Mom Sex in the Minivan: Dating Without My Husband

May 2021 

The evening after Andrew and Laine, I went out with Veronica. She wanted details on the foursome, but for some reason I couldn’t focus on anything fun. Instead, I suddenly burst into tears when the conversation turned to Ned. I had no idea why, but Veronica seemed to understand completely.

Later, when Ned’s dickery intensified, she’d be the one that I’d run to for comfort. She’d be the one to say, “Eliza, you’re beautiful,” in a way that meant fuck anyone who makes you feel otherwise. She’d say things like, “Let me be your person” to remind me that it was her, not Ned, who was a true friend.

I’d never had a friend like her, but I didn’t give her the credit she deserved. She listened, empathized, and made gentle suggestions that I should’ve taken. 

Instead of taking her advice, I was stupid. I thought Ned would understand my sexual adventures better because he too was an “Ethical Slut.” He cheered me on when we first met Andrew and Laine for dinner, and he knew about our previous weekend’s plans when he pointedly asked me that following Monday, “Well, did you have sex with someone other than Jack?”

When I smirked, he pushed for more. “And how was it?” 

I guess he expected me to complain or say it was “just okay” or a generic “fun!” Maybe he wanted some juicy details about the other woman or a kinky thing we tried. 

He clearly didn’t expect me to gush about how great it was, “So natural! Like we’d been doing it with them for years!” 

It was the same thing that Jack and I had said to each other after Andrew and Laine had left, but apparently it was the wrong thing to say to Ned. 

He broke eye contact and suddenly stood up from his office chair.  He started moving things around on his desk, hastily, as if this was a chore I’d interrupted. He didn’t want to hear another word from me. I was rattled, so I’m not sure if I stayed and made it awkward or awkwardly left, but I know it was weird.

Ned never addressed this. We just moved forward, continuing to talk at work and flirt over text. I’d Snap him a picture of the thong I’d chosen that workday; he’d send a Snap of him removing his towel after showering. I took this as an indication of his interest in me.

But I also started to question my mental state. I tried to ignore my nagging thoughts; I didn’t want anything to be wrong. In fact, I was quite enjoying this natural high. I was living, I assured myself. I was embarking on the adventure that I’d dreamt about less than two years before. I had it all.

Well, almost. 

Ned talked about scrolling through Feeld quite a bit. “An online dating app for open-minded people.” He went so far as to call it his “Facebook,” always checking out who was on it in different places he went to. 

I suppose I should have taken note of Ned’s red flags. I should have listened to Jack when his voice, suggesting that I was perhaps getting a bit manic, sounded all too much like my own nagging voice. 

Instead, I downloaded the dating app to my phone. 

See, I had liked being with Ned, alone. I had liked being with Laine, a female. Veronica hadn’t nagged, but she had said, “Why are you doing this? I thought it was to be with women,” when I voiced my confusion about Ned. 

Andrew and Laine were wonderful people, but they weren’t going to be available again until the fall.  I liked Tarah, but I still wasn’t getting vibes that she liked me like that. 

And, of course, I was drawn to Ned, but something felt funny. Was it that he was a guy, and I didn’t really want to date guys? I did like him, but I didn’t always like how he made me feel.

I still hadn’t found what I was looking for. I still wanted a girlfriend.

When I scrolled upon her profile, it felt serendipitous. In that first photo, I had my first glimpse of her long, curly brown hair. In the next photo, a lacy bralette. Then shapely legs extending from a hammock. All accompanied by a writeup eerily similar to mine, a long one about philosophy and psychology. It was filled with depth that shook my sapiosexual soul. 

Hannah was also looking for something solo, apart from her husband. Much more along the lines of ethical non-monogamy rather than swinging, her profile said. 

Of course I wanted to go out with this married woman looking “for more,” living only ten minutes from my house. I had fantasies of a girlfriend in my bed post-antiquing, remember? White sheets and all. We connected, we texted, and we set a date. 

Jack was all about this one. He’d been a little hesitant about getting involved with Andrew and Laine, but Hannah was a hot woman looking for some girl-on-girl, like me, and in the deeper sense of it all, also like me.. “You don’t pass up an opportunity like this,” he’d said.

