Mommy is Dating

Seriously, I almost choked on this one. If finding a new position or taking the reins weren’t difficult for this partner-less mommy, now I have to find a way to “use my mouth” such that it’ll improve my sex life? I can assure you the effort would be lost on both Roberrrrto and Gallic the Phallic (the moniker I’ve given my fabulous blow-up gladiator doll).

Add to this challenge the fact that I’m no closer to putting these skills to use on a live, breathing human body (or a lifeless one, for that matter) than I was 20 days ago, and you understand why a serious case of depression was clouding my creativity. I sulked. I pouted. Was I really going to go down?

Hellsno! I wasn’t going to go down just because I couldn’t, you know, go down. And that was when I remembered THE fantasy. The fantasy that is my version of “The Graduate.” If you’re too young to know what “The Graduate” is, and you’re packing a penis, then please DM me on my Twitter account. The rest of you know where I’m going with this.

Since I turned 40-is-the-new-30, I have been carrying THE fantasy, which involves seducing a barely legal stud. Sadly, my life is in short supply of said studs. I’ve probably many times bemoaned the dearth of hot men at work. Besides, I don’t foul in my own nest, unless it involves a supervisor and guarantees a promotion and job security. Ah! But within 15 minutes of work there are no fewer than five universities, one of which is the teaching hospital. And across from the teaching hospital is my favorite gelato spot. I have a devious plan.

I donned the new millennium version of the Mrs. Robinson seduction-attire: a little black dress with plunging neckline, black fishnet stockings (and by stockings, yes, I mean stockings) and these fabulous CFMPs:

I arrived at my favorite gelato spot at exactly 5 minutes after I knew a shift had ended, spied two hot 20-something interns drinking coffee in a corner, sashayed up to the counter and ordered not one, but three scoops. Let those boys see what a real woman can handle.

I sat down at a table where I’d be obvious, crossed my legs exposing just enough that it would be clear I was wearing stockings, glanced surreptitiously with downcast lashes,  flashed a tiny little “I’m nasty” smile and let the licking commence. I lapped that 3-scoop gelato like it was a long-lost lover. I swirled my tongue around the tip of the cone, with slow, generous caresses. A little drip began running down the side of the cone, and I bent my head to go after it, my hair falling across my eyes, my tongue searching for that tiny teardrop of gelato as though I were seeking the very secrets to happiness. I was so naughtily tonguing this big, sweet, Italian dessert I could feel my panties dampening.

“Excuse me,” one of the interns interrupted. I glanced up with my best see-how-I-use-my-mouth-and-wouldn’t-you-like-to-be-the-gelato-right-now? look. “Um. You have gelato on your nose?”

Fantasy shattered.