this guy, but the truth is, he might be in our lives forever, so I’m trying to let that go. I don’t want to live that way, pissed at everyone. I’s just not productive.
10 a.m. Work from the office today.
1 p.m. Lunch with a co-worker. Again, I’m insanely private but he is telling me everything about his wife, their new baby, the crazy days of bachelor life that he left behind. He must think I’m a total asshole because I don’t contribute to the conversation at all. I just smile and nod.
5 p.m. I pick my kids up from their after-school and we hit up Chipotle. Today we pass another celeb on the way. He is most certainly not going to Chipotle.
10 p.m. I had such a fun night with the kids. Maggie has texted a few times. I engaged just enough that she doesn’t go nuts on me, but I hope she gets the hint soon.
DAY FIVE
5 a.m. Good morning!
9 a.m. I am now kid-free and working from home today. Time to text Cleo and properly ask her out. I ask if she happens to be available tonight or tomorrow. She writes back “Tonight. Maybe.” Well that’s vague. And exciting!
12 p.m. As soon as I have a break from work, I start to think about where we should go. It’s intimidating taking a French woman out for a date. From the little I know about her, she was never married, but co-parents with someone, and she’s also a dancer and artist who teaches in the city.
3 p.m. My ex-wife calls. One of our kids has lice. This is stressful. I am not sure what to do? She tells me just to wash all our sheets and pillow cases, etc. My head is not itchy but she suggests I go to a place to check it out just in case. I try to make an appointment to get my head checked and it’s going to be 90 dollars. That’s absurd. I assume I do not have lice. I barely have hair! But … What is the dating etiquette here? Should I tell Cleo? Ugh, this is annoying!
5 p.m. I text Cleo about tonight with full disclosure that my kid has lice but I don’t, or at least, I’m assuming I don’t. She doesn’t respond.
9 p.m. I’m in a shitty mood. Ghosted by Cleo after writing the world’s least sexy text. A text from Maggie that is just a bunch of question marks (implying “where are you???”).
10 p.m. Done with all the laundry. I jerk off to some standard whatever porn on my phone and go to bed dejected.
DAY SIX
8 a.m. It’s the weekend, but my ex is keeping the kids home today, away from other kids, since it seems they both have lice now. As does she! She says it’s best if I stay away because she’s handling it. So suddenly I have a full day free ahead of me.
10 a.m. I take a run around the neighborhood. Too bad about Cleo. I guess I really blew that one.
1 p.m. I decide to find a date for tonight. I follow up with everyone I’ve flirted with or matched with on the app. I start talking with someone named Trish who is very young, 31, but she’s a lawyer so maybe she’s more mature? Trish lives nearby and says she’s up for a margarita tonight.
5 p.m. I clean my apartment and get some groceries. I’m trying to be mostly vegetarian, which is hard for someone who can’t cook. But I buy a lot of veg-forward frozen meals from Trader Joe’s.
8 p.m. I’m early to meet Trish, and suddenly I get nervous that Maggie will be here too. There’s something inside me that says she’ll be back to haunt me in some way.
8:10 p.m. Trish is beautiful and full of life. She’s funny and outgoing. I have no idea what she’s doing here with me.
9 p.m. Really enjoying the date. She asks really thoughtful questions about my kids, which is sweet, and then she asks the million-dollar question: Would I have more kids? She says she definitely wants kids so that would be a dealbreaker for her, dating a man who was done procreating. I tell her that I honestly have not thought about that yet. I ask if we can leave that as a question mark for now … it’s the best I can do. She responds in a warm and understanding way.
10 p.m. It’s time to end the date or take it to someone’s apartment. She tells me she should go home, unless I have a better plan. I tell her that my apartment is very clean, after a day of tidying up, if she wants to see it. I neglect to mention my kids’ lice because honestly I forgot. She says she’ll come over.
10:30 p.m. We are kissing on my couch. It’s tender and calm. Totally opposite from the Maggie attack. After about 20 minutes of just kissing, she says she should go home. Before she goes I ask if I can see her again. She says, “Definitely!”
DAY SEVEN
9 a.m. It’s safe to play with the kids today so I pick them up from my ex-wife’s for a day at Coney Island. I feel revived after last night’s date. But I have to play it cool.
11 a.m. On the train to Coney, I’m thinking about Trish. She was a great kisser. I didn’t really try to go further with her because I was trying to move at the same pace and that seemed to be all she wanted for now. I didn’t even feel her up but I couldn’t help but notice her large breasts. I’m a boob guy, I really am.
3 p.m. I text Trish a picture of the beach at Coney. She writes back right away about how pretty it is. It’s not aggressive nor standoffish. She makes me feel calm.
5 p.m. Another great day with the kids. We are all showered and plopping down to watch a family movie. I suggest Father of the Bride even though I know it will have me sobbing like a baby.
9 p.m. With the kids asleep, I text Trish and ask her when she’d like to go out next. We pick a night for next week and I start researching restaurants that I think she’d like. I feel good and optimistic and thankful to be (almost) on the other end of the divorce.
Want to submit a sex diary? Email sexdiaries@nymag.com and tell us a little about yourself (and read our submission terms here.)
Related
- The 50-Year-Old Fooling Around With a Polo Player in the Hamptons
- The Australian Guy Whose Date Is Into Feet
- The Woman Meeting Her Date at a Bathhouse
[ad_2]
Alyssa Shelasky , 2024-06-01 01:00:25
Source link