Missing the Old Days

The mom next door is nostalgic for her past.

In the days before play dates, board meetings, and grocery runs, I use to be a whore. Not a professional, just a woman with low standards and a high sex drive.

The answer to boredom was always easy. Download a new app, let a man think that he was impressing me, and end up with another story to tell.

It’s not like that these days.

Now, I’m rarely touched or even acknowledged by the man in my life.

To be honest with you, the random Tinder hookups were rarely good. Sure they were exciting, but let’s be honest, men in their twenties aren’t exactly giving, and most need some guidance before being able to curl my toes.

But they wanted me. And sometimes that’s enough.

I was fresh out of a serious relationship, with a brand new Tinder account when I met Max.

He was nerdy and thin. I was short, curvy, and wet. Who he was didn’t matter to me, so long as he made me feel wanted for tonight.

As soon as we met at the restaurant, he couldn’t take his eyes away from my cleavage. So, I knew that my curves were not a problem for him.

He spent the evening impressing me with stories from his job, while I did my best to drink as many Vodka Red Bulls as a twenty-something-year-old woman could put into her body.

By the end of the night, he had experienced sex on my neighbor’s yard, and I felt wanted.

We never spoke again. My neighbor dropped off a shoe that I left in their yard the next day.

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