The Job (Volume One) (2 page)

I shake away my thoughts and continue to bark orders at the children. Looking at the time on my cell phone, I realize their father will be here shortly to pick them up for the weekend. Or at least until Grace starts crying and begging to come back home to her own room. She craves stability, much like me. I’ve always been this way and she is a carbon copy of me as a young girl. Minus the crayons.

“Ten minutes till your father is here to pick you up. Make sure your bags are at the front door, and Grace, you need to go brush your teeth. I don’t want to see any crayon left!” Ten minutes. I can make it without losing my shit. I can do this.

Beeps echo through the cul de sac where my spacious four bedroom house sits and I am instantly annoyed that Drew is early to pick the children up. I shouldn’t be though. I should be relieved. I should feel like a weight has been lifted off of me for the day. God knows I need it. Hell, I need a hot bath and a massage too. Alas, there is no way I would give him any sort of credit.

The boys walk past me without a goodbye, grabbing their bags next to the front door and going on their way. Grace pauses at the door and looks back at me still standing on the stairs with a grim look on my face. She can read me, way too well I might add.

“I’ll miss you, Mommy.” For five, she is still such a sweet girl. I walk down the last couple stairs and wrap my arms around her dainty body.

“Mommy loves you, baby girl. Now let me see your teeth,” We both let out a laugh and I make sure all the remnants of the crayons are gone before sending her out the door with her princess backpack in tow. “See you on Sunday! Have a good time.” I yell to the children as they all climb into their father’s overly expensive sports car, which can barely fit all of them comfortably.

I watch them in a daze until I notice Drew and his friendly wave. Instead of waving back and doing the right thing, I slam the front door shut and turn to make my way back upstairs for the bathtub that is still calling my name. Never mind, I am going to make a detour for a bottle of wine on the way. I’m gonna need it to finish my job hunt.

Three months of job listings and three glasses of wine and I am ready to call it a night. Capping off the evening with Netflix and a good romantic comedy is just what I need. But before I close the laptop, I notice a word that sticks out at me on the main page of Craigslist; a window I thought I had long since closed out.

Personals
.

Dating is probably the farthest thing from my mind, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a woman with needs. My
Magic Wand
can only satisfy me so much. It gets lonely living alone and not having any company other than my children. I never thought I would have to relate to women who jumped back into the dating scene, but then again, I never thought I would find myself single in my mid-thirties.

A laugh sneaks free from my lips and I move to close my laptop for the night.
Maddie you really have hit an all time low.
Maybe I can look just a little? See what kind of men are on there? I mean, what can it hurt if I just look?

I click on the
Casual Encounters
tab and I’m instantly bombarded with a bunch of letters that look like jibberish.
W4M M4M M4W W4W.
The list goes on. A quick google search explains it all. God bless Google because, without it, I’d be lost right now.

Clicking on the M4W tab, which apparently means men looking for women, I am flooded with hundreds upon hundreds of ads. I mean, the list could go on for weeks… months even!

Are there really that many men in the local area who are single and looking? Then the titles of each post explain everything. These aren’t men that are looking for a relationship. They are looking for a quick bang. My god. I feel like I should bleach my eyes after reading a handful of the ad headlines!

I want to fuck my sister so bad.

A good eating??

Grandpa for daytime fun.

Looking for a Submissive Little Slut to Use.

Looking for a cute girl that knows how to get nasty.

I need to eat pussy.

Married 4 Married.

Italian Monster Cock looking NOW!

Son looking for his Mommy. Married women welcome.

Sugar Daddy for hot girls now.

CEO Looking for Submissive.

Do people actually reply to ads like this? I feel like I have walked into the x-rated version of being punk’d. My face is reddening and I can feel my face begin to flush. I am embarrassed for these people. Putting it all out there on the internet in hopes of finding someone to get them off for the night. I wonder if this is how Drew found that money hungry little side piece?

I should be disgusted, and under normal circumstances I probably would be, but the wine is talking and the fact that I haven’t had sex in over a year is taking a toll on my body. I am turned on by the words and the words alone. The fact that these people are so sexually free is admirable. To be able to put themselves out there, and what they want? Some people would call it dirty or disgusting. I call it brave and knowing exactly what they want.

I wish I’d been able to tell Drew everything I wanted. The dirty little fantasies in the back of my mind. The wants and desires I had that he could never fill. My porn obsession or somehow just get him to do something besides pin me down on the bed in missionary and pound away until he grunted like a pig with his release. Never giving an ounce of damn whether I got off. Never spending the time to please me. Just taking his and being on his way.

The amount of men looking for a woman just to orally please is amazing. All this time I had this misconception burned into my head that no man really loved going down on a woman. The more I read, the wetter my pussy becomes and I haven’t even taken the time to click on a single ad. Only reading the titles as I go along.

