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A conversation with a retired fuckboy

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A conversation with a retired fuckboy

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It was just him and I, out on the front porch, having a night cap. 

He is my mother’s living proof of “third time’s the charm”, first came the husband who died, second came the abusive narcissist and last came this one. To put it simply a lovely British man who says yes to everything she says, one that can handle her fits of rage and who may swear a little too much but has never raised his voice at her. One that I like to believe would give her the world. He always says that he manifested her—an independent woman with her own children and a joie de vivre. They are like a teenage couple without the excessive PDA, silly and playful. Yet, they also look like they’ve been married for decades, so comfortable together in silence. He adores her so much, he fears he’ll fuck it up.

He always says that when I first met him, I was a “cunt”  but rightfully so. And I know I was, and I didn’t care because I didn’t trust any man around my mother, not after what we went through. But he proved himself over the years and eventually I warmed up to him. To the point that he may be one of the men I trust the most in my life. 

However, he hasn’t always been this tame. He’s had a colourful past, let’s put it that way. A past filled with parties, substances and women. Stories I have promised to not share. They were dark times but I always sense a hint of nostalgia as he recalls them, he knows it was bad but maybe he knows he’ll never feel those types of highs ever again. Many of his past behaviours remind me so much of those of the young men today. Similar stories to the ones my girlfriends and I share with each other with great rage and passion, ones I have analysed and replayed in my head over and over again, asking myself “why the fuck did he do that?”. True head scratchers that have left me confused, baffled by their logic and their sheer audacity. Ones that make you wonder who raised them? Or how could such a lovely mother create such creature? 

So many years between us, yet so many things haven’t changed. No true evolution when it comes to the way many men treat women, making me wonder if true change can happen. Many think that this fear of commitment is an issue that only our generation struggles with but the more I speak to the older generations the more I realise, it was just much easier to cheat back then. 

I sat for a moment, perplexed, before quickly realising the opportunity that I had in front of me—I could gather information to help the girls straight from the source. “Don’t move,” he said as he stood up, “I’ll give you the answers.” He went to the kitchen and poured himself another drink.

Here are 7 things you should know about dating as a girl in your 20 somethings according to a retired fuckboy: 

1. You will get played. Point Blank Period.

As a twenty something woman you will get played no matter how cautious you are. They will flatter, make you laugh, buy you things to get what they want. Even when it may seem genuine sometimes, never be surprised if they 180’d and gave you the same boring excuse. Because many simply do not know what they want, they might mean everything they said in the moment but this could change tomorrow. So the best advice would be to enjoy it whilst it lasts and do not blame yourself too much if they just up and left out of nowhere. 

2. Men only chase women who act like men. 

Women fall for security and men, for challenge. To put it simply, the more detached you are the more they’ll desire you. The more it seems like you hate them and would never give them a chance, the more they’ll pursue. Being thoughtful and cute only works when you’re already locked in, doing too much when you aren’t in a relationship with the man will freak them out. If you do not care to act like a man and don’t care to play games, focus on yourself and maybe a good boy will come along. Patience and kindness will get you nowhere because many young men aren’t ready to receive such things. 

3. Two different worlds. 

Remind yourself that their human experience on Earth is in some ways so different from ours, leading them to react to things differently. They truly sometimes do not view the world or human connections the way we do. What seems moral and right to you may not apply to them. So stop beating yourself up trying to understand why they would do certain things and try to analyse them, because you’ll just end up losing your mind. Let them be and find your peace. They’ll learn in their own time. 

4. If they stop “shagging” you, beware. 

They’re probably not cheating on you, but they probably are. You can have steak and caviar every night but sometimes you just want a burger. Wether he is or not, just know that you can be the most beautiful, intelligent girl and still get fucked over. 

Shag his friend. 

5. Shoot the shot. 

Your rejection rate as a girl in your 20’s are low, because men like their ego stroked. They will most probably go for you just because you were ballsy and made them feel special enough that as a young woman you made the first move. 

Talk to him. 

6. If he over compliments you, tell him to fuck off. 

Exactly that. (I guess love-bombing wasn’t a term at the time yet but it’s been around forever. So STOP FALLING FOR IT). 

