Smex Ed

Confession: I bought my first vibrator almost 2 years after my husband died.

When Max died, the last thing I thought about was sex or finding another partner or even self-pleasure. And to be honest, even 4 years into this unexpected life as a single, widowed mom, I’m still not too keen on the idea of bringing another man into the mix. I mean, half the time I can barely keep up with taking care of the kids and managing their needs while running a business and making sure the household tasks (that almost all fall to me) don’t fall too far behind. 

How in the world could I manage putting energy and time into an actual committed relationship on top of all that? The idea of it feels like a logistical nightmare.

So when the opportunity came around to share my experience in THIS magazine – a magazine called SMEX ED, of all things – I thought: Who am I to write about sex and sexuality as a single mom?

But the truth is…single mothers still have a sex drive. We may be mothers, but we’re still sexy (and sexual) AF. 

Unfortunately, that’s not the message we get from the media or society. 

Even before we become moms, women are made to believe that our own pleasure should be our LAST priority. So of course, when we do become mothers, we put the needs of every other person in our lives first. 

Once a woman becomes a mom, she’s at the service of everyone else. Her pleasure revolves around her family and their needs, right?

Maybe that’s how we think it is, but it doesn’t have to be that way.

The truth is that we still have needs to be met. And when we meet them, either on our own or with a partner, we gain so much – a deeper connection with ourselves, greater confidence, self-trust – and have so much more to give.

Sex as a single mom isn’t simple, though. It’s really freaking complicated. 

It’s pleasuring yourself in the middle of the night, all the while hoping no one wakes up and needs to crawl into bed with you.

It’s buying a vibrator to make things easier and faster when they need to be, but also longer and more enjoyable when you want them to be. 

It’s orgasms in the shower while the kids watch TV because you’ve had exactly zero alone time in weeks.

It’s fantasizing while watching a rom-com and dreaming of the intimacy you miss so much, but knowing you don’t have the time or energy to go out and look for it yet.

It’s exploring physical and emotional boundaries until you’re ready to step into the world of dinner and drinks and whatever comes after that.

But I suppose that’s part of the story, right?

Finding What’s Missing

I’m in my late 40s now and I’ve only had a handful of sexual partners in my lifetime. And when Max [my late husband] and I started dating, I was certain he’d be my last.

The connection between us was electric. 

I’d had amazing sex before, with partners who made sure I’d been satisfied. But with Max? He didn’t have to try.

We had an intimacy and spark that was undeniable from the moment we kissed for the first time. 

I remember the first night we were together, it was like something out of a rom-com. When we finished, we both rolled over and looked at each other and, at the same time, said, “Wow.”

That first time, and nearly every time we had sex after, we would bring each other to climax almost simultaneously. 

It’s hard to believe that the chemistry between us started over Facebook Messenger and poorly connected Skype calls while he was deployed to the Middle East. But that’s how it all began, and even then, with thousands of miles between us, there was a feeling that despite our differences, we were meant to be together.

Once Max was back in the U.S. the connection seemed even more powerful. We’d spend hours snuggled on the couch talking about some NPR story we’d heard, or watching movies and then debating the finer points of the storyline. 

It wasn’t just sexual energy between us. It felt like I’d found my match on all levels. And the fact that I was a liberal and he was a conservative only seemed to emphasize how well we fit together.

Opposites attract. Yin and yang. Two sides of the same coin.

Whatever metaphor you want to use to describe it, we lived it. Complementing each other in every way I thought possible – and especially in bed.

It was magical and magnetic. And then it was gone.

I didn’t think I’d miss it. 

Max, yes. 

But not the sex. 

And yet eventually I did miss it. It was the intimacy I missed the most, though. The soft kisses and whispered thoughts. The gentle touches as we put the boys to sleep. Even the conversations that turned into heated debates.

