The Mom Exploring a Breeding Kink Before a Family Ski Trip

This week, a woman drops her kids at school, then drives hours to see her secret man: 

34, married, Westchester 

DAY ONE 

6 a.m. Wake up before my kids to enjoy a cup of tea in peace. Also, to answer messages from my affair partner. Bryce is an early bird, too. He lives in Boston and is married with one child.

We met six months ago on a website for people seeking affairs. The men were mostly 50-year-old dad-bod types. I was about to give up when I found Bryce. He’s 40, with dark hair and blue eyes. He’s big into monthly bloodwork to “stay on top of his levels,” morning sunlight, and contrast therapy (a cold plunge–sauna combo). Basically, he’s a biohacking bro. One with a hard body and thick cock.

7 a.m.  Bryce texts, “I finally figured out what I’m going to get you for your birthday” and links to a “clone-a-willy” silicone dildo kit. We send each other dirty Reels and memes. Until Bryce, I hadn’t had sex with anyone but my husband for 12 years. My sister, who doubles as my therapist, thinks I’m just dickmatized. But I have real feelings for Bryce.

8 a.m. Load my 6- and 8-year-old boys into the car for school, wondering how the hell I ended up a suburban mom before I started getting regular Botox.

I met my husband on a sugar-daddy website when I was 23 and he was 49. Being paid to date (and fuck) older rich men felt fun and sexy. I was living in Manhattan, pulling in serious bank, and finishing a psychology degree at NYU. I wanted Givenchy Antigona bags and Valentino Rockstuds in every color so I could be one of the cool girls at the Darby in Meatpacking. Being that girl really meant something to me. Like, Damn, she made it!

My husband paid to date me. When we fell in love after a month, he stopped, because it felt funny to us both. Looking back, maybe I confused his gifts — and everything else I ever could ask for — with true love. At 34, I require something deeper, but it’s still blurry.

11 a.m. Bryce and I are supposed to video chat. He texts that a meeting is running over. I wait, feeling like a loser. Bryce is successful and busy. I’m always waiting for him to call me; always free when he asks. He doesn’t need these moments of closeness in the way I crave them. I make a mental note: Be less available.

11:30 a.m. Bryce FaceTimes. We flirt, eye-fuck, and plan to meet at a hotel halfway between us in a few days. We meet up monthly — for sex but also just to see each other. We’re not in love, but we really like each other.

For now, we masturbate together. I get really into putting on a show for him with my new silver vibrator.

4 p.m. Take the boys to soccer practice. Cheer them on and chat with other parents. I hate not being fully present for my kids, but my mind drifts to Bryce and my marriage.

I grew apart from my husband years ago. I was never sexually attracted to him, and I got into our relationship for the wrong reason: money. We had a child, then another, and moved to the suburbs, without really creating a deeper foundation for our relationship. I know I want a divorce, but I’m afraid of disrupting my children’s lives.

8 p.m. The kids are bathed and everyone is fed. Scroll social media in bed while my husband watches TV on the couch. We’re two ships passing. It’s tense for me, but I don’t think he notices.

DAY TWO 

6 a.m. I coach a HIIT class two mornings a week. I feel like more than just a mom when I’m in the zone, yelling instructions on the mic over loud music. And I like to feel eyes on me.

8:30 a.m. A class regular, Anthony, just celebrated his 45th birthday at a pretentious club in Soho. He follows me on Instagram, which is how I know. He’s an average-looking divorced dad —not in bad shape, not in great shape.

After class, Anthony always has a question about his form or his latest injury. I enjoy the banter today — holiday travel, favorite hotels. Part of me wants to know what it would be like to ride his cock.

Noon House to myself. Take out the silver vibrator and imagine Anthony fucking me from behind in the gym’s coed sauna. The amount of sweat we lose in my fantasy reminds me to put electrolyte packets in my gym bag later. I switch to imagining Bryce. The thought of his naked body makes me come so fast … I was seriously kidding myself with Anthony.

2 p.m. Take photos to send Bryce later. I’m wearing nothing but a pair of cowboy boots with a glass butt plug up my ass. Bryce is from the South and loves the cowgirl aesthetic. He wants to have anal, but his dick is too big, so I told him I have to get used to the idea with a butt plug. Hence, these photos.

4 p.m. Looking online for holiday presents for myself and the kids. The financial dynamic in my marriage is rigid. My husband keeps me on a strict budget, and our other finances are separate. He buys me anything I ask for, but I can never make expensive purchases, like bags or jewelry, by myself.

When we first discussed marriage, he said, “I’ll provide anything you could ever want and take care of everything financially. All you need to do is sign a prenup.” The money conversation is just off limits now, so I accept it as is.

8 p.m. Put the kids to bed while my husband watches TV in the basement. He seems totally uninterested in anything I do and occasionally plays the dad role when he’s in the mood. He’s not the father I envisioned for my children, but this is who I picked to have babies with.

9 p.m. In bed, I text Bryce an X-rated photo from the butt plug–cowgirl shoot earlier. Laugh as I hit send, because what the fuck is my life?

DAY THREE

7 a.m. Packing my kids’ soccer bags and trying not to be pissed that Bryce didn’t respond to my text. Those two stupid check marks indicate he opened it, though. Bryce is a game player, and he knows it — we’ve talked about it. He likes attention, and my waiting for him plays into his big ego. But it makes me spiral.

11 a.m. Call my sister to unpack my feelings. We talk about how the distance makes the affair hard to maintain, and how Bryce is rarely vulnerable and I don’t like opening up first.