Lost in the ideas of what I could be doing while my children are gone, I don’t even realize I have opened my own ad and started to type out everything I want in my life right now.

Recently divorced thirty something looking for a warm body.

Trying to regain control of my life after my husband cheated on me with a teenager -

probably from this website.

Looking for mature men, preferably with stable job. Sugar Daddy’s are welcome.

Must be clean and local.

Reply with picture please. No picture, no reply.

I go back and forth debating on whether I should actually click the publish button on the ad. Opening a new browser, I decide to take a look at the other ads women have put up. What do they say? Do they include pictures? Is an older woman going to be desirable among a sea of perfect pre-baby bodies? My imagination gets the better of me because opening the W4M ads makes me feel like a fucking super model.

I’m not sure if these women actually think they look like your run of the mill perfect, perky porn stars, but if I looked like that, I wouldn’t be posting naked pictures of myself for the entire world to see. It’s part bravery and part just sheer ignorance; but the one thing I know is I feel so much better about myself now. I decide to skip the whole picture process, and in a moment of wine fueled courage, I click publish.

Time for bed
, I think to myself as I pick up my nearly empty glass of wine, close my laptop and make my way for the kitchen. The entire walk I debate on pouring out that last sip or just going for it. Airing on the side of caution, I dump the mouthful before I live to regret the choice of chugging it in the morning and make my way to bed.

At a quarter after ten on Saturday morning, I am awakened by my phone ringing. Beyonce rings through my hung over head as I pry my eyes open in my bright bedroom and silently curse myself for drinking that last glass of wine. Peering at the caller ID, I can see my best friend Cindy calling. Probably looking to drag my ass out of bed and go eat something since I am positive her children are with her ex-husband Ken for the weekend. Something about Disney World and annual passes. All I know is it sent her into a fucking tizzy because she couldn’t afford to do it and now Daddy looks like savior of the year to the boys.

“Hello?” I whisper into the phone and struggle to clear my throat.

“Up and at ‘em, Sleeping Beauty! Time to go stuff our faces!” Yup, I was right on the money. “Why are you still in bed anyway? Shouldn’t you be up crafting or blogging some new dinner recipe?” She sasses me, but the truth is she knows me so much better than anyone in the world. Even my own mother.

“I had a late night. I stayed up filling out job applications and e-mailing my resume to anyone that would accept it.” Desperation is a disgusting feeling. It’s dirty and I hate feeling so helpless. Especially when it is all the fault of someone else.

“Whatever. Get up, wash your crusty ass and meet me at The Cracked Egg in forty five minutes. I’m timing you.” She laughs knowing there are some days my hair alone takes that long to dry. Not that I could remember a time I cared enough to make myself look as nice as I used to.

“Give me an hour.” I say, throwing the covers off and swinging my legs off of the side of the bed. My feet hang like a child’s from the high sleigh bed. With a little hop, I make contact with the floor and hang the phone up tossing it onto the bed. I make quick work of my shower, and instead of throwing my hair back in a wet, high, messy bun, I actually leave it down. Brushing and drying it ever so slightly before adding a little eyeliner and lip gloss. Yes, lip gloss. Victoria Secret not only makes a bombshell of a bra, but they can also make my lips look like I paid for them.

Looking in the mirror at my reflection, I already feel so much better about myself than when I caught a scary glimpse of what I’ve been becoming last night. Maybe the extra time in the morning will be worth it in the long run. Let’s be honest, half the battle when looking for a job as a woman is looking attractive. No one wants to look at a tired and washed up old woman everyday when they could be looking at someone their daughter’s age. Repulsive, but so damn true.

Before I leave the house I go searching for my phone. If I had a dime for every time I lost it somewhere I put it down I’d be rich. A millionaire! I wouldn’t need a damn job! Thankfully, I remember I tossed it on the bed, so I can finally hit the road. I’m already late, but I don’t think Cindy is really going to give a shit. Sliding my home screen open, I look down and see an obscene amount of emails.

“YES!” I scream while I fist pump in the air, assuming they are all replies to my resume. Completely forgetting the personal ad I put up. Tapping my finger on the e-mail icon I realize the vast majority of the e-mails are replies to the ad. My mood goes from insanely high to abysmal in an instant.
What am I doing so wrong?

I want to lecture myself, but I wait for the car ride to do that.

Why didn’t I get any replies to my resume? Because it was a Friday night and no one wants to be working on a Saturday morning. I hold out hope that come Monday morning my e-mail will be chock full of inquiries and interviews.

Why did my ad get so much attention? Because it was Friday night and I am willing to bet most of those men were banking on a cheap fuck. Isn’t that what most guys do on Friday night? Except now it’s not trolling bars, it’s trolling the internet for fresh meat. Don’t even have to leave their houses anymore to try and get laid. Ain’t technology some shit?