He Only Wanted Me When My Motherhood Wasn’t Showing

My worst experience with sex and dating as a single mom

There’s a certain raw pain you feel — like the tip of a dull knife being plunged between your shoulder blades — when the one you’re dating starts to see who you really are and reacts by running for the hills. The rejection certainly stings. And when you’re a single mom working full time and raising a child, there’s not much alone time to lick your wounds.

When I became a single mother, my prior dating history was pretty lackluster. I’ve never used a dating app in my life. Every guy I’d been in a serious relationship with up to that point — all two of them — I happened to meet by chance while I was out. And while my experiences with those two men taught me a ton of valuable life lessons, I’d been with both for a number of years, so casual dating wasn’t something I ever got the hang of.

So when I broke up with my long-term boyfriend and started dating Chris, I had no clue what I was doing. I’d only had two sexual partners — at that time, I was a serial monogamist who fell hard and deep when I connected with someone. And Chris was no different.

Too bad he never realized (or possibly hid the fact) that he wasn’t ready for dating a mom and all that entails. Or else we might still be good friends today.

Falling for the smart guy

His intelligence attracted me first. We randomly started talking at a bar when I was out with my girlfriends. You know when someone says hi, and you accidentally fall into a genuinely interesting and real conversation right away? It doesn’t happen often, but it happened with us.

It wasn’t long before we landed on the subject of books and favorite authors. We were both writers. We both wore glasses and looked like book nerds who would feel more at home in a library than a bar.

He brought up Bret Easton Ellis, and I immediately took my copy of The Rules of Attraction out of my purse to show him. It was a fresh purchase from when I was shopping the used bookstore earlier that day. When he saw me with Ellis’s tattered novel, we both grinned and immersed ourselves into more conversations about books and movies and music.

He was super smart, 24 years old, and working on his master’s degree in psychology. He had no kids and lived with his parents. Not exactly a ton of life experience.

I was 28 at the time. And when we started dissecting our passion for learning and our desire to finish our degrees, I casually informed him that by the time I was his age, I’d been married, had a son, got divorced, and dropped out of college. At that point I was struggling to find online options to finish my bachelor’s in English with — something I was more than halfway done with but had to put on pause while I struggled financially to raise my son.

I also made sure not to hide the fact that I was currently living with my boyfriend, and I wasn’t looking for anything beyond good conversation with a fellow writer.

At least, I wasn’t that night.

Giving honesty — but not getting it

I’ve been an open book for as long as I can remember. Sure, I was being vulnerable with someone I’d just met by sharing some personal information, not all of it positive. But that was who I was, and I wasn’t afraid to show it to anyone.

Assuming others are as open with me as I am with them has certainly led me to some sticky situations, and it’s something I’ve since learned to look out for.

Now, whenever I speak to people or make new friends, I keep in the back of my mind that not everyone appreciates honesty like I do. A lot of people have something to hide and won’t trust you enough to be forthcoming. A lot of people will embellish or give false details because it feeds their ego. Maybe I’m a little extra paranoid about that now — but with good reason.

Chris and I stayed connected after that night, chatting on Facebook Messenger. It’s no secret that becoming friends with him led me to breaking off my current relationship so I could explore the realm of dating other men. I went from one relationship to the other after high school, and I’d never given myself the chance to see what was out there.

So I ended my relationship with a man I still loved and cared about and dove head-first into the dating world. In hindsight, I could have broached the topic of ethical non-monogamy with my boyfriend and asked his feelings about opening up our relationship, but I don’t think I knew myself well enough then to understand I’m not naturally a monogamist.

Selfish sex

After talking for a couple months, going on a few dates, and sleeping together for the first time, I decided I felt comfortable enough to invite Chris to hang out in my home after my son went to bed.

Having a guest over for some sexy time is a personal decision each single parent should make for themselves based on the situation. Not everyone is comfortable with it, and it’s not our job to judge other parents on it.

The first time Chris and I had sex had been at his place while his parents were out of the house. It was a bit clumsy — we weren't familiar with each other. He’d had two orgasms and I’d had zero (likely because we weren’t familiar with each other).

We didn’t have specific plans to explore sex again, but I think we both knew something was likely to happen, as we were at that new and exciting point where we couldn’t keep our hands off each other.

When Chris got there, we did what we usually did — listened to music and talked about it. He loved introducing me to stuff I’d never listened to before. Old bands, alternative genres, random singers that I’d never even heard of. He got me into Neutral Milk Hotel, Serge Gainsbourg, the New Pornographers, and the Velvet Underground, to name a few. “Pale Blue Eyes” remains a favorite of mine and ironically helped me through a lot of heartache that Chris ended up bringing my way.

