At a recent 60th birthday party, I was introduced as a “sexy single mom.” I’ll accept it, even if the other guests’ one-line presentations had the title of their work.
Or maybe that’s my job title now: The husbands at that party certainly seemed to think the same. While the alcohol was flowing, one of them, who I’ve known distantly and platonically for years, put his hand on my butt as we swung toward the iPhone speaker and didn’t take it off all night.
I was drunk enough to not care. I actually found it funny because his wife – my friend – didn’t care either.
But when he turned to me and said, “I’m too sober to ask this, but I thought you’d like a threesome,” I shook my head in amazement.
To those who have been married for a long time, I seem to represent a unique opportunity at a drunken party; For me, it was another night where I felt like a dangerous loner outside the marital cage. Why would I want to sleep with an out of shape husband? I’m having the hottest sex of my life with my youngest lover, Eliot, even if my friends (and their husbands) know it can’t last.
‘At a recent 60th birthday party, I was introduced as “sexy single mom.” “I’ll accept it, even if the other guests’ one-line introductions were titled after their work,” writes Annabel Bond.
After the party, while the married couple returned to the comfort of their marital beds, I went home alone.
However, at the beginning of my relationship with Eliot, before we were “exclusive,” I slept with a married man, for the first and only time in my life. (The only time that I know of, at least. Maybe some married men rip off their wedding rings as soon as they leave the house.)
I vaguely knew Mark through my cousin. He didn’t know his wife well. She was a doctor; Mark worked on different projects and made much less money than her. He was a known flirt, perhaps as a way of asserting his “masculinity.”
This type of arrangement can be sincere today, with acronyms like ENM (ethical non-monogamy) and dating app descriptions that say “loving but open partners.”
Mark’s situation, however, was not like that. He was pretty sure his wife didn’t know. I met him at a dinner while visiting my cousin in Wiltshire. His wife was out with the kids and Mark was in off-leash dog mode.
I shouldn’t have let him flirt with me so outrageously, or enjoy his hand on my waist as we danced in the kitchen after we finished eating. He was drunk, but that was no excuse.
It wasn’t exciting that it was forbidden either; He hated betraying another woman.
But I was still recovering from my divorce, approaching 50, vulnerable, horny, and trying to forget about Eliot. I was already in love with him but I knew we couldn’t be forever: he wanted children, I already had three.
Mark lived in the same town as my cousin and suggested we go back to his house. Walking down a dark country road, he pulled me towards him and kissed me.
I enjoyed the desperation in that kiss, if I’m honest. It was hot to feel so desired when, back in London, Eliot and my ex-husband Simon broke my heart. “I want to do everything to you,” Mark said. He was older than me, around 50, and had gray hair combed back. He was also shorter than me, but it didn’t matter. Mark was undeniably handsome and charismatic.
When we returned to his business, I suffered a brief but severe reality check. The house was clearly a family home: the hall was filled with black teenage beanbags and crocodiles piled up in a shoe rack. In the kitchen were photographs of the family during their ski vacation.
I’m tormented that I ignored this and let Mark get down on his knees and worship every inch of my body. But Mark should take more blame. He was the married one, while I was (and still am) the free person, and I barely knew his wife.
He undressed me on the couch, next to the family greyhound that was dozing. He was desperately interested: maybe all this flirting was getting him nowhere? He had a dad body, but I have a mom body, so there’s no judging about it.
But there was one part of his body that exceeded expectations – the most important part in the current situation – and I’m not talking about his full head of hair. It was extremely impressive and took some getting used to. I won’t lie, it felt good.
However, it was surreal having sex on Mark’s couch. I kept looking at our reflection in the black windows. I looked sexy on top of him – and it was wild, at least until we finished.
I felt guilty then, and I still feel guilty.
But Mark didn’t. He texted me the next day asking for a rematch. I deleted the message and blocked him. Let’s hope that since then he has changed his habits. But I doubt it.
- Annabel Bond is a pseudonym. The names have been changed.
