I Did It All For The Nookie

The end of a marriage is like a death of sorts. There’s an incredible amount of grief that goes along with it. OK, so there are differences. When someone dies, there aren’t times when you say “damn, thank God he’s finally dead.” When you’re divorced, there are definitely occasions when you say “damn, thank God it’s over.”

Lately, I’ve been feeling up, I’ve been feeling down. In addition to the demise of my marriage, I’m sure the fact that I just had a baby seven months ago does have something to do with the ebb and flow of emotions.

I mean, some days I lie in bed and consider sleeping with the next man who walks through my door. Unfortunately, it’s usually my dad and well, that would be just plain gross, not to mention illegal in many states.

Then there are days when I think I might never be intimate with another man again. That’s when I slap myself silly, and say “are you crazy Kiki?” I mean after all, there’s a huge difference between having sex with someone and jumping back in the trenches with another marriage. So to say I’m NEVER going to be intimate with someone again, well that’s for sure a crock and definitely some kind of crack in my mental status that’s surely caused by some post-partum hormones.

Anyways, sex has been on my mind a lot lately. I guess it’s a lot like food. You don’t think about your next meal until you realize you might have to dig through a dumpster to get it. So now that the well has run dry, I keep coming back to sex… or the lack thereof. I was in the aisle shopping for baby food the other day when I found myself face to face with a bunch of multi-colored boxes of condoms. I contemplated picking up a box, not just to look at it, but to buy it.

Of course, I was presented with several problems here. For starters, I wasn’t in a relationship. Next, I hadn’t had a date since the booger-picking bandit I had met online. Thirdly, I hadn’t left my house to go anywhere in weeks. Last time I checked there weren’t exactly a slew of men pounding on my door to take care of my needs. Realizing that the chances of me finding someone who I actually wanted to sleep with were slim, I squashed the notion of purchasing condoms.

But low and behold not three days later the condoms came crawling to me. My good friend Mika showed up for dinner bearing gifts -- not a gourmet dessert or a bottle of fine wine. Instead she came bearing Trojans… and like 50 of them. I burst out laughing and thanked her for the kind gesture. Maybe she thought the bright red prophylactics would be some kind of incentive for me to shower, do my hair and actually step out into a public place actually frequented by young, single men.

It’s safe to say one condom would have done the job… no pun intended.

Needless to say, I took one look at the fruits of my labor, that being my 7-month-old baby, and decided to save the condoms for a rainy day. In all reality it would probably be a long time before I actually did the horizontal tango, but at least I can sleep soundly in knowing that I’m prepared should that fateful moment arise. And as a last resort my five-year-old and I can always use them as water balloons when we have nothing better to do on a hot summer day.

In the meantime, it’s just me, myself and I when it comes to the principles of pleasure. I’ve disciplined myself to no longer look at J-Fed like my own personal sex slave, although it is difficult for me not to ask for sex in lieu of child support. Sometimes I find myself licking my chops like the hungry crocodile in Peter Pan at the mere sight of him. But I maintain some restraint. Why give him the pleasure of knowing he has something I want, and I use the term “want” very loosely?

Strangely, I rarely had these thoughts when we were together. It just goes to show abstinence makes the heart grow fonder.