7. Substances and Performative Sex. 

This is for both boys and girls. Doing drugs and expecting to only have wild crazy sex all the time can rob you from the beauty of the mundane. Meaning, living in such high highs all the time will take away the beauty in the small things, having you constantly chase a feeling you can only feel high. Soon enough, you’ll no longer feel gratitude for the warmth of the sun, the lingering smell of lavender or a slow morning with a loved one. Eventually, you will not be able to feel anything anymore, the calmness and the normal will feel unbearable. 

We finished the conversation with, “however you shouldn’t be afraid, never stop yourself because of fear. Yeah, we’re assholes for the most part but don’t let all of us rob you from an experience with an actual decent guy. I know it may be hard to believe sometimes but they’re there, somewhere.” He’s not the most expressive man out there and gave me a very simple conclusion which was “just do you”. 

Everything said here is obviously to be taken with a grain of salt and it was truly a very unserious conversation but in a way it was comforting to know that sometimes, it’s not my fault. As women we are born with built-in guilt in our bones and constantly blaming ourselves for things we seriously have no reason to feel guilty about. If he didn’t like you that much in the end, well he just didn’t like you that much, it wasn’t because you said something weird or because of your lip combo. We can’t be everyone’s cup of tea and that’s okay. There’s nothing to fix or to better, sometimes, it is truly just that. I think the main takeaway I had here is that the more you decentralise your life from men and male attention, the more peace you’ll find in dating. When your entire sense of value isn’t placed in their hands, their leaving or disrespect won’t shake your self-worth. You hold the power. This is something I’ve struggled with ever since I started dating chasing people I probably didn’t even like or who didn’t deserve my attention because I believed I was worth nothing without them. (As someone who tends to resent men, admitting this was really difficult. I hope you can appreciate the honesty.) 

But ironically, the more you do that, the more they come to you. 

Anyways, having had this conversation with a father figure I wish I’d had earlier really helped my case. And for my fatherless or shit father-having ladies out there, I hope it helps you too.  

Vahine Blaise, Nova Scotia, August 2025

Stranger Danger

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Stranger Danger

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I went back on Hinge for a week, and it didn’t take long to realise that it was probably the last time I’d ever download the app—at least, I hope so. I know I’m way too young to feel too old for dating apps, but somehow, I do. And honestly, the idea that if I miraculously found “the one” on there, I’d have to tell people it was because of a prompt he copied from TikTok? Not exactly the meet-cute I envisioned. Maybe that’s a silly reason to write off an entire way of meeting people, but oh well.

I actually met up with a guy this time around, he told me to meet him at the club after my Valentine’s dinner with my girls and he spent the night making jokes about my Javanese background, hitting on girls with his friend and turning his back to me. When I got home, he expressed how sorry he was for not being present and how he’d like to take me out to the dinner properly. I did not take up the offer. Dating apps are my personal hell. 

Thinking back on my time on the apps (starting at 16 or 17), I reflected on the different people I’ve talked to and the very few I’ve actually met in real life, four, to be exact. One of them was from Finland, and though we never met, we kept in touch for years. They were all short stories in my life, reminders that not everyone is meant to stay, but they can still leave an impact. Interestingly, most of them were English and white. Maybe that says something about my type. Or maybe Englishmen are just more likely to take things off the app and meet in real life?

Then there was Eaton, English, my age, olive skin, green eyes, soft brown curls, and a bright smile. We matched on Hinge not long after I became single. Lou and I were rotting in bed, smoking watermelon-flavored vapes in her apartment in Angel, London, when I decided to message him. Instead of something normal, I sent a voice note screaming, “HI EATON!” at the top of my lungs. No idea why, but I figured if that was too weird for him, he wasn’t worth my time. One thing about me? I like a very silly man.  

He texted back, “HI VIVI!” and said he’d scream too, but he was currently at the office. Solid response. He asked me to meet him at a pub, I wish I remembered where because I’d love to go back. All I know is that it was somewhere in Hackney. Lou and I walked the entire way there, which felt like hours. But we love our long walks, that’s all we do when I visit her in London. When we finally arrived, we spotted Eaton from afar. Lou let me greet him alone, kissed me goodbye, and left. As I walked toward him, he quickly looked down at his phone, pretending not to see me, which I found oddly sweet.  