For our first date, on a cool May day, I wore a tight black wrap sweater, medium wash distressed skinny jeans, and my gray lace up thick heeled booties. I used the curling wand to create big waves in my hair. Jack told me that I looked hot and gave me a huge hug as I walked out the door.  I was nervous, but I was doing this. Just me.

We met at the restaurant — actually, in the parking lot. I knew it was her the moment I saw her getting out of her Subaru. I saw her curly hair, her pretty face, her tight black jeans and red sweater. She was sexier in person than in her pictures. Her personality instantly reminded me of Jack’s: bold, chatty, thoughtful, caring, and extroverted. 

The restaurant was packed; it would be hours before we could get a table, so we got back in our cars and drove to a second option. We struck out there, too, but I instantly appreciated how she took the initiative talking to the host. Direct, firm. So like Jack. So what I crave — what I need — in a partner. I adored her for it instantly.

Third bar was a charm, a Japanese restaurant where we sat in the front, away from the hibachi tables, sipping whiskey (me) and gin (her). We talked for hours, locking eyes and not holding back any intimate detail about ourselves. 

After we closed down the bar, we sauntered in near slow motion to our vehicles. I suspected that she too didn’t want to just say goodbye with only a hug. It was downright cold now that the sun had set, so I invited her into my minivan to continue the conversation in warmth. 

The conversation slowed, softened. 

She held my hand, then kissed it gently, sweetly. We drew our heads together, and I had my first real kiss with a woman. The only intention was the two of us connecting, not showing off for any boys and not in a group situation. Just us.

Fast forward several more kisses, and I found myself climbing on top of her in the passenger seat. I discovered that she hadn’t been wearing a bra all night. 

Like a highlight reel, I savor clips of our first night together. Two moms, too eager and perhaps too cheap to get a hotel room, devising a plan together to go somewhere more private. We chose the local swim school near my house, its parking lot completely empty in the middle of the night, a perfect place to utilize the Stow-N-Go features in the back of my messy minivan.

It was reminiscent of the sex that Jack and I had once had in his SUV, beginning with us picking out music to stream. Hannah chose a female-vocalist acoustic playlist, which Jack later coined my “lesbian music” whenever I played it at home. 

I’d just had sex with Laine the weekend before, but that was different. I’d been exploring with Laine and Andrew, playing. With Hannah it felt more serious, more purposeful, more erotic, more enchanting. 

The moon shone through the windows, dimly lighting the interior of the van. The sheer pleasure, our faces hidden in the dark as we determined if this was doing it for us. 

I’ll admit, I worried. Was I gay enough for this? 

I shifted my focus to the woman in front of me and shushed my brain, determined to be present for this. I liked this. This felt good. This felt right.

I loved how she tasted. I loved feeling my fingers inside of her. I loved feeling her body next to mine, so soft and curvy and warm. I loved how she touched me, so gently yet firmly, doing what she liked. The entire exploration felt more erotic than I had imagined, more natural and more intimate than it had been with Laine, more like lesbian sex, lesbian love making. It was intoxicating, overwhelming, and so, so good.

Me, holding back her soft, unruly curls while she went down on me. Her sweet panting sounds when it was her turn to orgasm. Checking out each other’s bodies in the moonlight; I’m covered in peach fuzz and she has scars from surgery. Our bodies intertwined together as we cuddled, wishing each other a Happy Mother’s Day as the clock showed it was well past midnight. Giggling as we sorted out whose thong was whose in the dark. Jumping right back into a conversation about our favorite podcasts just before it was time to return home to our husbands. 

When I finally arrived home around 2am, Jack immediately woke up, eager to hear the details of my night. When was I going to see her again? Was this a one-night stand or was this “something?” 

At that moment, I suddenly felt too overwhelmed to know anything. There was so much to process, so much new in our lives after such a stagnant year of isolation and depression. In less than three months, Jack and I had made our fantasies a reality. 

And I was finally freaked the fuck out.