sex diaries

The Married Mom Whose Boss Is Her Ex

Photo-Illustration: James Gallagher

This week, a 43-year-old woman who wishes she weren’t so tired after her kids’ bedtime: straight, married, marketing, Cobble Hill.


9:30 a.m. My two kids and husband are finally out the door. It’s a Sunday morning and I need some “me” time. A few months ago, I had a miscarriage — all very matter-of-fact and transactional but I worry I haven’t had time to really process what happened or how I’m feeling about everything. Not that a few hours of “me” time will cut it, but at least I can breathe a bit.

10:30 a.m. It’s so nice having a quiet house. I recently stopped feeling bad for my friends without kids. Maybe they’re the smart ones after all. A quiet home. Peace. Time to think and breathe. It’s such a treat for me.

11 a.m. I lie in our bed and masturbate to online porn. Two girls and one guy. Always. I like seeing a woman pleasured from top to bottom, every hole, every curve, every sensitive spot. Rough, soft, rough.

12 p.m. I shower to go meet the family. We play in the park and get both kids down to nap. My daughters are 4 and 2.

7 p.m. Getting my kids to bed is hell as always. About two hours of hell. Every night. They don’t want to go down. They want stories, then water, then more stories, the back rubs, then they say they’re scared. My older one is worse than the younger one, but she’s no picnic either.

9 p.m. I can barely move by the end of most days, let alone flirt or talk to my husband — who I love and adore and still desire. I put my pajamas on and fall asleep without brushing my teeth or washing my face.


9 a.m. Both my kids are out the door and off to day care. Praise the lord.

10 am. I’m at work in Union Square. I work for a website and do their marketing. It’s a very cool company run by a brilliant guy, Thomas, who … I used to sleep with, but that was a long time ago.

1 p.m. Thomas and I have lunch. He’s a class act and wouldn’t try to hit on me, but we still have chemistry and he’s still single.

I dated Thomas before I met my husband, many years ago. He had another company then and I worked at a big ad agency. I ended up ghosting him after a few months. We never really talked about it and then we reconnected around the time I got married and just reestablished a nice friendship without any drama. I’ve never thought about hooking up with him or cheating on my husband with him — he’s truly a friend, and now my boss.

My husband is more of a simple country boy. My husband is kind and sturdy, but I have never wanted to sit and listen to him for hours and hours, the way I do with Thomas. The thing with Thomas was that he was a terrible lay. Like, the worst. Sometimes I feel like I should let him know this because he often wonders why he is still single.

9 p.m. The girls are in bed, so we catch up on John Oliver. It’s in these quiet moments, laughing on the couch, making bowls of cereal, that I feel the luckiest to have my husband.

10 p.m. I get into bed. “Come tuck me in,” I say to my husband. He knows this is code for Come Fuck Me. He gets into bed and starts kissing me. It’s the deep kisses with my husband that I love the most. The delicious French kisses. He’s best at that. He’s not amazing at foreplay. Not really good at fingering me and rarely goes down on me. To get me wet, he spits on his fingers and rubs me with the saliva — which I always find kind of disgusting. I should probably just buy us some lube. I’m 43 and have never used lube. Anyway, he’s great at kissing … and then … fucking. His dick is big and strong and I almost always come from sex with him.


10:30 a.m. I’ve set up a big meeting with Thomas and some fashion editors. He charms them and I’m not surprised. I can tell one is wondering: How is this guy single and should I date him?? I know these types of girls. Thomas went to Princeton and clearly comes from money. He’s very handsome and not a dick at all. I’m sure they’re wondering WTF the issue is. The issue is his dick is small and timid and I don’t think he flosses his teeth. There, I said it.

12:30 p.m. I duck out of work and go shopping. I love to shop and love spending money I don’t have — but it’s not like I spend a lot; I buy sale items at Marshalls and fun little presents for my girls on the dollar rack at H&M. I used to think I was addicted to online shopping but now I think it was my way of giving me that “me” time. That habit means I always have returns and exchanges to do on my lunch break though.

4:30 p.m. I walk home from Union Square to Brooklyn. I stopped going to the gym when I became a mom; but with all the movement and walking, my body never really changed. I love walking through New York more than any gym class …

6 p.m. We take the girls to pizza. It’s fun and joyful. My husband looks handsome and I make a mental note to blow him tonight.

9:30 p.m. It took forever to put the girls down and I’m not sure I have it in me to blow him … so I don’t.


7 a.m. A lot of married friends have suggested morning sex because nighttime sex is just too tiring for most of us. I wake up this morning before anyone else and contemplate fucking my husband before the girls wake up. But it just seems mean to take 15 minutes of extra sleep from him. He’ll be just as happy jerking off in the shower I’m sure.