We sat outside under a tree in the pub’s garden, the sun still out. He was a consultant, his girlfriend had recently cheated on him, and he was throwing a party that weekend, one I should “definitely” come to. He also lived in a super charming flat with roommates. When it started to rain, we moved inside. The pub’s interior had the vibe of an old hunting lodge, dark wood, a fireplace, football playing on the TV while old English men watched intently. We drank more wine, a beer. The conversation was easy, we laughed a lot. By the time he asked if I wanted to have dinner at his place, we were already tipsy. He claimed to make a *really good* aglio olio pasta. I, of course, agreed.  

We stopped at the shop for ingredients, then headed to his flat. Well-decorated, Scandinavian-style furniture, a record player. Boys with taste. He started cooking while I leaned against the counter, watching him. He looked incredibly handsome doing it. One of his roommates came home, an equally lovely guy who knew how to keep a conversation. Eaton wasn’t lying—the pasta was *really* good.  

Then it hit me. Aglio olio is basically just garlic. *A lot* of garlic. And I planned to kiss this gorgeous man. Were we about to have the stinkiest first kiss ever? Absolutely. And it didn’t matter, he had garlic breath too.  

He was holding my hand, looking at my rings when he gave me *the look*. You know the one—slight squint, parted lips, like they’re either trying to hold in a fart or are extremely hungry and horny. He kissed me, and next thing I knew, clothes were off. At some point, he made me stand in front of a mirror, which I didn’t love. I know a lot of women enjoy it, but I’m too self-conscious. I’ve noticed men seem to enjoy it more, almost like they’re admiring themselves. A power thing, maybe?  

Anyway, I went home after. He made some comment about having work early—classic. But I wanted to leave anyway. I wanted to see Lou. I hate when they assume we always want to stay.  

I saw him a couple more times, including at his party, the one I bought tickets for. In hindsight, I think he didn’t really care if I came, he just needed to sell more tickets. But it was a fun night, house music, Lou and I danced until morning. Eaton and I didn’t spend much time together, but at one point, I sat down on a couch, and he appeared beside me. The room was dark and humid, music blaring. We didn’t say much. He asked if I was having a good time, I said yes. Then I told him, “I could fuck you right now.” His eyes widened. I didn’t go home with him.  

I liked Eaton. If I lived in London, I probably would’ve developed a massive crush on him. The crazy in me already did. But it would’ve been a disaster, he clearly wasn’t over his ex, and I would’ve suffered for it. Instead, I went home, yapped about him to my girls for a bit, and moved on. We have mutual friends, but I doubt I’ll ever see him again. He was a breath of fresh air after ending a complicated relationship and reminded me that there are hot, English guys out there who can also take you out on cute dates. 

Then there was Gregory. 

We met on Raya in 2024. He was a decade older than me and an actor turned director. Of course, English but with a middle eastern background this time. I think the only person I liked on the app apart for the super famous people on there that I liked just cause it would be super cool if they liked me back. We started texting right away and hands down probably one of the funniest man I have ever spoken to. I was literally laughing my head off. He started aggressively sexting me right away which I didn’t really care for but I just went with it. 

Me being me, I did a super deep dive on the internet to see what he was about. Creepy, I know but I am so good at it, I should be hired by the secret services. Nothing alarming but it was interesting to see him act different roles. We texted a lot about cinema and I learned a lot about it through him. Matter of fact, he had just released a short film that he wrote, directed and played in and still to this day is one of my most favourite films. He shared the one he was working on at that moment and even asked for my opinion on music and edits like I would have any idea of what I was talking about. He made me read screenplays and ask me to promise to not share it with anyone and that I was the only one with an extra copy. Which not gonna lie, made me feel special.

We finally got to meet when I went to London to meet Lou again. I asked him if he wanted to come to the museum with me but he said that he had just watched Perfect Days so he was dedicating his day to deep clean his whole apartment. But, he proposed that I should come over for tea after my visit. He had told me prior that he had sworn celibacy for 4 months as he believes sperm retention is optimal for concentration and for manifestation. Award season was coming up and he had to release this new movie so he had to keep his juices until then. “No naughty time”, he said. I could do without the baby talk, but okay I guess. Men in their 30’s are so cooky, (refer to the “Men in their 30’s” tale). 