I’ve ended things with Bryce twice, but we got drawn back in. Each time I try to move on, I say that I don’t think we’ll find what we’re searching for in each other, and I want to stop before something bad happens. Then he texts, “I really like you. What we have is hard to find.” Then we have an hourlong phone call and are back on.

I know Bryce isn’t the answer to my problems. My sister says I should tattoo it on my body so I don’t forget it.

1 p.m. Shopping at Saks for something to wear to a school fundraiser with my husband tomorrow night. Most of the moms dress preppy, so I don’t want to flash too much skin. I’m looking to blend in.

3 p.m. At Reformation. Check my phone, and there’s Bryce, asking for a quick video call. I tell him to give me ten minutes, find a store with a lingerie section, and take the skimpiest black pieces in my size to the dressing room. I position my phone on a chair so he can see the room, then slowly strip. It’s hot to be able to do this on a whim in the middle of the day.

5:30 p.m. Get the boys from their after-school programs. Dinner at Shake Shack.

9 p.m. As my husband and I wind down, we continue an ongoing discussion about where to go for our annual ski trip. My top choice is Aspen. He’s adamantly against it. The ASE airport is notorious for its laundry list of restrictions on private planes, and he likes to avoid delays and hassles at all costs. At this point, I could give a shit if we fly private or commercial, so I tell him to just pick. He chooses Park City and we call it a night.

DAY FOUR 

11 a.m. Try to enjoy my quiet house, but the place is a mess. Anxious about how to fix my life. I don’t know where to start.

2 p.m. Ride my bike around the neighborhood, hoping it will get me out of my head.

4 p.m. Clean the house and start dinner. Driving to get the boys, I consider the light at the end of the tunnel. It looks like this: My husband and I divorce amicably. My lifestyle changes, and I confirm that money did not buy happiness. My husband finds someone who appreciates him. My kids adjust. I look back and think, Why didn’t I do this sooner? 

6 p.m. Babysitter is late. I’m still deciding what to wear to the fundraiser and end up with a pair of coated black flared jeans and a vest top.

7 p.m. Morph into the fake, overly energetic “PTA mom” persona that comes over me at school events. I want to fit in for my boys. I enjoy small talk with the other couples, though I’m counting down the hours until I see Bryce.

9 p.m. Spot the one hot dad I know from soccer. He’s friendly, and the last time I saw him, he touched my arm three times during our conversation. I counted. I don’t know why I’m so fucking boy crazy at this point in my life.

DAY FIVE 

8 a.m. I’m seeing Bryce today! I kiss my sons good-bye, and the second the car door shuts, I put on a house-music playlist I made for the drive. The first song is Silk City’s “Electricity,” and I feel it.

9 a.m. Bryce confirms he’s on his way to the Hilton Garden Inn where we’re meeting in Connecticut.

11 a.m. Standing next to Bryce at check-in. Surreal to see him after weeks apart. I’ve never wanted to fuck someone so much. We only have two hours at the hotel, and I need this for my sanity. We get the key and stumble into the elevator, and his hands are all over me. The feeling of his hard cock through his jeans makes me instantly submissive.

Noon I love it when Bryce fucks me so roughly that I’m sore for days, and when he chokes me just hard enough that he doesn’t leave a mark, but that I can remember exactly where his hands were.

Before Bryce, I never knew what a breeding kink was. Now, when he tells me he wants to put a baby in me, I become the “come slut” I never knew I wanted to be. I let Bryce come in me because I’m not ovulating. The danger adds to the whole act.

1 p.m. Saying good-bye sucks. Bryce is never too emotional. I follow his lead, even though I always want more. I’m never sure if I’ll see him again.

3 p.m. Call my sister as I drive back. I have to share something that suddenly feels clear: I get relief from everyday life when I’m with Bryce. The affair is like a painkiller.

6 p.m. Showering the day away. The babysitter brought the boys home, and they’re finishing up their homework quietly.

9 p.m.  Exhausted. My husband is in the basement playing fantasy football. I don’t feel good about any of this.

DAY SIX 

9 a.m. My husband drops the kids off at their grandparents’, as we do on Saturdays. For a few days after seeing Bryce, I feel energized, and I’m riding that high.

11 a.m. My husband runs an errand, so Bryce and I text, reminiscing about his dick being in me 24 hours ago and how his sperm are still alive in me.

3 p.m. Notice the all-too-familiar sensation of a UTI coming on. This isn’t surprising: I think my body goes into shock when I have sex with Bryce. The twice-a-year sex with my husband is more gentle.

5 p.m. Drink two glasses of water and pop cranberry pills, even though the last time I looked it up, they didn’t seem like a real UTI treatment.

8 p.m. Kids are back. It’s their usual bedtime, then my usual aloneness while my husband watches sports. We never say I love you. I wonder if he’s happy being married to me. He seems comfortable, but he’s always been stoic.

DAY SEVEN 

6 a.m. I’m the only one awake. The high of seeing Bryce is wearing away, and it’s setting in that it’ll be weeks before I see him.

10:30 a.m. The boys watch cartoons. My husband is having breakfast in the city with a few guys he sees once a month. I’m glad he’s getting out of the house. I fantasize that he’s out cheating on me. It would make it easier to leave him.

Noon On a bike ride, I decide I should end this affair altogether. But if I do, it won’t stick. Same old cycle.

3 p.m. Look online for a job in fitness with more hours. I want my own money. I miss Bryce, but what I have with him feels miles away from real life.

9 p.m. Get into bed, but I know I won’t sleep. I don’t want to hurt anyone. My mom cheated on my dad when I was a kid. Maybe I’m like her? I forgave my mom, but I wonder if I’ll ever forgive myself. If my husband ever found out, I wonder if he would forgive me, too.

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