Date Like a Man
Opening the door to younger men
Denny Downers
I had a date with a middle-aged dude. I didn't feel particularly ecstatic about going out. I dog walk before school, teach and then tutor after school.
My eyes were dry, and my energy bottomed out.
We went to a cool Olympia bar named Filibuster. I went once before with another date I liked, but he couldn’t “picture how we could work” after the second date.
This guy wasn't much better. We spoke for hours about politics (we both wrote in Bernie's name on the ballot), mothers, immigration (he was first generation Mexican but works for Homeland Security), food, Gaza and dating.
“There are wants and there are needs. People don't understand relationships only work with compromise,” he said.
He rarely made eye contact. He wore a rather nice shirt, but the buttons puckered up to reveal a plump belly. His facial profile was fine.
He, like many men my age, wants a woman to travel with — like a smart watch or a good book. Something to keep him entertained and pleasured while he spends his government salary on vacations.
I love traveling with my kids. I do occasionally travel without them, but as they get older, every trip and experience is better with their company. They aren't accessories, they are soul mates.
I launched into a speech about how much I love travelling with them. Little did I know, that was the reason he stopped looking at me. He checked out.
🚩 We split the bill. 🚩 I had to ask him to follow me to my car, so I wasn't mugged or attacked. 🚩 He didn't check to see if I made it home ok.
So at this point, we were less than friends. The bartenders were great and didn’t charge me for all my drinks when they heard we were going Dutch. I appreciated that.
The next day, he sent me the following message:
My red flags were traveling with my kids and cuisine (I am vegan).
He felt it wasn't a virtue to want to spend time with your kids, and it would be more of an asset if I was willing to leave them behind for a date.
As my chiropractor cracked me, he said, “That's not even autistic, I don't know what that is: dumb.”
While men are busy pontificating about whether or not to hold the door open anymore, they have no idea their take on dating is about self service, and not partnership.
When venting to my coworkers about it, they asked if I thought he was “hot”.
“Hot?” I repeated. “I honestly don't know the last time I was sexually attracted to someone.”
The 24 year-old guy I work with, good friend, said, “Then why would you go out with them?”
“Personality?” I offered.
My other coworker said, “If there is no attraction, there is nothing.”
That night, I changed my age requirements on Tinder, from a minimum of 37 to 25 years old.
Heath
The first person I matched with was 29 years old. The only line in his profile stated “You will probably be disappointed.”
He was adorable.
This “match” would be followed by a swarm of young men who wanted to meet. Once I met Heath, I haven't had the heart to return to Tinder.
He showed up at my door. I was day drinking and forgot to eat that day, which is the worst thing for my body. I have a friend who reminds me to eat.
I just wanted a day of zero responsibility.
Preceding the visit/date, I posted his name and number on a Facebook group called “Are We Dating the Same Guy? Seattle- Tacoma- Olympia”.
I do enjoy true crime but it can throw me into a frenzy on first dates. He was coming to my house, which scared the shit out of me.
Within half an hour of posting, a mole in the group contacted him to inform him I was vetting him. Heath, himself, felt this was incredibly dangerous for me — not him.
Another woman hate messaged me for the post, and that little social media storm is all I need to understand why feminism is such a slow rolling civil rights movement.
People are not smart. And yes, that includes women.
Within 20 minutes of Heath's arrival, we were peeling off each other's clothes and having sex.
Heath, luckily, was gorgeous, awkward, and quite transparent. He is sixteen years my junior, which is the exact age difference between Tina Turner and her late husband.
We made love for 12 hours. No, it was more. He showed up in the afternoon and didn't leave until late the next morning.
We made love over nine times. He said he stopped counting after ten.
My honeymoon wasn't that erotic. It was the most sex I ever had in a short period of time and the least inhibited.
He thought my pajamas were hot. While we locked my animals out of the bedroom for coitus, he let them back in for snuggles because, he said, “this is their house, too”.
I threw up all night from drinking.
He went into my bathroom to flatulate because he had gas.
We got stoned. He fed me donuts.
He watched Dune while I pleasured myself with a vibrator.
Heath looks like a young Christian Bale, but with the mannerisms of Jessie Eisenberg and the voice of Christian Slater. His tone is measured and almost flat. His emphasis is made with his eyebrows, not pitch or sound.
He likes golf and anime.
I told him I wouldn't worry about how messy my house was because he was 29. He said, “Well, it is a bit messy.”
I shoved my head in his car and saw discarded fast food wrappers and loose change strewn across the seat. I laughed.
He smells like baby shampoo. He is warm, soft, wiry and tall.
Not a Hole in One
Now, that is not to say he checks off all my internal boxes:
⛳ He hunts for meat.
⛳ He loves eating meat and is still in what I call the “Meat Monologues”, where people constantly justify their diet to me.
⛳ He voted for Trump and plans to do so again. (He read this draft and we are discussing two party politics with affection and verve.)
There are truly wants and needs. I need affection from another adult. If I dismissed him based on a preexisting criteria, I wouldn’t have enjoyed the longest sex marathon of my life. I wouldn’t have felt loved, adored, accepted.
If it doesn’t last, if it burns out fast, at the very least I will have experienced the lust, infatuation and thrust of being human, once again.
I won't be sitting at home, farting on my balls, and swiping for the next 20 years like my middle aged suitors.
I will be living and feeling and loving. Maybe even falling in love…