I rung his doorbell. “I feel like a teenager,” I said as he opened the door, “showing up to random man’s house I met on the internet”. He laughed and let me in. His flat was gorgeously decorated, classic and pristine, Perfect Days clean. He did in fact make me tea and we sat on his couch, to talk about the same things we had already talked about. He saw the Murakami book I was reading peaking out of my handbag and he said “you’re reading Murakami too? I am too right now, I love his work!” Of course, I knew this. He had expressed that on a podcast I listened to while doing my investigative work. But I’m not that crazy guys, I too am a big fan of Murakami, I was genuinely reading the book, I promise. I may have stalking tendencies but I am not a dick sucker, don’t get it twisted. 

He showed me the short film he was working on again and asked me for my opinion again, maybe he got off from the praise he got from me so he had to hear it again. He rested his hand on my thigh as we were watching it. This made me feel things. When we were done, he asked me if I’d like to lie down, I nodded and he gently guided me to his bedroom. We lied there for a bit before he kissed me. “I thought we weren’t being naughty?” I asked, “As long as I keep it in”. I enjoyed looking out his window, he had a garden, I liked how I felt the sun on my skin as he wrapped himself around me. 

He’d stop in between thrusts and start doing breathing exercises which made me want to laugh real hard, he’d shut his eyes real tight and really concentrate. “Sorry darling, it’s not easy”, he said out of breath. I couldn’t believe this was real life. This man was taking his no-nut challenge to the next level. But I liked him enough as a person to put up with his weirdness. I didn’t stay the night, Lou picked me up from his house and we walked to a Thai restaurant where I told her all about it. 

I saw him a second time before I left back to Paris and we continued to keep contact but I got bored from the incessant sexting where I asked him if he would talk to me the same if I were his age. He didn’t quite like that so he blocked me and we never spoke ever again. 

One person stood out, Here is that story. 

Jamie

I was nineteen and just starting my second year in university. It had been six years since I was last in Whistler. Back then, I was visiting a private boarding school I had earned a scholarship for—an opportunity that was taken away by my stepfather, who couldn’t stand the idea of losing control over me. But life has its own way of unfolding, and so I finished high school in Bali and then chose to live and study in Paris. This time, I was visiting my best friend Callais and her family for Christmas, who have embraced me as one of their own. To me, they are my real parents, and I respect them just as I would my biological ones. As Canadians, they take Christmas seriously and I have enjoyed being apart of their traditions all these years. We were staying in their cabin in the midst of the pine trees, the whole place covered in thick snow. We spent our days in front of the fire place looking out the window, there was something incredibly comforting about being wrapped in velvety warmth while looking at the never ending horizon sometimes covered in ominous fog. 

We’d also go down to the Village located at the base of Whistler and Blackcomb mountains, an incredibly cute place covered in Christmas lights and Hallmark-y shops that sell candied apples, hot chocolate and Christmas sweaters. We’d have lunch at Fairmont Chateau Hotel where families would sit around and have après-ski lunch and enjoy comfort food and good wine as children ran around and played in the big space. I didn’t know how to ski so I spent some mornings by myself in the cabin, trying to do my school work.

One night, while Callais and I were cozied up in our room when we somehow decided that we should make me a tinder profile. I do not recall how the conversation even started but before I knew it we were picking what photos I should use and then swiping through profiles. After a couple of minutes, we were presented with Jamies’ one, yes Jamie but plural. A white boy with boyish charm, big bright blue eyes and dark hair. He looked like those boys on Wattpad book covers. I was delighted to see that he too swiped right on me. We began our conversation, I found out that he was my age, an American from Washington State who drove to Whistler for a few days to ski with his friends. He was funny, witty and seemed intelligent. I didn’t think I was going to meet up with anybody but I wanted to meet him. Callais thought that I should too, however we had an issue. Her dad being overprotective would have never let me. We had to come up with a plan. We decided that he would be my friend Charlotte’s cousin and that I met him when he visited her in Paris in the spring. He happened to be in town as well and we wanted to hang out. I told Jamie about his new identity which he gladly accepted and said that he could finally use his years as a theater kid to use. I contacted Charlotte to make sure she knew, so that if we ever had to call her up to prove this, she would know what to say. We were at the Fairmont Hotel when I asked the parents if I could go meet this guy who I totally knew. Callais’s dad looked at me dead straight in the eyes and said: “he better not be some boy you met on tinder or something”. My heart dropped but I kept my cool and reassured him that I would never go on Tinder in the first place. I could go under one condition: he would drop me off and would have to meet him first. I had to agree. 

