Good Vibrations Magazine

Good Vibrations welcomes Rachel Sarah as a Sex & Parenting Featured Writer. Rachel Sarah is the author of Single Mom Seeking: Play Dates, Blind Dates, and Other Dispatches from the Dating World. Look for more articles by Rachel in upcoming issues of the GV Weekly!

I’d been a single mom for six months when I decided that maybe, just maybe, I was ready to go on a date. But it was complicated. It meant finding a babysitter; and leaving my 11-month-old daughter, who was nursing, for a few hours.It was the year 2001, when online dating was just making its mark, and I was not ready to go there. So, I asked my neighbors Susan and Jim, a wonderfully neurotic Jewish couple with a daughter who is six months older than Mae, if they knew any available men.

“I’m not really ready for a real relationship,” I said to Susan. “Just sex.”

She exploded into laughter: “Well, let’s not be vague here!”

I turned red. Did I really just say that?

I trusted my friends. They’d known me since Mae was a couple of months old and remained my friends even after my boyfriend, Eric, the father of our daughter, left. I also knew that Susan and Jim had my well-being, and Mae’s, in mind.

“So, what are you looking for?” Jim asked me.

“It’s pretty simple,” I said. “He has to be single and attractive — oh, disease- and drug-free, too.”

“Sounds easy enough,” Jim said.

That’s when Jim said to Susan: “Mark?”

“Oh, no!” Susan said. “Don’t do that to Rachel.”

“Don’t do what?” I asked.

“He smokes pot,” said Susan, as her daughter climbed into her lap to nurse.

“Last I heard, he’d quit smoking because the office was doing a drug test,” Jim said.

“I thought he had a girlfriend,” Susan said.

“They just broke up,” Jim said.

I was touched that they were so eager to make me a match, but Susan’s hesitation made me uneasy.

“I don’t think he’s mature enough for Rachel,” Susan said.

“She didn’t say anything about needing him to be in therapy,” Jim said.

Susan turned to me and looked serious. “He recently asked us if we know any cute single women,” she said. “He’s very cute, but he has major commitment problems.”

“Sounds great!” I said. Noncommittal is just what I needed.

***

On Friday night, I’m taking a shower before my blind date with Mark. Not only is it my first date since Mae was born, but it’s my first blind date ever. Mark, I found out, is Susan and Jim’s coworker at Legal Aid.

How bad could it be? I wonder. A lawyer who provides free legal services to the poor can’t be all bad.

After a pleasant chat on the phone, we decided to meet for drinks. I’m grateful for the chance to have a shower before our date. I close my eyes and let the water wash over my cheeks. I can’t remember the last time I showered without my baby girl in clear sight; usually, she’s with me in the tub, bubbles and all.

My heart is thumping hard. This is a big deal: going out on my first date as a single mom. He’s a lawyer, I remind myself; at least we’ll have an intelligent, interesting conversation. That’s not hoping for too much, right? I open my eyes to find a razor. I better shave my legs. It’s almost time to go.

My best friend, Amanda, is in the living room; she’s the only person I trust to watch Mae while I’m out on the town, or at least out for a drink. I can hear her reading Goodnight Moon, one of Mae’s favorite books. I’m grateful to Amanda for making the hour-long trip from her apartment to mine to baby-sit.

After drying off, I pull on a black silk skirt with a slit cut high up my thigh, a skimpy black tank top, and knee-high black boots with thick heels. This is my one sexy outfit, cobbled together from my sparse, all-black, pre-baby wardrobe. Not only have I not gone out on a date in that time, I haven’t been clothes shopping either, except for Mae.

When I come out of the bathroom, I find Amanda and Mae lying in our bed. Mae bounces up when she sees me: “Milk!”

“Here you go, sweetie,” I say, stretching out on the quilt and undoing my bra.

I lift my shirt up and Mae flies across the bed, latching on. I love nursing her. I imagine nursing her forever.

“You look stunning!” Amanda says.

“I do?” Here I am, my top hiked up to my neck and my boobs popping out. I don’t feel stunning.

“But you look nervous,” she says.

“Actually, I feel nauseous. I don’t know if I can do this.”

I’ve never left Mae at night like this. Sure, I’m only going three blocks away to a neighborhood bar. But this is before the days of Match.com. I have no experience meeting strangers like this, even ones who come with a trusted-neighbor guarantee. I’ve never even seen a picture of him. How will I recognize him?

“I better go,” I say, as I glance at the clock.

I kiss Mae six times across her face and head.

“No,” she says, clinging to my breasts.

“One more sip, sweetie,” I say, feeling edgy and nervous. I don’t want to go after all. It feels wrong to pull away and leave my baby. Maybe I should just call him and cancel.

“You’re going to be late,” Amanda says.

“I don’t care.”

But that’s rude, I think. And it has been forever since I had a drink with a man. I take a deep breath and kiss Mae three more times on the top of her head.

“I love you,” I say, and gently roll away from her.

It’s hard to leave her, but still, I want to dash away, get drunk, and knock back a man.

Outside, I breathe in the cold air. I’m strutting down the street in my boots and tight skirt, but I don’t feel very hot. I stop and look down. Did I remember to shave both of my legs? Damn! I only shaved the right one. What am I doing? I don’t know how to date. Now I’m ten minutes late and too hurried to feel languid and sexy.

I rush into the bar and look around. A man with wire-rimmed glasses stands up and smiles at me. I shake his hand. He looks much older than I’d imagined, with a receding hairline and lines under his eyes. My friends had promised he was handsome, but I don’t really see it. Darn.

“It’s so good to meet you,” Mark says, touching my arm. He leaves his hand on my elbow for a long moment.

I stop breathing. Then he immediately takes charge, ordering two margaritas and carrying them to a table in the corner. I follow behind him, checking out his tight little butt. Alright, he’s not so bad. I can do this.

“So, you have a daughter?” Mark asks.

“Yeah,” I say, “she’s about to turn one.”

“She must be adorable.” Boy, he’s really saying all the right things.

“She is,” I say. “I’m late because I was nursing her before bed — ”

“You were nursing her?” Wait, is that a sparkle I see in his eyes? I nod my head and take a big gulp of my drink.

“A woman who’s lactating!” he says way too loudly. “What a turn-on!”

I wait for the punch line, but he’s not joking.

I’m flattered and freaked out at the same time. Here’s a man who’s unperturbed by a woman who nurses her child longer than six months (the norm in the United States). This earns him extra points, though he may not have even picked up on it. But what does he mean when he says that he’s turned on? Does he have some weird fetish for lactating women?

He gets up to order another margarita. I’m still sipping my first one. All of a sudden, my breasts are flooding with milk. This happens whenever I think about nursing Mae.

The milk lets down, something I have no control over. I look down, and there’s a damp spot on my chest. I’m leaking.

This is just a tad embarrassing. But I’m hungry for a bit of intimate conversation with a man. I don’t care if he’s thin and tired-looking.

I just want a night of some no-strings fun.