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Abstract

One summer, the universe decided that I needed the experience of dating an older guy. So, while I was handing out flyers outside stores for menial pay in order to save up money for the new iPhone, I met him.He had a very boring name. That should have been my first tip-off. A nice name that rolls off the tongue is also one of my many high standards. He thought I was cute, took my number, and complimented my ass as he walked away. I found out that he was about seven years older than me. I was just eighteen at the time.He was persistent in texting me, so I decided I would give him the time of the day. I wanted to know what all the fuss was about with older guys. So, even though he had a beard, and was pretty muscular because of his job as a contractor, I agreed to go out with him. I tucked away my shallow biases and set out to like the person within, and disregard the appearance without.He found me cute and easygoing. He also thought I was pretty smart — for my age. I soon found that those were the only good things that he liked about me. What he really, really liked was that I was still a virgin.He pointed it out from time to time, brought it up into conversations that had no business with it. He did it casually, but often enough for me to realize that this was where his true infatuation lay. He’d only dated people his age before, he told me, and none of them were as ‘innocent’ as me.As I spent more time with him, he started making more remarks — this time, about the way he wanted me to be. He wanted me to cook meals for him. He wanted me to wear my hair in a certain way. He wanted me to answer my phone when he called, which is something I hate with my whole being. I despise getting phone calls and prefer texting people, where I can take my sweet time formulating a response. He wanted me to not keep him waiting when he came in his car to pick me up.I understand that in a relationship, there are certain things you either do with your partner or for your partner. But he posed these as demands and corrections, not requests. He disliked when I didn’t fall in line. He would display this in the form of long lectures about the way the world was and about how I didn’t understand any of it yet because I was too young.And then came the sexual come-ons. I’m demi-sexual, meaning I need to establish an emotional bond with someone before any type of sexual attraction hits me. The men I find attractive are always only aesthetically attractive to me — I simply really like their face. I dream of having lunch, not sex, with Harry Styles, so I can stare at his form across the table. I don’t know him intimately enough to want anything else (but don’t I wish to, sigh).To becom

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e sexually attracted to someone else would take a long process — I would have to know the person for a long time and be comfortable being myself around them. I would have to be okay with being vulnerable around this person. Maybe we survive a zombie apocalypse where we don’t get to bathe for days, and we take care of each other and save each other’s lives over and over. Or something — I don’t know.But I digress. My point is, I had only known this guy for two weeks, and already he saw fit to try to change me. Being myself was not enough for him. So obviously, I wasn’t interested in having sex.Did I tell him this? Yes. But, of course, he thought I didn’t know my own mind since I was so young. He took off his shorts in front of me and tried to get me to please him, something I had never done. When I hesitated, he told me to grow up and stop being so ‘shy’. “Now is the time for growth,” he’d always say as if I could suddenly transport myself to 25 or some other age where I had more carnal knowledge.He told me that after we have sex for the first time, I would desire it all the time. I would become this rabid sex monster, with my body heating up unceasingly every time I thought about him. And if he was not there to satisfy me, I would nearly run mad from the agony. He said all this with a straight face, like it was just facts. I stared at him in horror. Then he said he wanted us to have sex the next week.And, the final nail in the coffin that had me yeeting out of the relationship — he said that he wanted me to ‘want it’. Specifically, his words were that he did not want to “manipulate me" into my first time with him, even though he “could". He believed my mind was a malleable object, like a clay mold that he could shape, because I was — you guessed it — still so young.I blocked his number the very next day and breathed a huge sigh of relief. I couldn’t resist telling him where to stick it before I did, though. Ha! He won’t soon forget that a then 19-year-old, with all the sense in her head, chose to reject him.Now, I get that it was just one bad experience. Surely, not all older guys are like that. Maybe I just found the most despicable one, or maybe I don’t know the trick for getting them to not be so pompously arrogant and know-it-all. But what I learned from my experience is what not to look for in a guy.I won’t stop searching for one, but I’ll be searching for myself and on my own terms. And I’ll continue to hold out hope that my future soulmate wouldn’t be some douche who thinks they know everything, but someone who is out to discover and learn more about the world with me. Together.It also won’t hurt if they look like Harry Styles.</article></body>

CONFESSIONS

My First And Last Experience Dating A Much Older Guy

Two weeks of my life I’ll never get back

One thing I’ve learnt about myself is that I’m weird. I’m a weirdo. I don’t fit in (Riverdale reference anyone?)

When I’m bingeing romance books and erotica and all that good stuff, I’m always enthralled by the stories. Why wouldn’t I be when I have no love life? However, the description of the male love interest always manages to put me off just the slightest bit.

They’re always described as older, bulked-up, beefy males, who sweat and growl and bite their lips in this really seductive manner. They are always way older than the female who is this waif of a thing that can’t do anything for herself.

Still, I enjoy the stories. But I picture the male somewhat differently in order to get maximum satisfaction out of them. You see, I like pretty boys. V from BTS and Baekhyun from EXO cross my mind often, and every time I stop and sigh wistfully. I like men clean-shaven, with pink cupid’s bow lips and long eyelashes framing expressive, beautiful eyes. I like tall and muscular but not extremely so, like a basketball player. Or any K-Pop boy band member. Or Harry Styles.