We planned to meet at a coffee shop in the village, dad drove me in his truck, I was so nervous the whole drive but also bubbling with excitement. We arrived a little earlier, Jamie walked in 5 minutes later and we greeted each other with a hug and acted like this wasn’t our first encounter. I asked him how he was doing and how it was nice to see him again. Surprisingly, Cal’s dad didn’t ask to many questions and told us to have a good night. We walked out of the coffee shop and walked a little until he couldn’t see us anymore. We looked at each other and bursted out laughing. We couldn’t believe how good we were at acting like we had already already met. We were both a little shy and he admitted that he was nervous but was glad we found the time to see each other. 

It was snowing a lot and the Village truly looked like a movie scene. We walked around and asked the normal questions when first meeting somebody. I felt comfortable right away. He was very funny and knew right off the bat how to make me laugh. We decided to go and have drinks and dessert at a nice cozy restaurant. He told me about his parents and his sister and funny little anecdotes about them. I suggest we get a cocktail and he expressed that he has never ordered a proper drink at the bar before because of the age limit in the U.S. So naturally, I said that we should get sloshed. I do not recall how many drinks we ended up ordering but we did in fact get drunk. I’m pretty sure we ordered the lava cake but whatever it was, it was delicious. He got the bill while he left to the bathroom, which in hindsight was a really gentleman-like thing to do for a 19 year old. We left the bar giggling away, running around the village like two little kids. It must have been freezing cold but I do not remember ever being cold, I felt warm. It is not a good look to smoke cigarettes in North America, so I was reluctant when I expressed I would have loved to have a smoke right now, what if he’d be turned off by my nasty habit and judge me for it like many Americans would. He turned to me and said “same” and in that moment I felt seen. We kind of looked at each other and knew that we had to make it our mission to get cigarettes. “I know a trick that always works,” he said “you offer someone a dollar in exchange for a cig and they always give it to you. Watch.” At that moment a group of Australians was stumbling towards us, loud and intoxicated. Jamie walked with confidence towards them and like planned offered them a dollar for a cigarette. “Ah no, that’s fine keep your money” “Are you sure?” “Yeah of course, here you go!” “Thanks man, appreciate it!”. He turned to me and gave me a cheeky smile, I do not recall if he got us two cigs or we just shared one. But it hit the spot and we were even tipsier than we already were. One is obviously never enough, so we looked for smoke shop and were lucky enough to find one. He bought us a pack with a little house on it, that I later found out he kept with him for years. We sat on a bench outside and kept conversing, I know this is a common thing to feel but I felt like I knew him already.

It felt like we would be best friends in school, that if I grew up in America he’d be in the basketball team and I would have so super American extracurricular activity as well and we’d meet after practice and sit on the bleachers right in front of the huge field everyday, just him and I eating gummies and smoking JULS before he’d drive me home in a beat up car right in time for dinner. My mum would know him well already and would ask him if he’d like to join, sometimes he says yes. We’d hang out some more in my room, pretending to do homework but we’d just talk about anything and everything. I sit on the bed and him on the floor, resting his back against the leg of my desk or my bed. We’d secretly have a crush on each other but we both end up dating different people instead of giving us a chance out of fear that it’d ruin our relationship if we took it there. Then somehow on grad night he’d drive to my house on an impulse and scream my name on my front yard and it’s raining, and I’d open the windows of my bedroom and ask him what the hell he was doing as he confesses his love for me and beg me to give it a chance, I’d come down and kiss him under the rain.

I wish I could remember everything we said to each other, and even though I have amazing memory, I really cannot remember much, all I could remember is all the different feelings that I felt that night. So much excitement, happiness and comfort. Or snippets of his rosy face and the condensation that comes out of his pink lips when he spoke about something he was passionate about. 