After talking for a while, we started kissing on the couch. As per usual when we got to spend time together, we both became pretty excited pretty damn fast.

His hands traveled the various parts of my body like they were following a road map to desire. His fingers entwined in my hair as his other hand moved down to rub my neck and shoulders for a moment, before going onward to caress my breasts, grab my hips, and finally, massage my inner thighs.

I kissed him back hard, moaning as we leaned back into the couch and he got on top of me. We kissed and groped over the clothes like teenagers for a good twenty minutes before I grabbed his hand, led him to my bedroom, and locked the door securely behind us.

He pushed me against the wall and kissed my lips and my neck, hungry for me. We were both beyond aroused. This was confirmed when I turned and guided him against the wall as I dropped to my knees in front of him.

I unzipped his pants and put him in my mouth, bobbing my head up and down and using my hands to pleasure him. It only took a few minutes before he came in my mouth and I swallowed.

And then…and then nothing.

He zipped himself up, looking flushed and suddenly awkward. I sat on the bed and asked him to sit with me. Chris is one of the smartest, most well-read guys I’ve dated. He knows his classic literature, but he doesn’t exactly have the moves when it comes to wild, passionate sex. His awkwardness was endearing at the time because I appreciated the fact that he wasn’t a shallow, smooth-talking player.

Or, at least, he didn’t portray himself as one.

We made meaningless small talk for a bit, the conversation going nowhere as he avoided eye-contact with me for the most part. My uncertainty grew as the tension between us became palpable. I was ready to lie on the bed, make out, take our time exploring each other’s bodies. I wanted this second time around to be better, hotter. I wanted to orgasm with him.

He seemed to know all of that and feel the pressure, which became too much for his fragile ego. When I leaned forward to kiss him, he wasn’t responsive. His lips met mine for a quick moment, but he broke the kiss and made an excuse about needing to work early the next morning. It hadn’t been five minutes since he was finishing in my mouth, and he was out the door.

Yes, single moms have sex. We don’t stop being human beings with human sex drives just because we’re moms.

Breaking it off was the right thing to do

Chris and I stopped dating soon after. I didn’t write him off for his selfish lovemaking right away. I gave him the benefit of a doubt because I otherwise liked his personality and loved his intelligence. We continued texting over the next few days, though there always seemed to be a disconnect in our conversation after that night.

We did make plans to hang out again, but he canceled suddenly the day of when he finally came clean with his true feelings.

I was chaperoning my son’s kindergarten trip to the local zoo when I read his text message. It was long and wordy and disjointed — not a testament to his writing skills, if he really has any.

In one long text he laid out all of the following: A friend of his, a girl he liked, was coming into town and he wanted to hang out with her. Also, he didn’t want to see me again. On top of that, he felt super uncomfortable fooling around the other night with a kid sleeping in the next room. Oh, and (obviously) he wasn’t ready for dating a mom.

I sent a terse “OK” and put my phone away. I had little ones to keep an eye on. I’d felt I was losing him up to that point anyway, and, as much as it hurt, I felt it was time to quit trying to force something that just wasn’t going to work.

That’s not to say I didn’t send a few angry follow-up texts later that night when I had some free time to put my thoughts into words.

Yes, single moms have sex. We don’t stop being human beings with human sex drives just because we’re moms — even after divorce. And yes, sometimes we have sex after the kiddos go to bed — if we feel safe and comfortable with the man we’re seeing.

This was news to him? Was it really something he couldn’t comprehend?

He was totally weirded out and not familiar with navigating relationships alongside parenthood. It spoke to his inexperience, and there was nothing I could do about it.

I did see him again after we broke things off to return the books he’d let me borrow. It was something I wanted to do. The closure was something I needed.

When I was saying goodbye, he tried to put his hands on me and kiss me (and not just a platonic peck on the cheek). I refused him, totally baffled. I guess he was comfortable with trying to get in my pants so long as my motherhood isn’t showing.

Chris still reaches out to me via text from time to time. Enough time has passed that I can talk to him as a platonic friend, though we don’t see each other in person. We sometimes catch up about books, our attempts at writing books, jobs, his dating woes, etc.

Oddly enough, he’ll sometimes get drunk and bring up the fact that he regrets letting me go. And, because I’m honest, I’ll admit it’s an ego boost.

The whole experience helped me learn a lot about my resolve and strength as a mother, and I hope other moms who are swimming the murky waters of dating are able to avoid the shiny bait of a lover who isn’t one hundred percent honest and upfront about their intentions.

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