72 Hours
I’m done I say as we sip our drinks on the balcony of the opera house. It’s intermission. I am going over my latest week of hilarious stories and disappointments from the affair dating site with one of my first catches, the Professor that won’t fuck me. He is both amused and alarmed as I explain counseling a man through an HPV diagnosis, and then provide a thorough lesson on HPV. Note to our female readers, get the fucking vaccine, that shit sucks.
I managed to stay off of the website post my disappointing break up with Daddy Warbucks for spproximately 72 hours. I spent last night at the opera with the Professor, who likes to lament that he may be a pedophile by virtue of our relationship. I drank too much and ate decadently. Now it is Sunday and by 8am I am back on the website. By 9am I have 3 new friends.
“Maybe I have Daddy issues?” I text the Professor mid day. “Maybe” he texts back.
Most, but not all of the men, are older. Some quite a bit. This is normal for me. I don’t get it, I had a great Daddy. There is something I find comforting in men that have seen more life, something that I find often comes across as generosity in bed. All of my learnings of myself as a sexual being as an adult have come from relationships with older men, who handled me firmly and slowly, and always seemed to deeply appreciate my own enthusiasm for everything. This has not changed even as I am now solidly mid-life myself.
It’s 6pm and I now have two dates this week. I feel both a sense of success and failure equally. I never thought fit could be so hard. I’m branching out, date number two is the same age as me! Date number one on the other hand, well I have a type... I love everything about his description. I love the anticipation. Some times I think it may be better to never meet them at all.
Maybe fantasies are better if they remain so.