I've heard that the big difference between men and women is that when it comes to dating someone younger--much younger--men think they are dashing, while women, at least, know how foolish it looks. I was so judgmental--declaring my former spouse absolutely disgusting, tip-toeing in child-molester territory, when, at 42 he was bedding an 18 year-old girl. It was absolutely ridiculous. He pleaded with me to understand that she made him feel so young and vibrant. Of course, in my mind, he was sucking the youth out of her neck each night.
I've now tasted the sweet nectar of youth. Granted, it was merely sucking face and he was much older than 18, but still, I am so ashamed. Or am I? I have been mulling this over and over in my mind. Like taking a kaleidescope to light, I keep turning and turning this, and the crystals change the impression from shameless fun to exhilarating, then to disgusting, then to shameful, and back to silly. But after a most stressful--and absolutely action-less year of feeling very old and lonely, I almost almost convinced myself I deserved this gift of youth.
First, it started with actually, formally being asked out. I was absolutely NOT going to go out with the very young man, but gosh, I hadn't been asked out in a very long time. But when he said, "I've had such a crush on you for such a long time, I promised myself I'd ask you out the next time I saw you!" I was touched. Then I was so impressed that he actually planned a real date instead of, "you wanna hang out??" that I had to say yes. I reconciled the acceptance with, "I promised myself I would not pass up any chances this year. It is all innocent fun." After all, when I made that promise, how was I to know my first opportunity of the year would be with someone who was born roughly the same time I was learning to drive?
Isn't it absolutely shameless to be my age and having a mad face-sucking session in a Nissan coupe? I mean, it was weird enough to be sitting in a movie, and have his hand creep onto my knee, then take my hand, so soft and sweet. Then put his arm around my shoulder as we leave the movie. Finally, we settle in the car. He just stares at me for a minute without saying anything, but wouldn't let me look away, his hand on my chin.
Oh my gosh, is he actually going to kiss me!? Paralyzed with fear, I convince myself that I've forgotten how to kiss--flashback to an 8th grade slumber party, with one friend saying, "Where do the noses go?" This is not really happening! He's really coming at me. No, I can't do that! I promised myself I wouldn't kiss him.
Hhmmmmm, that is nice--not like that 50-year old guy I went out with last year who actually tried to blow in my ear. I don't care if he was a partner in a very large law firm, and liked me so much, and had Bucs season tickets--that was so gross.
Wow, I didn't forget how to kiss! Ok, I am having a dream, right? No, I can do this, there is nothing wrong, he's well into his 20s, it's OK. Just stop thinking and enjoy! Mmmmy gosh, this kid is trying to feel me up! I cannot believe he's going for it! And the old reaction to do the stealth hand re-direct kicks in, and I hold his hands down with mine, and he groans, "Oh yeah!"
"What?" I giggle. He squeezes my hands and kisses my nose.
"I like when you hold me down." Uhhhhh ohhhhhh, I better be careful. SOooooohhhh my goodness, this is nice. Oh man! Don't nibble on my neck! Uhhhhhhhh, ohhhhhhhhhhh! I'm feeling all warm and fuzzy and my defenses go down as he pulls me onto his lap and my stiletto heel is caught in the cup holder, and suddenly I'm laughing out loud.
"What's so funny?" he pushes me back to look me in the face, my hair is in his mouth.
"Come on! This is fun! I'm laughing because I'm having fun." And I'm not lying, I'm having a hellofa lot of fun--hmmm too much fun. Silly fun.
Am I generating bad Karma? Am I sucking the youth out of this poor boy? The thought is gone in a split second and I'm getting more comfortable, as he plays with my hair, and whispers in my ear, even though my knee is shoved against the door handle. I'll surely have a bruise there tomorrow.
"Ohhhhhh Mommie, you are so sexy," I freeze. Did he just call me mommy? Ewwww! He must have felt me tense up and now he's laughing. "Its just an expression! It means you are hot!" I let this bounce around my brain for a moment, and it evaporates as I am lulled into a sinful pleasure that comes with being kissed by a very cute young man.
Classically, between lucid moments, I feel myself falling into an endless spiral of pleasure. Nothing is even X-rated--it's purely that delicious feeling that I was worth an effort, and pretty, and that somebody actually had a crush on me for the last year, all while I was feeling so ugly.
We are giggling again, he's tickling me, and we are both a bit too pent up and my face is raw and my lips are sore, and we look up and the windows are completely fogged up, my favorite silver hoop is missing.
I hop into the driver's seat and look into the mirror out of habit. First I notice my eyes are sparkling, and my skin looks a bit younger. Then I notice...
"You gave me a hickey!" I'm horrified--I've got a meeting with the VP of our company on Monday. But then a wee bit of delight seeps in and I'm at least half delighted with my badge of honor.
But mostly, I feel like I get to start all over again, and the dating gods have pulled me back to 16, to give me a fresh start. And this time, I will remember what Coco said, "Own it girl!"
This leaves me with one tiny dilemma: do I wear turtle necks all week, or do I let people whisper about what shameless nonsense I've been up to?