Tag Archives: younger lovers

Rant: The Kid and the Long, Long Night

Ed. Note: This is a classic “me” post — starts one place, ends miles away. It’s a bit of a trip, but it’s a fun one. Hang tight.
I should go back to bed. It’s a raining Tuesday morning and I have a few minor goals today. One, I want to write my goals. (Ironic, isn’t that?) Two, I want to brainstorm a few ideas. Three, I want to have a nice breakfast, take a soggy walk up to the video store, come home, and write for a couple hours. The reward? Episodes five and six of the second season of The Wire.
(If you like intelligence, you admire a well-written, complex criminal story, and you like good acting, editing, and directing (and I mentioned the writing) and you’ve not yet seen The Wire, then what, pray tell, are you waiting for? Brilliance. Really.)
So, I sound like I’ve got it together. Plans for a low-key day, chilling. A day without men. Full-stop.
Let’s face it, there’s a certain point where we each get tired of the opposite sex’s bullshit in dating. One of the luxuries of being single is that when it all gets exacerbating, we can pull up the stakes and say, “Nah, man, party of one this week.” Yeah, don’t think I ain’t considering it.
Okay, I try to keep things relatively benign here. You don’t need to know my business. You probably want to know (filthy pervs) but you don’t need to know. Let’s break the rules this morning. A special exception.
So, a week or so ago, I hooked up with this kid. I was going through this two week period where my hormones raged like some political coup d’etat in South America. It was excruciating. I needed relief. I lowered the standards a bit, let’s say. Sorry, but it’s true. Yes, I let one slip by me.
This kid. I really, really, really hate to admit this, but I literally forget his name. I think I blocked it all out. I know I knew it earlier in the evening, but I remember thinking, at about 11, “What the fuck is his name?” and I’ve never since found out. So, I think it starts with a J, but it might be a D, and either way, I just don’t care enough to look the damned name up. I wrote it. Somewhere. But he’s The Kid.
I’m 32, he’s 26, not a big age difference. The thing is, I realized right then that all the men I’ve been seeing have been 34-36 of late. It’s been wonderful. I’d always toyed more with younger guys, since I do have a pretty young disposition when I want to, given my music and culture tastes and love of rebellion and so forth. But these guys I’ve been seeing have all kind of had it a bit more together, and certainly were far better lovers overall, with patience and dedication and openness being factored in, than I’d had in the past.

(You know, I got to say, there’s something much more attractive about divorced men now that I’ve had the privilege. They’ve had sex, regularly, and sorta know what they’re doing. Usually, even a sexless marriage means he gets out and gets free, then gets laid and gets open about it. Not an entirely bad set of circumstances, girls, if you’re looking for someone who has the geographical prowess to find your damned g-spot.)

So, he’s 26. One of these kids into Anime and punk and foreign flicks and art-house indies and classical music on Sundays. You know how it is. “I am artist, hear you roar.”
We hooked up for a coffee and had basically already said we’d watch a foreign flick, cuddle up with blankets and some wine, watch the movie, and play with each other the whole night. Given it was snowing outside, it sounded like brilliance. We ordered Chinese in, laid about, and got pretty damned intimate.
The great thing about the couch-and-movie thing with someone you’re interested in, at the very beginning of an encounter or relationship, is that virgin groping of each others’ bodies. It lasts for a couple hours running time, and then things heat up exponentially. When you’re already in a relationship, you just press pause. I like delay.

So, here’s where you need to know that I’ve gone from being a steamed milk lover to a vanilla lover to a malted milk lover. I ain’t chocolate yet, daddy. You don’t really know much about those aspects of me, but yeah, the only thing I don’t do, really, is pain or humiliation. Maybe one day I might get interested with the right person, and I don’t rule it out at all, but this is not that day. Suffice to say, I’m certainly beyond “you show me yours, I’ll show you mine” and other basics that may well reside in another galaxy. I obviously feel no fear about speaking out about sex, and certainly not while doing it. I’m very helpful. Older guys seem to enjoy this. Most of the time, younger guys did, too. Again, this was not that day.

Necking, kissing, groping, ooh. Nice. Of course, someone always needs to go to the bathroom, and it was him. Naturally, we decided the bedroom a more fitting place to play the extra innings. Onto the bed we went.
Things escalated to all-over kissing and using fingers in orifices and all those fun things. Now, for me, I have to say the experience was a headtrip. Longtime or thorough readers will have heard tell of a certain sexual encounter I retold that I’ve long since made private — a guy we’ll call M I really fell for and was devastated by in my youth.
I was cutting The Kid extra leeway because I knew the body type, the personality type, and for me, he was very much a throwback to that great guy who introduced me to my sexuality and gave me a glimpse at the lifestyle I now lead. Absolutely, the eyes, everything sort of reminded me of that sexy irreverent man of the past.
But make no mistake, regardless of where the “inspiration” came from, I was absolutely turned on. It didn’t matter how he fumbled or did whatever the hell he did, I was into the moment because I was making it happen for me.
We rested later, and then after an hour or two of sleeping, I rolled over and snaked down his body and gave him a blowjob, thinking of M the entire fucking time. (Hence the post about oral last week.) It was hot, probably last an hour or slightly longer, with a couple cuddle breaks for five, but yeah. The lights out, my mind was elsewhere. That part of the night went over very, very well.
But when he left, I knew I’d never be interested again. If you can’t get someone’s face out of your head when you’re playing with someone else, it just ain’t fair to do it again.
He left, though, because I finally rolled over, turned his face towards mine, and said simply, “You need to leave now” at 7:30am. I mean, fuck. 7:30? I think there should be a law about inquiring in 90-minute intervals from 4:30 on about departures for first-night sleepovers. Jesus. Then I won’t have to come shy of muttering “get the fuck out” when I need my sleep before work in the afternoon.
So, he left. We exchanged kisses. “Another movie next time,” he said/I said. Nod. Smooch. Buh-bye, and thanks for flying Indoor Air.
So, yesterday I encountered the kid. “So, that’s that,” I commented.
“Yeah, well, that was no fun, you were way too aggressive,” the Kid says.
I honestly didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I mean, if they’re rubbing something like a clit and it’s not a clit, it bears mentioning, yes? If they haven’t got a clue where the g-spot is, it’s kind of nice to give them the keys to the future, n’est ce pas? And rolling over for an un-asked, un-told blowjob in the dead of the night, definitely a bad kind of aggression, I know, but I can’t help myself. I’m a monster. I should be locked up. Or tied up, at the very least. Please?
Yes. You heard it here first, readers. I’m too aggressive.
God, shoot me if I ever have to have feather sex again.** I’m implementing an “extraordinary cases only” rule about fucking guys under 30 now. Yes, one bad apple spoiled the barrel, but shit, I’ve only heard rumours about the bad lovers thing before now. I just hate having evidence thrown in my bed. I tell you.
And on top of all that, he was the kind of guy who doesn’t pick up the condom after. Learn this, men: It pisses us off when you do that. Toilet seat up? Not half as bad. Take your fucking condom with you. Please, and thank you. That concludes this public service announcement.
End rant. Thank you for listening. Now, which coffee shall I brew?

