Anonymous

I was married to my own child for 21 years. I thought I was marrying my high school sweetheart, but I was actually becoming my husband's mother.

There really isn't anything unusual about our union. For all intents and purposes it's actually a pretty typical marriage. Except we're in an open marriage.

Sexuality is fluid. And mine has led me from girl-on-girl action to a man inside me.

Over those five years, I volunteered on hot summer days and rainy mornings. I stood in snow, wearing warm layers and fleece mittens. I volunteered beside women and men, many of them young, like me, but some older and wiser and living out a lifetime of experience on those sidewalks.

While I may not get flowers on Mother’s Day, I live with the daily responsibilities that go along with the adulting of parenthood as a full-time caregiver.

Seven years before I was born, my mother made a decision that would change her life—and lead to mine.

If you go, I’ll have to pick up all the dog poop. I will have to take out the trash. I will have to sleep alone.

"The biggest boy assured me they would be. But the ball play got even more intense. Were they aiming the ball at my kids or was it just my imagination?"

That’s part of the problem, I think. I keep waiting for my sexual partners to figure out how to bring me to orgasm.

It was all going well . . . until the SWAT team arrived.