I found myself looking at other men again, the way they moved or smiled. I’d see a man walking ahead of me in the store and wonder what he might be like in bed. I’d watch a movie and unexpectedly find myself fantasizing about the main character. Or I’d roll over in bed and imagine my sexy neighbor curling up beside me.

My desire for physical pleasure and intimacy was returning. But I knew I wasn’t ready for a relationship, even one that was purely physical, with no emotional strings attached.

So I started with myself.

Rediscovering Self Pleasure

REDISCOVERING SELF PLEASURE

I’ve never really been one to need sex. I was a pretty precocious kid and learned early on how to pleasure myself. 

Masterbation became my favorite tool for both self-love and stress relief.

I’ve always known what I liked and didn’t like when it comes to physical pleasure, and I learned pretty quickly that if my partner wasn’t providing it, I could give myself whatever I desired.

Which is why it was kind of surprising when I clicked Buy Now on that purple, penis shaped “personal massager” on Amazon. 

I hadn’t ever needed one before. My hand worked just fine.

But thanks to Covid, I’d basically been stuck in the house with two young kids for the better part of a year, and my alone time was definitely lacking.

Especially because those two kids were dealing with anxiety and the grief of losing their father and were extremely likely to wake up and climb in bed with me as soon as I turned off the light.

While I’d perfected self-pleasure, without a doubt, I needed an efficient method to get the job done in seconds when necessary.

When the box arrived, I immediately charged that bad boy up and found it an easily accessible hiding place. 

I was giddy putting the boys to bed that night and when they finally fell asleep I prayed they’d stay in their beds long enough for me to test drive my new toy – to find the release I so desperately needed.

I got in my bed, in the dark just in case one of the boys woke up, and clicked the vibrator on. Just the feeling of it in my hand aroused me. The smooth surface of the shaft and the soft ridges, I knew would stimulate in just the right places as it vibrated. I wanted to get to the job at hand before there was an interruption, but I also wanted to explore what I might have been missing. 

I clicked the button and the vibrating rhythm changed. Short pulses and then longer ones this time. I laid it on my chest between my breasts and pressed the button again. This time the rhythm changed again. I tested all the settings out, feeling myself getting aroused more and more with each minute that passed.

And then I let my imagination go and put the vibrator to work.

When I climaxed with it inside me, the pleasure was almost unbearable. The waves of my orgasm lasted longer than I’d expected, and when they faded away I felt like I could just sink into the bed, satiated and relaxed.  

Instead, I cried ugly heaving sobs.

I missed him so much. I missed our connection and that chemistry I thought we’d have forever.

I missed his body beside me and I missed feeling him inside me.

I missed clinging to him and collapsing into him as we both released all the pressure built up inside of us.

Two years later and four years after his death, it’s not like that anymore. I can climax without the tears and longing for Max. But there’s still longing…for connection, for intimacy, for the feeling of someone else’s hands on my skin.

Until I’m ready to step into another relationship, though, I know I can show myself that love and intimacy. 

That’s the real lesson here.

Buying that vibrator opened me up to the idea of physical connection again. It allowed me to put my needs first in a small but meaningful way, to love myself not just with a manicure or bubble bath, but with real physical pleasure. 

It gave me the option of rediscovering intimacy with myself before I add another human to the mix. And having an intimate and pleasure-filled relationship with me first gives me hope that there will be room in my life for a relationship with someone other than Max when I’m ready.

Yes, sex as a single mom is complicated. Sometimes it’s messy and unexpected. But it’s also a beautiful rediscovery of ourselves and our desires, which so often can get lost in motherhood whether we’re single or not.

If that’s you, feeling lost in motherhood, struggling to fit your own pleasure into your mom-life, it’s time to make you a priority again. It won’t always be easy, but rediscovering intimacy by reconnecting to your own pleasure will help you to reconnect with and trust yourself again. 

And having that connection and self-trust is what will allow you to move forward confidently into whatever relationships come next. 

Now get out there and get yourself a vibrator! I promise you won’t regret it.