"Thanks for helping me with my taxes. Would you like to have sex?"

The guy I texted that to, Diego*, was a former model and grad student, a tall Cuban-American with jet-black hair and piercing eyes. In the past year, I had moved and started a new job, both of which made my taxes a little more complicated than normal, and Diego helped me with my filing. Although in our three-month friendship, we'd often gone days without replying to each other's texts, this time I heard back from him within minutes.

"YES! But … you don't have to sleep with me just because of the tax thing."

I explained that my lust had nothing to do with the IRS, and within a few days, I found myself in his apartment, then in his arms, then in his bed. It was sexy and sensual and romantic — everything I'd craved — and, of course, we practiced safer sex. We didn't know that I was already pregnant.

To be fair, Diego knew I was trying to get knocked up. The dream of motherhood was one I'd had for years, but after getting divorced at age 37 with no children, I'd decided to take matters into my own hands and picked out a sperm donor.

I had just inseminated the day before my romp with Diego. Two weeks later, I took a home pregnancy test and jumped for joy when I saw a positive. Soon after, I was jumping back into Diego's bed. We kept having sex throughout my pregnancy. We were now friends with benefits, and neither of us saw my growing belly as a reason to change that.

Although his past partners had always been skinny, model-types and my body was getting bigger every day, it didn't seem to diminish his desire for me. Which was convenient, because my pregnancy hormones made me crave sex all the time. (I mean all the time.) I fell in love with my voluptuous new body. Normally skinny and flat-chested, I suddenly had boobs! For the first time in my life, I actually needed to wear a bra. I bought a lacy-yet-supportive one. I felt even sexier.

Diego and I got together every week or every other week, depending on our schedules. I noticed, at about two months along, that missionary was already out of the question; I couldn't take the pressure of his washboard abs against my basketball-round ones. But that roadblock just served as an opportunity for us to get creative and try out lots of other positions. Doggy style and woman-on-top became quick favorites.

I was also suddenly aware of how sexy other pregnant women were. I'm bisexual, but I'd never been attracted to a pregnant woman before. I'd subconsciously put pregnant women in a category of being off the market sexually. But now — maybe because of how sexy I felt in my own body — I longed to explore the body of a fellow knocked-up lady. My fantasy never came true, probably because most pregnant women are in relationships and/or identify as straight. Let me just take a moment to shout this from the Internet rooftop: Pregnant women of the world, you are hot as hell.

Soon I had another body change to think about. I had heard that doing kegels while pregnant would help with regaining my vaginal strength and tightness post-pregnancy, but that still didn't really motivate me to do mine. I wasn't too worried about it until sometime in my eighth month when I read an article that said that my vagina was probably losing its tightness already, as part of my body's natural preparation for giving birth.

That night I asked Diego if he had noticed any change in the size of my vagina. He hemmed and hawed for a long time and then finally said, "Uh, um, well, it's … uh … I guess I'll say, it's gotten… roomier."

I cursed him out, shouting, "You're wrong! Your penis shrank!"

When we stopped laughing, I tried my best to put it out of my mind. No use fighting biology on this one.

I only told my best friend about my situation with Diego. She was as supportive as ever, and I was glad I confided in her. I wasn't sure others would feel the same way about their single mom friend having casual sex. There's enough judgment and awkwardness when you're single and pregnant; I didn't need anyone judging my sexual choices too.

Even though it was nice to have a booty call for those nine months, hooking up with Diego never made me question my choice to become a single mom. For all his great qualities, I never saw him as boyfriend or husband material, or as a potential co-parent. I remained set on my goal of parenting solo and spent a lot of the pregnancy continuing to prepare for single motherhood.

The next month, I gave birth to a healthy baby boy with gorgeous strawberry-blond hair. (I'm a woman of color, but the sperm donor I used is white.) Some might think it strange to invite your pregnancy hookup to the hospital, but when Diego came to visit my son and me, I was overjoyed to see him. After all, he was a big reason I had such a fun, happy pregnancy.

My doctors told me I wasn't supposed to have sex for at least a month, so Diego and I stopped hooking up after my son was born. The moment had kind of passed anyway. I was so focused on motherhood – and so sleep-deprived — that even if he'd tried to get flirty, I probably would have used the time in bed to take a nap. In the end, we remained friends without the benefits, and we're still friends today, two years later.

But I'll never forget how great my 9-month-long affair was. I got to choose motherhood without giving up my sexuality. I had someone to tell me I was sexy, despite (or maybe because of) my physical changes. And I learned that my body — the body that carried my son and the body that gives me such pleasure — is capable of amazing things.

*Name changed to protect his privacy.

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