I think about my string of bad dates. “Isn't dating hell all the time?”
She gives a short laugh. “You would think, right? But as bad as it is out there, it gets so much worse once you're on this journey. Most guys you go out with think you’re looking for a father for your child and that you want to trap them into marriage. I tell them the truth because I believe in disclosure, but then they end up ghosting me. Or I get the weirdos. I went out with a guy that told me I didn’t need fertility treatments. He would breed me.”
“That sounds delightful.” Ugh. Is this what my future holds? Matthew Barnes, my most recent horrible date, sounds positively charming in comparison.
“Anyway. . .” Felicity’s expression turns embarrassed. “I ended up sleeping with the guy last night. We used a condom, of course.”
“Do it while you still can,” Poppy replies. “When Tom and I had Grant, things weren't right down there for ages. I don't think we had sex for two years after the baby was born.”
Malia looks aghast. “Two years? I had a nine-month dry spell once, and that was bad enough.”
“Grant wouldn't sleep,” Poppy explains. “I had no sexual desire. None whatsoever. My fantasies were about getting a hotel room, soaking in the utter quiet, and getting a good night's sleep.” She shudders at the memory. “It was rough. Tom and I almost broke up over it.” She makes a face. “And we’re doing it again. Yippee.”
If the support group meeting is supposed to make me feel better, it fails miserably. I go home to an empty house. It’s my turn to cook, and I decide on pasta for dinner. I chop veggies while the water boils, my thoughts dark. Let’s assume it takes me a year to get pregnant. If I add in almost another year of being pregnant and two years of post-baby celibacy, à la Poppy, I’m looking at a dry spell of four years.
My pussy is already growing cobwebs. And the prospect of not seeing any action for the next four years? I really don’t like the sound of that.
Aurora calls me when I’m adding dressing to the lettuce. “Did you go to your support group meeting?”
“I see you talked to Ben. Is nothing private in our family?”
She laughs. “Come on, Sophia, you already know the answer to that. So, did you go? How was it?”
“Do you guys do it?” I blurt out. “There was a woman there who said it took two years after she had her baby for her and her husband to have sex again.”
“I've heard worse,” Aurora replies calmly. “It took us six months after Dawn.”
My mouth falls open. “Really?”
“Think about it, Soph. I pushed a baby out of my vagina. Dawn was the size of a pumpkin when she was born. There was tearing. There was leakage. Nobody tells you that part because if they did, women wouldn’t put themselves through it. I didn't feel right for a very long time, and I certainly didn't feel sexy.”
“Oh.”
“But it doesn’t have to be the same for you,” she says. “You could have an entirely different experience. And anyway, why are you worrying about this? Are you really that interested in sex? The only time you mention guys is to complain about them.”
I blink in confusion. “Of course, I'm interested in sex. I love it.”
Am I lying? Is Aurora right? Sex is nice, and it is pleasant, but the only time it's ever really blown my mind. . .
Was the night I had a threesome with Damien and Julian.
Fuck.
“You do?” Her voice is dubious. “If you say so.”
“Felicity said that every guy she’s gone out with thinks she’s looking for a father for her child.”
“You know what you need? A fuck buddy.”
“What?”
“Do I have to explain the concept to you? Friends with benefits. Netflix and chill. Forget dating. Go on Tindr and find yourself a boy toy.”
“How do you know about Tindr?” I demand, laughing despite myself. “Aren’t you a happily married woman?”
“Of course I am. But I don’t live under a rock.” I hear a shrill shriek in the background. My niece is home. Sure enough, Aurora says, “Soph, I have to go. JP and Dawn are here. See you Sunday?”
I don't want to go on the Internet to find a sexual partner. I want good sex, and despite what Aurora might think, that's not easy to find.