Sexual Q & A: Twofer on Masturbation & Lovers' Age Differences

Anonymous wants to know about masturbating in front of a partner.

What about it? Should you do it? Is it cool? Is it freaky? I don’t know specifically what you’re asking, so let’s tackle it all.

No question. Do it. There’s nothing wrong with masturbating for your partner. In fact, I encourage you to. As mentioned by one of my sensational readers earlier last week, it can help you show your partner how your erogenous zones respond to stimulation.
Fact is, we all get off in different ways. Everyone likes a little somethin’ different.
The question is, though, are women as open to watching men masturbate as men are to watching chicks? I can’t answer that. I think women should be, though.
Chicks are raised with this mentality that the male member’s super-sensitive and can’t handle rough treatment. Every chick has had the experience where she’s sat between her boyfriend’s legs to watch TV and accidentally crushed the crown jewels, inciting a pained reaction from the boy in question.
We’re left with this image of cocks being ubersensitive all the time. I wonder, then, how many chicks don’t put all they’ve got into giving a guy a handjob. How hard is too hard to squeeze? How rough can you go? Do most chicks know?
I’ve got a pretty good idea. I’ve often done the mutual masturbation thing and it’s been very illuminating.
Watching a guy jack off can be enlightening, then, for most women. Particularly in that she can just learn from his moves, just like I did. I could spout off about it, but every chick needs to experience it themselves. I scoff at the notion of a guy passing up the opportunity to not only watch a chick masturbate, but to shadow the experience. No guy I’ve ever known has balked.
Guys watching chicks? Abso-fucking-lutely. The female organ’s a true mystery, even to us chicks. Me, if I masturbate, it’s quick and dirty and I move on. It’s a clit thing for me. There are times when the Energizer bunny comes in to play, but most of the time, it’s fingers, fast and furious, and I’m outta there.
Other chicks might read that and think, “What, are you male or something?” It’s a world of difference for each of us.
Absolutely reach out and touch yourself for your lover. Angle yourselves across the bed from each other and mutually stimulate yourselves for each other’s pleasure. Make lots of eye contact, but also watch what it is they’re doing to themselves. Keep the lights on. Turn them down if you need a mood, light some candles and such, but make sure you’ve got visibility, and put aside your bodily insecurities so you can really capitalize on the opportunity to let them see how you make yourself cum.
Education always, always, always improves sex. The more your lover knows about you, the more pleasure you’ll receive. End of story.
What are your thoughts on the matter, folks?
Next on the platter…
Chunu wants to know where I stand on older and younger lovers.

Never really gone out with an older lover. They’ve always been around my age, maybe two-three years older. Younger, though, there’s been a lot of. When I was 27, I was with a 21-year-old for awhile and that was a good time, but it was mostly me teaching him things. Having the opposite be true would be a delight for a change.
I’m not sure why I’ve gravitated towards younger men. Probably because I’ve got a really zippy, youthful personality and I’m a playful, playful girl.
Men with mortgages and baggage daunt me. I’m not into the whole complicated lifestyle thing. I like my life simple and easy, and younger guys seem to be on that page. I also enjoy the exuberance.
Am I, however, opposed to older lovers? No, not at all. In fact, I’m interested in seeing what I’m missing. There’s something to be said for a guy who’s been married, has had the ball and chain, and has moved on from it all, gained from the claustrophobia of it, and is living life to the fullest after it all. I’d love more worldly, experienced, darker men in my life, men who’ve been through shit and know when to appreciate simplicity… like I now do.
Another knock against younger men is that I have NEVER been able to persuade one to learn Tantric sex with me. I don’t understand the hesitation, and there’s nothing I desire to learn more right now than the fine art of Tantra.
I’d love to hook up with a guy around 40 and see what it is he can show me. I’d be wild about the notion of hooking up with a man already schooled in Tantra. I suspect some older men have a lot they can bring to the bed, and like I say, I love an educated man.
The older man thing? It’s simply never happened to work out. I’ve even had dates planned with older guys and they always fall through ‘cos of some emergency with their kids or whatever the fuck it is that happens. And it just constantly reminds me that older men come with a lot of complications…
Complications that just don’t accommodate my lifestyle.
If only that weren’t the case.
And what about you, folks? You have a preference between older and younger lovers? Why? What made that develop? Do you wish your present partner was a different age? Why?