My Life

Running into my lacto fetishist

I pulled a late night my final day in New York City, which surely exasperated the poison oak. After sipping wine with my superstar LifetimeTV editor at the chichi Bar Centrale, I headed downtown to hear some music.

Mae was with my best friend from Reed College uptown, making cookies, as I caught the subway to the East Village. I was looking for a lounge called 40C when my friend, Susan, called. She was already there, waiting for her ex’s band to go on stage. (They are a great example of parents who split up and do their best to get along.)

“I have to warn you,” Susan said. “M. might be here tonight.”

M.? As in my first-ever date as a single mom?

He was the lawyer whom they’d set me up with when I was 29. It was a time when I wore T-shirts with stains that would never come out. He was the man who introduced me to The Joys of Lactating and Dating.

They’re all still friends, and M. gets invited to the gigs. “He rarely shows up,” Susan told me. “But just in case, I wanted you to be prepared.”

Prepared for what? Last I heard, he was married with a second baby on the way.

Sure enough, M. was at the bar. I hadn’t seen him for seven years. He got a whole chapter in my book. He even prompted me to write a second piece, “SWL(actating)F Seeking Sex with No Strings Attached,” due out in an anthology next year.

When we’d met in 2001, I didn’t know how I’d hook up with some man when my cha-chas were making milk. I couldn’t even wear a real bra because only my nursing bras fit. Little did my friends — who’d set me up — know that this guy thought there was nothing hotter than a breastfeeding woman.

Here we were, seven years later. I spotted him first: he looked the same, minus his hairline, which had receded even further. What do you say when you run into an ex whom you haven’t seen for years? You can chit-chat awkwardly — or you can cut to the chase.

We gave each other a brief hug. “I don’t know where to start,” I said, “but you definitely inspired me. Thanks.”

He looked mortified. “I know you wrote about me,” he said, “but I’m too scared to read it.”

I laughed. We talked about our kids and showed off photos. Seeing him again reminded me that I’d made it through one of the most vulnerable times of my life. It was a time when I stopped hiding who I was: a woman and a mother. Back home today, I’m still holding onto that.

Tell me: Have you run into an ex whom you haven’t seen for years?

Have you contacted an ex, after years of silence, because you were curious?

Was it awkward? Did old feelings surface?

Photo courtesy of Carin

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