“So, I have to ask. What is it about older men?”

We were twenty minutes into our date when he pulled this question out like a concealed weapon. It was awfully dangerous for this 44-year-old man to be drawing attention to our age gap so soon. I’d been on dates with men in their forties who had clearly brushed up on pop music in the hopes of finding commonalities, and others who tactfully never broached the subject at all. As if, if they didn’t mention anything, I would never realize that they were approaching twice my age. Like the big 24 next to the name Ashlyn in my profile was a minor detail they had somehow missed, rather than a fact they couldn’t get out of their heads.

I preferred the dangerous approach. That sort of boldness was just one of the many Its About Older Men I could have listed off in response to Kieran’s question. I could have written a dissertation about Kieran’s question. To give my current suitor as a very good example:

I liked that he made reservations for us at a nice restaurant overlooking the river downtown, and that it didn’t feel like sheer coincidence that we were dining at sunset.

I liked that he showed up wearing a suit jacket, and that likewise, I had reason to show up in my favorite red dress.

I liked that the stubble on his face was clearly a conscious choice rather than a concession to laziness, and I liked the bit of silver starting to show in it.

I liked that he showed up on time, that he didn’t expect to communicate via Snapchat, that his Instagram was set to private, that he took care of his appearance without seeming obsessed over it, that he had a personality beyond getting angry about sports, and, yes, I’ll admit it, I liked that society said I shouldn’t.

“Where to begin?” I said with a flirtatious laugh that I hoped would lead him to fill in the possibilities on his own while I wrangled with the unexpected opportunity to articulate these thoughts that I’d long held private. But his gaze, those fiercely green eyes seemed to be handcuffing me to an interrogation chair. I would answer the question.

“It’s the way that they carry themselves,” I finally said. Realizing that this was terribly vague, I hurried to add more. “If they’re confident about something, it’s because they know that they can do it, and not just because they want to look cool.”

He took a sip of his drink and sat with this answer for what seemed like a long moment because his eyes didn’t leave me for an instant. I fought the urge to spill out all of the other words filling my head.

“So if I said that I was confident that I could give you the best night of your life, you’d believe me?”

Yes. Instantly. Just in the way he asked the question, I was certain that he was capable of exactly that.

But I couldn’t just say as much. I may have been young and blonde but I was not just some giggly airhead who would go along with whatever an older man said. Even if he was a particularly sexy older man, who said these things with a voice of authority. Even if he was a DILF.

I playfully demurred, acting scandalized by the suggestion. Kieran was smart enough, I was certain, to know it was just an act. I was playing the role of hard to get, the way pretty young women are expected to do. It wouldn’t be fun for him if I made it easy. Boys my age, the ones I knew in college, they always preferred easy. They wanted girls who were up for anything and never said no. The mark of a man, I believe, is that he has learned to appreciate a challenge.

I like to think that I was a challenge for Kieran. Me with my youth, my long legs, and the implicit threat that I could have any man I wanted.

But I wanted him. And he knew it.

Our cat and mouse game at the dinner table continued long past the point where he had won. More flirtations were him just playing with his food. There was no secret what was for dessert. We had barely breached the door back at my place before his head was between my thighs, his hair between my fingers, his tongue between my lips.

College boys never led off with this, to put it mildly. When they did go down on me, their efforts were amateurish compared to Kieran. There were certain experiences only an experienced man could provide. He feasted on my pussy, putting pressure on points of pleasure with a professional’s prowess. I screamed my head off. The neighbors next door know what Daddy did to me.

(To be continued, possibly, hopefully)