11 a.m. Thomas comes to my office to say he had a good date last night. He wants to send her flowers to her office. He’s the kind of guy who can get away with doing that. I help him find the right florist and we send her a $150 bouquet. I hope, for his sake, she likes him. He deserves love. I wonder if now is the time to tell him he has to improve on a few things …

6:30 p.m. I’m home alone with the girls. My husband has a work thing upstate for the night. He also works with someone he once dated. His job is making TV commercials and this woman is a producer who’s occasionally on the shoots. Sometimes I wonder if they’ve ever reconnected on these work trips. I usually don’t have more than 30 seconds to think about this. It doesn’t worry me — I have no reason to believe my husband cheats and besides, I don’t really care if he’s had a slip up here or there. He’s an amazingly devoted husband and father so we’re no worse for the wear if he has. I don’t mean to sound so blasé about it, but truthfully, I feel pretty blasé about it.

9:45 p.m. I masturbate to my favorite porn clips and fall asleep by 10 p.m. Great to have the whole bed to myself. Ahhhhh.


10:30 a.m. I have an appointment with my doctor to talk about getting pregnant again and check my numbers post-miscarriage. It was a pretty standard miscarriage. No heartbeat, and then a D&C. I didn’t cry. There was no time to cry. It turned out to be more like an annoying medical procedure that I didn’t have time for rather than a painful loss. But I’m sure a big part of that was because I already have my babies — and my family life is very full and rich as is, and I don’t take that for grated.

The only time I kind of cried was saying good-bye to the nurses who got me through the procedure. They were so kind and gentle and I felt fortunate to have good health care when so many people do not — that made me want to cry. The doctor’s appointment is uneventful: We did some blood work, which all came back normal, and mostly just talked about next steps. She said I should be able to get pregnant again soon. I just don’t love my doctor. I don’t feel like she cares all that much about me.

1 p.m. Back to work. I never told Thomas about the miscarriage because he’s just not the type to get it. No girlfriend. No sisters. It could freak him out.  And I didn’t need him for any support; I had my husband for that. When it happened, I took two days off work “for personal reasons” and he didn’t ask any questions.

6:30 p.m. Daddy is back!! The girls lose their mind when he walks in the door and I’m pretty happy to see him too. I remind myself to blow him tonight. I actually consider writing a note on my hand so that I don’t forget.

9:30 p.m. I forget.


9 a.m. Most people love Fridays but to me, the weekend means two days of being with my kids allllllll dayyyyyy.

10:30 a.m. I sneak out of work for a massage. I found an amazing guy at a local manicure place who is honestly the best ever. Anyone living in New York knows, when you find someone like this, you never let go of him.

1 p.m. Thomas comes to my office to pick my brain on restaurants to bring this new girl. I want to say: Don’t worry about the restaurant, worry about buying some mouthwash. We zone in on a few hot spots that his assistant can make magical reservations at — he’s dialed in to some reservation concierge system that gets him into anywhere.

3 p.m. I sneak out of work again, this time, to buy sexy underwear and bras. My husband and I have to get back into baby-making. Which means, sex, a lot more sex. He might be 41 but he practically explodes when I wear dirty lingerie. It’s hot seeing him get so hot over me. I go to Nordstrom Rack to see what’s there, and end up with got a black-lace bra and underwear. Nothing too wild.

9:30 p.m. I take a shower to wake myself up. It always helps. Plus, I like to fuck with wet hair — weird but true. I put on a black, lacy thing and walk in front of the TV and my husband immediately turns it off and takes me to bed. He goes down on me (almost always does when I kick up the lingerie). He’s good at it. He should do it more! I’m wet from his tongue, not his spit, for once and he bends me over and we have sex from behind against our bed until we both come. He always kisses me passionately after we come, a little “check in.” As always, after making love to him, I’m very happy and blissful.

10:15 p.m. Best part? I’ll still get 8 hours of sleep. Maybe more.


9 a.m. Saturday. We’re taking the girls to Coney Island. A little bit of a haul, but usually worth it. I send the family out while I pack everything up. I throw a bottle of prosecco in the bag for me and my husband — a little unexpected romance for later.

11:30 a.m. It’s a shit show. Daughters are tantrum-ing and not listening. There are potty-training issues and dirty diapers and a lot of tears. We decide to head home and stay home. Ughhhhhh. Again, people without kids: You are so fucking lucky!

3 p.m. Girls are watching movies. Husband is napping. I’m online shopping. I’m totally fine with all of it.

9:30 p.m. Sex with my husband is boring and kind of forced — I’m ovulating and don’t come, but he does. He washes himself off and then he crawls into bed and says, I love you.

I know my life seems kind of standard — overworked, undersexed Brooklyn mom — but that’s just my reality right now. My kids are healthy, my marriage is stable, my work isn’t bad. I might joke about wanting to be single and childless, traveling the world on my own time, at my own pace, but at the end of the day, I want exactly the life I have. Just with kids who go to sleep earlier.

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The Married Mom Whose Boss Is Her Ex