I’m travelling for work this week. I write this from a relatively small town in one of those could-be-anywhere hotels. I’m in this place for two nights then moving on to another city for two nights, then back home Friday.
My plane was significantly delayed on Monday, so I only got a little bit of shopping in at a huge discount mall. There was a fancy lingerie store there – with a sale! – so I picked up a few things for that special male visitor I have arriving in less than a month. Yes, I sent him a preview. He was having a shit day and I wanted to put a smile on his face.
I had a non-stop day at work yesterday with back-to-back meetings. The hotel I’m staying at offers free dinner and drinks so I thought what the heck, I will just go back to the hotel and hang out there, do some work, maybe tend to the blog, and go to bed early.
In the hotel eating area there is the usual assortment of families, business people, and what looks to be like a young men’s sports team. The young men are handsome in that really young, cute, buff, and wholesome way. One of them looks at me rather intently as I sit down. I suspect he’s probably 18.
I choose a corner table, facing out, do some blog tending and chat with a few people on my iPad. Every time I get up to go get a drink, or do something else, this one young guy is looking at me. I look back and smile, because I’m a nice person and he’s a kid.
At one point, a harmless-looking businessman asks if he can join me since all other tables are full. I do notice that there are seats at other tables, but he chose to ask me. We chat for a bit about where he works, what he does, and a few common interests. I notice that the kid is still sitting at his table, watching television. He gets up every once in a while but then comes back. His team mates and an older gentleman come and go to the table. Almost every time I look at his table, he’s looking at me.
Eventually the businessman bids me adieu.
By this time, I’m starting to think of going back to my room. I’m getting a bit tired. I’m wrapping up a text conversation when the kid comes over to my table, hands me a folded piece of paper, and says to me:
“This is for you. It’s a love note of sorts.”
I have no idea what the look was on my face, but shock was probably pretty close. I’m not really wearing much makeup, I’m in knee-length running pants (albeit tight), an oversized t-shirt, my glasses on, and my hair is not at its best. I would barely expect to get a second look. Apparently I’d already gotten two.
I don’t remember what I said – something about that it was nice of him. I didn’t look at the paper in my hand. He was so…sweet. Young. Keen. Nervous. He muttered that he couldn’t keep his eyes off me, that I had beautiful eyes and he just wanted to talk to me. I offered that he was welcome to sit down if he liked. Then I asked him how old he was.
“Twenty. Turning twenty-one in a month.”
I asked him how old he thought I was. He said “30, maybe 31”. I figured he was too young to really be that good at lying…so I chose to believe him. I asked him how old his mother was. “She’s 47”. I laughed and said “well at least I’m younger than your Mom. I’m 40”. He said I didn’t look it, and that was just fine with me.
We chatted about where he was from, why he was in this town (work), what he work was (fundraising to restore a historically important vessel), what he was going to do next year (go to school with hopes of eventually becoming a lawyer), and how at age 20 he could have so many tattoos (bad youth, absent parent, self-administered).
I won’t bore you with more details but I will say, the entire time I had an internal monologue that went something like this, on a loop:
- Really? Really?
- How can this young dude be attracted to me? I’m LITERALLY twice his age.
- I look like crap.
- Don’t I look like crap?
- God, how do women my age go there with guys so young?
- Well, he is cute. And keen.
- But he would know nothing!
- Would he know nothing?
- Of course he would know nothing. Remember the 23 year-old? He thought he knew everything. And it was soooo weird.
- This is so fucking bizarre.
- I bet the family at the next table thinks he’s my son.
- What would I do if I wasn’t with Johnny? Would I go there?
- Maybe out of curiosity.
- Are you fucking insane? God, what’s the age of consent here!?
- Yes, insane. Good point. Couldn’t do it.
- Anyway, it’s moot. Not going there.
- But boy, I’m flattered.
You get the drift. I’m amazed I managed to have a coherent conversation at all.
There was a point where his conversation topics shifted
slightly moderately. He asked me why I didn’t take my boyfriend on my business trips. He asked me whether I’d ever been with young men. He told me he gave really good massages.
I told him I needed to head back to my room, but it was really nice to meet him and I was glad he came and said hello. I finally looked at the piece of paper in my hand. It said “Text Me / XXX-XXX-XXXX / Dakota”.
I then realized it was time to say goodbye to the young suitor. I told him I admired how bold he was and that he should never stop being bold, yet respectful. Never hold back. Never lead a life where he always wondered “what if”?
Then he suggested that perhaps he could spend some time with me in my room, give me a massage, and get to know me better.
It wasn’t his words that surprised me then…I figured he might go there. But what was so fascinating was how his face changed. Up until that point, he looked like a kid. Sweet and cute. But when he got to that point of propositioning me, the look of desire and lust on his face completely changed him. He suddenly could have been 40 – okay, 30. The intensity was palpable and I was uncomfortable.
Keep your pants on, it didn’t change my resolution at all. But it was a notable transformation.
He was worried he’d offended me. I told him I wasn’t, that I was truly flattered. Which I was. I also told him that I wouldn’t do anything with him; I’d made a promise to someone and it would hurt both of us if I broke my promise.
I said thank you again, he stood up, I shook his hand, and we parted ways.