I haven’t done a lot of dating in my life. There was one guy who was my type, who ticked all the right boxes, but he wasn’t a — great person. That the nicest thing I can say about him. We were the same age, and I was crushed to have to let him go because there was nobody else I knew who was as captivating to me as he was. Nobody else rung my bells.

My mates however, managed to convince me that my view of men was childish. Go for older men, they said, not younger guys. Those are still boys, not men. Men have muscles on their muscles, and beards, which are so sexy! Older men are way more attractive!

If I could go back, I would beat those friends mercilessly with my frying pan.

I internalized all of this advice, but I didn’t set out to do anything about it. For one, I’m an introvert. I spend most of my time in my room, even when the whole world wasn’t shut down because of the pandemic. When school wasn’t online, I had about two male acquaintances, who I only saw very sparingly and always waved ‘hi’ whenever they passed by. That was about the extent of the conversation.

He had a very boring name. That should have been my first tip-off. A nice name that rolls off the tongue is also one of my many high standards. He thought I was cute, took my number, and complimented my ass as he walked away. I found out that he was about seven years older than me. I was just eighteen at the time.

He was persistent in texting me, so I decided I would give him the time of the day. I wanted to know what all the fuss was about with older guys. So, even though he had a beard, and was pretty muscular because of his job as a contractor, I agreed to go out with him. I tucked away my shallow biases and set out to like the person within, and disregard the appearance without.

He found me cute and easygoing. He also thought I was pretty smart — for my age. I soon found that those were the only good things that he liked about me. What he really, really liked was that I was still a virgin.

He pointed it out from time to time, brought it up into conversations that had no business with it. He did it casually, but often enough for me to realize that this was where his true infatuation lay. He’d only dated people his age before, he told me, and none of them were as ‘innocent’ as me.

As I spent more time with him, he started making more remarks — this time, about the way he wanted me to be. He wanted me to cook meals for him. He wanted me to wear my hair in a certain way. He wanted me to answer my phone when he called, which is something I hate with my whole being. I despise getting phone calls and prefer texting people, where I can take my sweet time formulating a response. He wanted me to not keep him waiting when he came in his car to pick me up.

I understand that in a relationship, there are certain things you either do with your partner or for your partner. But he posed these as demands and corrections, not requests. He disliked when I didn’t fall in line. He would display this in the form of long lectures about the way the world was and about how I didn’t understand any of it yet because I was too young.

And then came the sexual come-ons. I’m demi-sexual, meaning I need to establish an emotional bond with someone before any type of sexual attraction hits me. The men I find attractive are always only aesthetically attractive to me — I simply really like their face. I dream of having lunch, not sex, with Harry Styles, so I can stare at his form across the table. I don’t know him intimately enough to want anything else (but don’t I wish to, sigh).

To become sexually attracted to someone else would take a long process — I would have to know the person for a long time and be comfortable being myself around them. I would have to be okay with being vulnerable around this person. Maybe we survive a zombie apocalypse where we don’t get to bathe for days, and we take care of each other and save each other’s lives over and over. Or something — I don’t know.

But I digress. My point is, I had only known this guy for two weeks, and already he saw fit to try to change me. Being myself was not enough for him. So obviously, I wasn’t interested in having sex.

Did I tell him this? Yes. But, of course, he thought I didn’t know my own mind since I was so young. He took off his shorts in front of me and tried to get me to please him, something I had never done. When I hesitated, he told me to grow up and stop being so ‘shy’. “Now is the time for growth,” he’d always say as if I could suddenly transport myself to 25 or some other age where I had more carnal knowledge.

He told me that after we have sex for the first time, I would desire it all the time. I would become this rabid sex monster, with my body heating up unceasingly every time I thought about him. And if he was not there to satisfy me, I would nearly run mad from the agony. He said all this with a straight face, like it was just facts. I stared at him in horror. Then he said he wanted us to have sex the next week.

And, the final nail in the coffin that had me yeeting out of the relationship — he said that he wanted me to ‘want it’. Specifically, his words were that he did not want to “manipulate me" into my first time with him, even though he “could". He believed my mind was a malleable object, like a clay mold that he could shape, because I was — you guessed it — still so young.

I blocked his number the very next day and breathed a huge sigh of relief. I couldn’t resist telling him where to stick it before I did, though. Ha! He won’t soon forget that a then 19-year-old, with all the sense in her head, chose to reject him.

Now, I get that it was just one bad experience. Surely, not all older guys are like that. Maybe I just found the most despicable one, or maybe I don’t know the trick for getting them to not be so pompously arrogant and know-it-all. But what I learned from my experience is what not to look for in a guy.

I won’t stop searching for one, but I’ll be searching for myself and on my own terms. And I’ll continue to hold out hope that my future soulmate wouldn’t be some douche who thinks they know everything, but someone who is out to discover and learn more about the world with me. Together.

It also won’t hurt if they look like Harry Styles.