On a dating site I recently joined, a 22 year old guy emailed me to see if I’d like to get to know him better. It was a very odd email, I’d have to say.
I stumbled upon your profile by sheer happenstance and admittedly I am quite intrigued, which is why I wish to express a desire to become better acquainted with thee, shall you permit?
Granted, there exists a disparity in age although I assure you that I am quite ‘mature’ for my 22 years.
I have recently joined this service, I have yet to complete my profile albeit I would describe myself as a debonair gentleman who endeavours to appropriate all actions to the utmost decorum; have you any questions, please do not hesitate to ask.
I thanked him for his decorum, and said he was far too young.
Too young for WHAT? he asked.
Too young for…for…
Sex, actually. I’m 49 and I may look kind of 42ish but I’m still not on for sex with 22 year olds. For one thing, when you’re lying naked together on those purple satin sheets, HIS stomach is all flat and full of muscles I can’t even name, and mine is kind of, not. HIS skin is bursting with youth and smooth young tumescence. My skin is just hanging around watching. It makes me feel old. I know. I’ve tried it.
And then there’s the question of HAIR. For instance, one Mr X. He was a buff young thing, not completely boring, handsome in a sort of Neighboursey way, and I was experimenting. We did the deed. Afterwards, he texted me to say that at first he was shocked to find that I actually had hair down there…and THEN he wanked off to the thought. So at least I’ve taught the younger generation something of value, huh!
Then there was the six months I spent having intermittent romantic/dirty weekends with a 32 year old, when I was just 44. He was sweet, clever, kind and gorgeous in certain lights, when you got used to him. One day we went to David Jones to look at Man Perfumes, as we were in the process of exchanging gifts. Anyway we sprayed various intoxicating substances onto little bits of white paper and sniffed and laughed and got all confused, and eventually ended up at the counter with a bottle of Brut or something.
Oh no, says the saleslady, you don’t want to buy THAT. That’s for older men! A YOUNG man like you should wear..’ and she pulls out whatever a YOUNG man should wear, all the while looking sidewise at me as if to say ‘You should know better than to buy your little toyboy Brut, honey!’
I realised even then I wasn’t cut out to be a sugar mummy. But evidently young men THINK that if you’re a woman of a certain age, you’re going to be hanging out for some lusty young bull. I REALLY prefer 40 year olds, I really, really do.