If you’ve never walked in the seemingly easy-to-wear but often tight, sweaty, and uncomfortable shoes of single motherhood, you’ll probably never get “it.”
Hell, I never did until I was forced into them after I had no other shoes to squeeze my perfectly manicured feet into.
And one raised me.
The thing is, I really wasn’t anyone before becoming a single mom. I spent my entire life lost in a sea of other people, mostly men, never knowing who I was or what I believed in, clinging to each and every one of them to keep me afloat since I thought I was incapable of swimming alone.
Then I got caught in a tidal wave of events that left me stranded, with no one and nothing around to keep my head above water.
It was sink or swim. Or at least learn how to use my spectaculary voluptuous breasts as flotation devices.
I thought about drowning for a while. It would’ve been so much easier to slip into the darkness. No more pain or memories, most of which consisted of me finding my ex weiner deep in another woman.
But then I remembered that in the darkness there would be no light. No happiness. No sex. No bacon.
And so I began to kick my legs and move my arms in an effort to swim.
Surprisingly I’ve been able to do it. Of course, at first it wasn’t pretty. Things rarely are in the beginning. There were times I wound up losing my bathing suit top in the rough current, exposing my breasts for all to see. Occasionally my bottoms would fall off as well, and someone, not me of course because I’m obviously smarter than that, would take pictures and email them to people.
C’est la vie
Still, I’ve doggy-paddled my way through the unfamiliar currents of single mommyhood, bumping into and onto erect penises along the way, eventually becoming more comfortable and deliberate with my movements.
I’m sure there’s a pun in there somewhere.
I’ve met some amazing people on my journey through the water. Some men. Some women. Some Lady Gaga-esque hermaphrodites.
I don’t judge. Apparently neither does my vagina.
A few of them have taught me new strokes to help me move forward in my journey, or at least get me to climax. Others have let me ride them for a while when they can see I’m exhausted from working so hard and raising my son alone and need a distraction. Then there are the few who slap me, usually women, and drag me kicking and screaming back in between the buoys, away from the attractive and horny men, to keep me on course.
While swimming solo as a single mother I’ve grown stronger, wiser, and more confident. There are still times when an unexpected wave hits me, leaving me breathless, flailing, or without my clothing. Fortunately I’ve learned to quickly recover. My newfound determination never allows me to stay underwater or topless for long.
It’s not easy balancing being a single mom and a single woman. Yes, I’m a mother who’s responsible for raising an amazing 5-year-old boy, but I’m also an attractive, thirty-two–year-old, smokin’ hot, witty, and intelligent single woman who’s hoping to someday find love again, or at least multiple orgasms.
For the next however-long-Adam-and-Josh-are-drunk-enough-to-let-me-write-here, I’ll be sharing my stories, answering your questions, and hopefully giving you a little insight into the often funny, always unpredictable, mostly inspiring life of one untraditional single mom.
With any luck you’ll keep coming back for my wisdom and snark, to live vicariously through me, or at least with the anticipation of a nip-slip.