Fourplay | The Mostly True Story of a Lusty Librarian's Swinging Sexcapades

Why Not?

It's another depressing Saturday morning. I'm slinking back from the gym to my empty house in my little restored BMW. I'm mad at myself and pound the wheel. Shutting off the cassette (yes... it's a '76 and has a cassette player), my eyes narrow in the dull gray suburban morning. Even a pigeon barely struts out of the way with the same malaise. Are we all just putting in our time? I wince in the rearview mirror at the box skidding across the back seat. Its destination? My storage unit. The offending box holds my high school band outfit, two diplomas, a spelling bee trophy, and my sorority sweater. They are all stark evidence of me. Morgan Reynolds, the Good Girl.

With a sigh I crank the music back on but spill my protein drink, "Geez!" See, even that! Can't I say fuck or shit or motherf... that word? Hey, I've had an okay life so far and reflect on my new Match profile... I'm 38, divorced, blonde, blue eyes, petite, told I'm pretty (what are friends and a mom for?), professional, educated (Master's yay!), accomplished, working for 15 years as a university librarian. I blush even thinking of this. My friends Brooke and Taylor wrote most of my profile in their bubbly, positive way. I could never flaunt myself like that and I'm still so embarrassed and unsure.

I've been on ten to twelve MATCH dates. Let's see... Yes, I've met some good guys. And some duds, too. Actually, more of the latter than the former. But I'm picky and that's okay by me. I'm seeing handsome, smart, and manly Dan the Fireman, and thank God sex has been back on the menu a couple of times. Well, at least more frequently than in my college days. I was a virgin coming out of high school. WTH? Am I a total prude? Or is it part of the good girl syndrome? Five fumbling, bumbling, nervous guys in four years of college. With my ex, it was Saturday night, lights off, missionary, for twelve minutes. Geez!

There's more to it though as I run my hand over the steering wheel. With my dad passing three years ago and my brother a year back, it was a lonely, scared period of hunkering down. I also cocooned away from emotional vulnerability after my messy divorce five years ago. I know I yearn for a deeper relationship with another person, more than just my mom! And more than only my one-year-old vibrator! Did I admit that? Hey, even good girls have vibrators, right? But even before this, in all my very decent life, I've been a good girl. If I was ice cream I would be vanilla.

My gay friend, Taylor, my second job, side hustle work husband, told me 6 months ago, "Enough girl. Get out there and get you some, Morgan!" By that, I know he meant that five years, post-divorce, of being on my own had gone on long enough. Maybe he's right? But then, he can be kind of a slut. He's a handsome, funny gay guy, in his mid-twenties who inhabits a vibrant urban setting and savors every minute! I love working with him!

For sure, I have a circle of friends that I can't live without. I do get to lunches, happy hours, concerts, and events. I work two jobs: full-time as an associate librarian at a major university, and part time nights and weekends as an interior designer at Pottery Barn. The second job? Jobs in education don't pay that well, plus I love helping create spaces and textures for my clients... and spending other people's money in ways I never could.

I screech around a corner and grin. I drive a bit too fast at times, but now I know I'm headed to the storage unit. Did I pay the bill here? Yes, money always seems to be tight. My jaw clenches and then I laugh, for no reason at all. It feels good. Nodding at the rearview mirror, I sing out "So long, Morgan the Good Girl. It's time to get some!" Am I ready for new passionate adventures? New? How about just some? Well, there is Dan, but still... I shake my head, shutting the car off. Can I reinvent myself? A bit at least? Not sure.

Slamming the storage door shut, I slip into my leather seat and rally myself. My mantra for the year is officially, 'WHY NOT!' But my shoulders slumping after my brave hurrah. I now face a Saturday night on my own. Hey Morgan, at least you started dating; give yourself some props! Stumbling into my kitchen, I dab a wet towel on the chocolate protein drink spot on my leggings. I grab my laptop and declare the following: