HOW ARE YOU?
“I just got back to my hotel room & realized I never closed the door all the way. *hangs head & shakes it*” I told my trusted friend slash neighbor via text message, out of the blue.
“How are you?” he immediately replied.
“Well, I am wearing the same clothes I have been for 2 days now when my luggage went to Texas without me, have about 14% of my voice left, am slightly concerned I'm pregnant by a 24-year-old & I need a job... I am fucking fantastic, thank you for asking! How are you?!”
The first night the 24-year-old & me spent together he told me he loved me – I knew he was telling the truth, but also knew he was too young to know it himself yet. In that moment he was only trying to get laid, but in time he would figure it out, once it was too late – once I'd slipped through his fingers like the restless enigma I am. It's been happening to me for years, with guys of all ages; every time another one comes back for another chance... Or a 5th or even a 9th chance. “I get it now! I get what you were saying all along...” they drone on over various car consoles, or across dinner tables, or next to my passive, empty smile at any one of the trendy bars these conversations have taken place in. The complete unawareness that all my frustration & hurt happened entirely on my own while these men remained oblivious a very long time ago, has all been water under the bridge by this conversational point for me... The second night with the 24-year-old, I asked him the last time he cried, & without skipping a beat he answered – that was what sold me. His rawness showed such strength that I wanted to feel it – all of it, as far up in me as we could fit it.
(In my best Zayn voice) Straight up, reckless behavior – over, & over, & over again, so many times we lost count... The condoms made it as far as a nightstand & never moved again. Even for the two romps on his lunch break before he drove me to the airport the next day.
I was 5 when he was born – lost my virginity when he was 10 – should have graduated university when he was 17 – & here we were, very different paths intersecting in life as they do. The weekend we met I was focused on starting my business at 30, while he was woken up on a visiting city lawn after falling asleep in the middle of hooking up with a strange girl he met at a nearby bar. My normal MO couldn't be further from engaging in this, with my usual “40-50 year-old, divorced from an angry woman but still sharing a couple teenage kids” dinner date, but ‘C’est la vie,’ say the old folks – it goes to show you never can tell.
“This hotel room was such a power move,” he said, looking over at me from the other side of the bed as we both laid sprawled out naked trying to catch our breath, our skin glowing in the midday sunlight.
“One of the attractions of an older woman,” I replied with a smirk.
I let him choose which Starwood property suited his morning commute best & then booked a king bed on the top floor with a 3p checkout – you know, just in case his morning meetings ran late, I wanted to make sure we had time for me to get mine. We made use of every weight-bearing surface we noticed, not to mention every towel in the place & discussed our slight guilt, which inspired the hope that the maid wears gloves for her daily duties.
What does a mature, gorgeous, smart 24-year-old boy who is a brilliant lay & climbing quickly in his company even have left to want in life? And pretty quick it brought me back to, What is it that I want in life?