We knew that we had to leave each other soon, I had a 10 pm curfew and he had to drive back home early in the morning. “I have to go I said, I don’t want to get in trouble.” So he walked me to the taxi spot, “Well, it was really nice getting to know you.” “Yeah, it was.” He opened the door for me and we both stood there again and hesitated. But, I just smiled and got in the cab as I watched him watch me drive away. 

We exchanged numbers, texted and called a few times, fantasising about seeing each other again, where I’d show him Paris and he would drive me around his city. But obviously the conversation started to die out. I never got to see him again, we were both too broke to see each other and eventually started new relationships of our own. But I thought about him a lot over the years and wondered what he was doing or what could’ve been. 

This was a story I wouldn’t have mind sharing with others if we ever got together even though it all started on Tinder. 

Sometimes, the song that played at the bar we stopped by at comes up and I smile to myself at the sweet thought of that night. 

Bali, February 2025

Men in their 30’s

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Men in their 30’s

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I used to think men in their 30s were the perfect blend of maturity, stability, and fun—until I started dating them.

What is dating a man in his thirties truly like?

It is commonly said that men have more trouble multitasking than women, which now I think also applies to their personal development. Even though they may have developed well in certain aspects of their lives, usually in their careers, their emotional or overall maturity doesn’t necessarily follow. It’s kind of like they hyper-fixated so much on building themselves up professionally that they forgot to do the work of growing internally.

Like men in their 20s, these men are often not great communicators. When an uncomfortable topic arises, they are quick to run and hide, or it takes them an enormous amount of effort to communicate. I find that most would rather avoid a discussion, even over simple issues that could easily be resolved with a few exchanged words. They often claim their lack of communication is due to a fear of hurting us. I’ve never understood this way of thinking—how do they believe dragging it out will lessen the pain? They know it might hurt anyway, so why not just rip the bandaid off instead of leaving us confused and wasting our precious time? Also, why do they automatically assume we care enough to be offended every single time?

This summer, I met a man in his early thirties, who I knew was trouble from the beginning (the first thing I ever told him was that he looked like ‘bad news’). We ended up being in the South of France at the same time and figured we’d meet up and so we did a few times, along with his friends and went on a hike with them which was so extremely challenging, it could only bond us. One morning, I asked if he and his friends would like to have breakfast because I just wanted to say good-bye and thank them for letting me tag along. I just thought it was the polite thing to do and would have totally understood if they didn’t have the time. He suggested dinner instead, saying he’d give me the details shortly. He never did. So I thought I’d kindly let him know that I didn’t appreciate that. I understood if his plans had changed, but a quick heads-up wouldn’t have killed him.

He ended up calling me and explained that he just wanted to have an intimate moment with his friends and didn’t necessarily want me there. I told him that was understandable, but if that were the case, why invite me in the first place? And why not just tell me? He said he thought it would be awkward and didn’t know how to tell me, as he didn’t want to hurt my feelings. I was honestly dumbfounded by his answer. So, to recap: he DIDN’T want to see me, yet HE INVITED me to dinner, but then didn’t want to tell me it was off because he didn’t want to hurt my feelings?

First of all, why would it hurt my feelings? A reasonable person can understand that sometimes plans change. He didn’t have to say he didn’t want to see me; he could have just said he was busy, I’m a big believer in white lies, sometimes lying is necessary. If he just innocently lied, we could’ve both moved on with our lives, instead he made me wait around like an idiot. Thankfully, I made dinner plans with my friends as soon as it hit 6pm. But also, who told this man I would care THAT much? So much so that he was too scared to tell me, assuming I’d be heartbroken.

Obviously, I never saw him again, especially after I didn’t respond to his apology text, which made him so angry that he ‘ended things’—even though my lack of response should’ve made that pretty clear, but I’ll let him have it. Anyways, this is just one of many examples of grown men and their ridiculously bad communication skills.

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The only real difference I’ve noticed between the two age groups when it comes to communication is texting styles. You can forget about texting all day or night like you might with a guy in his early twenties. I’m not a huge texter myself, but when I say I’ve never texted a 30-year-old man for more than 15 minutes total, I’m not exaggerating. They either engage in small talk, asking how you’re doing or what you’ve been up to, send you the time and location for the date later, or dive straight into sexting—where, unsurprisingly, they invest a little more time.

