Heās pouring me coffee and all I can think about is how I want to rip his clothes off, but heās twice my age. He looks at me with regret and desire all at once and I canāt help but wonder if he knew when he said hello that heād grow to hate me this much.
He runs his fingers through his salt and pepper hair, telling me about his kids and how theyāre the light of his life, but he canāt seem to find meaning ever since they went to live with his wife. He uses some dumb metaphor of being like a tap with no water coming out, and I wonder, Does he want me to be the water coming underneath his mouth? Iām as old as his eldest child, but he doesnāt seem to mind. A love like this doesnāt know much about time.Ā
Iām spellbound by his wisdom and his wrinkles and is that so wrong? I want to kiss him, but heās twice my age. Instead I just take the coffee from his hand, say thanks and run my hand along his lap. My friends tell me age doesnāt matter and Iāve always been wise and maybe thatās why Iām not happy in any relationship of a normal kind. At 15, I was practically 30, and at 25, I must be far beyond my time. They tell me, You deserve to be happy, and fuck the world and all its limitations, and who knows, maybe if heās twice your age, all that means is that heāll make love to you twice in one day. I know they mean it, but I canāt help but see the jealousy and judgement oozing from their eyes since I get to play house and play wife and play is all we seem to do. I seem to be a toy to him, but somehow it pleases me too.
Heās making jokes about the ā80s, about old cars and old habits, and I canāt imagine what it was like, so instead I imagine how heāll fuck me when we get to āour homeā later tonight. I hate it when he says that whatās his is mine when he wonāt even hold my hand when we stand in lines. He says itās to protect me from the harshness of the world, but the way he pulls my hair when he fucks me doesnāt make me feel like a little girl. Outside he treats me gently, but I wish it werenāt so. I wish heād see that Iām not afraid, but from his six-foot view, he only sees that heās twice my age.
He has a PhD in evolutionary biology and he makes art and that turns me on, because oh my god, heāsĀ far too smart, and all I want is for him to keep learning the intricacies of me, to study me the way he studied phylogeny in 1993. Heās twice my age and Iāll never be his girlfriend or his wife, but I donāt mind. I donāt mind because I love him in this moment, and all I want is to feel him above me and inside me and to hear him say he loves me too instead of whispering in my ear that if he werenāt twice my age, heād be with me too.
We spend time in his house and his car and anywhere we can exist where his ex-wife wonāt see me and his kids wonāt ever know about me. He looks at me and he rubs his eyes like heās desperate to remove the sight of me lying beside him with bare thighs.
He shakes his head and says, Thereās nothing wrong with you, or us, but you have to understand. Itās still a delicate time. Delicate like the way his hands search for my breasts, and as he rubs his hands along me, I start to lose interest. Heās not the man I thought he was, and I pretend thatās fineāfine that heās a scared little boy who cares about othersā opinions so much more than mine.
Heās twice my age but has half my courage and my moans must mean I understand and I comply, but the truth is I donāt care that being seen with me would make his entire past seem like a lie. I know itās selfish of me to want him to myself, but what can I do? My love chose him and he chose me too.