26-year-old OK Cupid dude: I realize you may not have any interest in younger men, but I’ve always wanted to be with an older woman. By the way, I don’t think you look a day over 25.
31-year-old me: I just think it’s really sad that in our culture someone my age is considered to be an exotic departure from the norm and that we’re just so obsessed with youth that having sex with someone over the age of 23 is scandalous and weird.
26-year-old dude: I was just trying to give you a compliment, your age has nothing to do with it. Have a nice day.
I get several messages like this in any given week. Probably dozens.
You say it has nothing to do with my age, but you mentioned it twice in a two-sentence message. You say it has nothing to do with my age, but me looking not ‘a day over 25’ is supposed to put wind in my sails. You’re writing to me because you’ve ‘always wanted to experience an older woman’ but we pretty much would have been in high school together. You don’t really want older/younger kink.
If you genuinely did, you’d be messaging someone 20 years older than you or more – enough to where the age gap might actually make a difference. Excuse me while I eye-roll myself right out of the room.
Perhaps you had a friend with a hot mom in high school – when you were 15 and she was 45 – I get it, mature women definitely have sex appeal, mom hugs are a thing.
But when you’re messaging me to request the exotic fruits of a finely aged female, I’m afraid I’ve got some terrible news for you – I don’t qualify.
See, the problem with this isn’t that I’m insulted that you basically just called me old – the problem is that messages like this highlight for me the incredible fetishization of youth in our culture and the perceived obsolescence of women who have aged out of this terribly narrow window between legal sexuality and ‘oldness,’ which happens to be about seven years wide. The problem is that agedness is perceived as inherently negative and youthfulness is perceived as inherently positive.
The problem with these messages is that they’re dishonest – you’re not desirous of kink, you’re vanilla AF (which is fine, but just admit it) and me being 31 means I’m supposed to be insecure about my age and leap at the ‘compliment.’
It’s your way of trying to slither into a hole-in-one hookup.
I don’t understand what it is you actually want though, nor why I qualify.
Is it because you think I’m more mature? That has nothing to do with chronology.
By my own admission, I’m remarkably immature in most ways (just ask my mom!). And, frankly, I’ve met people older than me who are even worse off in the maturity department.
Is it because you want to enjoy the delights of my luxuriously ripened body? It’s true – it’s a different body than I had when I was 17. Not actually that much different, to my great surprise, but definitely different – and in my opinion better, or at least I’m more comfortable in my skin now than I was then.
But it’s not that much different.
Is it because you think I have more experience than you? Again, that has nothing to do with chronology.
But if that is the case, lemme break it down for you: why would any woman in her sexual prime waste her time on your fumbling ass?
Aside from the part where I’m not into hookups, zero percent of your proposition is appealing.
In fact, I couldn’t move past the part where I started shrieking like a banshee internally at the perverse aversion to women over the age of 24 in our society. I didn’t even have time to think about your clumsy moves or lack thereof. I will never forget giving cunnilingus tips to a 25-year-old co-worker (YOU ARE WELCOME, BUDDY) so that he could hang on to his new girlfriend who was 25 years his senior.
If you are similarly lacking in skills, please stay away.
I’m not interested in using my actual body as a tutorial for your benefit (but I am writing a zine, “Basic ass sex tips for basic ass straight boys,” available for $39.95 plus shipping and handling – worth every penny for your vanilla wafer life).
Besides, I’m really quite sure that my rickety old bones couldn’t bear a jackhammering from your lithe, boyish frame, better just do the kind thing and put me out to pasture.
Dear GAWD, it’s past 7 pm!
I have to go watch “Murder She Wrote” and hit the sack – without you.