But beyond texting, I’ve also noticed that older men tend to be cornier. It’s as if they’ve perfected the art of being smooth just enough to get by, but every now and then, their corniness inevitably slips through. Once, I met a man on Raya (I lasted a good week on it), a British guy—the only one I ever matched with because he didn’t have a photo on a private jet, or a yacht in St. Tropez. I really adored his creative work, and he was honestly brilliant. He was intelligent and had a great sense of humour—the British kind, which is my personal favourite. We clicked immediately, and I laughed out loud reading his messages. He had a habit of asking for pictures of me. It wasn’t always sexual or inappropriate; he just liked seeing me doing different things and was strangely invested in my outfits of the day. At first, I didn’t think much of it, but eventually, I wondered if he had a power kink—enjoying the fact that I did what he asked immediately. One thing about me is that I’ll always ask questions if I have any, so I asked him directly about the kink. He denied it and just said I was just so pretty. It was probably a lie, but he called me pretty so I didn’t dig further. One night, he asked for another picture, but this time he didn’t say ‘please,’ so I jokingly told him to say the magic word. Nothing, when I say NOTHING prepared to what I was about to receive next. He sent me a video of a close-up of his mouth in the dark, whispering slowly, ‘Pretty… please,’ with an emphasis on the ‘P’s,’ making his lips pop. It made my skin crawl. I almost threw my phone across the room from the ick that completely took over my body. You had to be there to really grasp the level of corniness—it might not sound too bad, but trust me, it was horrendous.

That’s a prime example of how their corniness inevitably reveals itself, no matter how cool they seem. I wonder if it’s just my bad luck meeting ‘cornballs,’ or if this is truly a generational thing—maybe women in their 30s wouldn’t have flinched and might have even found that video attractive, responding with the same energy. I feel a little mean making fun of him, but I’m blocked anyway. Apparently, asking if he would talk to me differently or respect me more if I were his age, which I thought was a simple question, was too spooky for him to answer—further proving my point about poor communication skills and cowardice.

On the other hand, while their mouths may not be great for communicating, they are certainly better for other things. They know what they like, but more importantly, they understand the female anatomy a little better than their younger counterparts. They also tend to have more confidence, which makes the whole experience more fun and exciting. I always go in without knowing what to expect. I’ve found myself in situations I never imagined, like getting my armpits licked—a body part I never thought would be near someone’s mouth (I could go without that happening again, but hey, at least now I know). I also find it easier to be playful with them because I always feel like they’ve already seen a lot, and the chances of me being the weirdest person they’ve slept with are probably low. Being with an older guy has definitely helped me feel more confident and allowed me to let loose, even trying or saying things I probably wouldn’t with someone younger.

Another thing that I really appreciate about older guys is how they tend to find their ‘uniform.’ There’s something undeniably sexy about a man who knows what he likes to wear and sticks to it. Some might call it boring, but to me, it’s a clear sign of someone who’s confident in who they are. I’ve noticed a pattern: they either wear Uniqlo tees or, if they’ve got a bit more cash, Aimé Leon Dore white tees. I’ve seen three of them with multipacks of those ALD shirts lying around in their apartments. Of course, this might not apply to all men, but it’s definitely true for the type I go for. I also love when they consistently smell the same and stick to the same grooming products. Men often get into these things later than we do, so when they do, it’s a good sign they’re ‘ripe’ enough for my taste.

This extends to how they plan their dates—they know what they like, so there’s never any awkward back-and-forth about where I’d like to eat. I’ve never had to be involved in the planning process. They give me a time and place and I have to do is show up. Since my knowledge of wine is still a work in progress, they usually pick the bottle, and if it’s a sharing situation, they select the dishes—though they always ask if there’s something on the menu I’d like to try. I do not do this intentionally but I usually go out with men who have good jobs which means the bill is always taken care of even when I try to get it. The conversations flow easier as most of them know more about the things I am interested in. I learn so much about various topics, especially their unique areas of expertise or interests. And love to see the passion in their eyes when they talk about them. I’ve spent time with a chef that made me taste such interesting food that I would have never been able to experience on my own, I’ve listened to a movie director the different techniques and the little industry secrets, an art lawyer teaching so much about art and always invited me to weekly museum visits and a rugby player talk about the effects the sport has on the human body while also introducing me to Camus. Time spent with them is so incredibly stimulating and even though most of these encounters never really work out due to all the reasons   I have stated above, I always leave a little smarter. 

By contrast, I genuinely believe I would struggle to date guys my age. While they may eventually catch up, I still find it rare to form a meaningful connection with them. Unlike older men, where I often feel like the student, with younger guys, I tend to take on more of a teacher role. While this can be rewarding in its own way, I find it less engaging overall. I also think I have a strong sense of self and may lack the patience to be with someone still figuring themselves out.  

It’s not that I have everything figured out, but I did a lot of that work during my teenage years and now have a clear idea of who I am, what I want out of life, and the kind of person I aspire to be. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with taking time to find yourself—that’s what your twenties are for. However, as I’ve mentioned, I’ve noticed that many guys (not all—relax!) struggle to balance that self-discovery process with maintaining a healthy relationship. Self-discovery is often time-consuming and requires focusing inward, which can leave little room for a partner. This doesn’t only apply to men—I see women, too, hiding behind relationships instead of facing the sometimes scary challenge of figuring out who they are as individuals.  

So, maybe it’s not just about age. But what I’m getting at is that the likelihood of someone in their early twenties knowing who they are and what they want is often lower compared to someone older.

My first boyfriend, who was 27 at the time (eight years older than me), made me wait a year before committing. This was mostly because he wasn’t sure what he wanted or what kind of life he wanted to lead mixed in with some good ol’ commitment issues. Looking back, I don’t know why I stayed for so long. I think I just wanted to help him and hoped to be the reason he found happiness. At the time, I was still figuring myself out too, but I didn’t find it hard to dedicate my time and energy to our relationship. Unfortunately, he couldn’t do the same. I should have recognised that he wasn’t able to give me what I needed in a relationship, rather than clinging to the hope that he would change. He simply wasn’t ready for that, but I became attached to the idea of who he *could* be, which was obviously the wrong approach.  That relationship was very mentally exhausting, and I don’t think I’ll ever have the patience to go through something like that again.

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I get “You’re so mature for your age” a lot, which I think they think I would take as a compliment but the only type of girl who it’d flatter would be an underaged one that has been groomed. But despite saying that so much, I find that they never truly seemed to take me seriously.

They view me as a temporary fling because I’m in my early, almost mid-twenties—a placeholder for the woman they’ll eventually settle down with. ‘De passage,’ as we say in French. Like when the American director told me he had to end our weird situationship because his childhood best friend was finally single and moving to the city, after holding me in bed a week prior, stroking my face, and telling me how amazing I was. Or the British man who said, ‘Too baby to be wifey for lifey’ (yes, in those exact words). Because I’m young, they assume I’m not expecting marriage, children, or anything ‘scary’ like that. They think I’m naïve and more likely to tolerate bad behavior—which I’ve definitely done in the past. They know that for most younger girls, the bar is lower, so they don’t have to do much to impress us. Commitment is never discussed; these ‘relationships’ survive on my own delusions and hopes. It’s true to some extent—I do have time before those big commitments—but that’s no reason to treat me like a placeholder. I think we can all agree on that.

It’s an awkward phase of dating for me. I feel like I should be dating people my own age since we’re at the same stage in life, but I don’t find spending time with them stimulating. On the other hand, I want to date older men because they’re more interesting to me, but we’re not at the same stage in life. I may need to wait a couple of years before considering anything serious. But will that really change anything? As I’ve proven, maturity isn’t necessarily tied to age.

I’ve also wondered if there’s something fundamentally wrong with the grown men dating me. Does it mean women their age have rejected them? Or do they refuse to date women their age because they know they wouldn’t put up with half the nonsense a younger girl might? Are they the kind of people who like to take advantage? Do they have Peter Pan syndrome?

Of course, this is just my experience, and I’m not claiming it’s universal. I’m sure there are guys my age who are as mature as women, and there must be men in their 30s who respect younger women and understand they can be taken seriously—or who simply don’t think it’s appropriate to date someone 10 years younger. But this pattern has been hard to ignore in my own life and among the people around me.

As much as I liked older guys for our shared interests, I started wondering if there were deeper reasons I was drawn to them—and I was certain it wasn’t just because my dad died. After reflecting, I realised that being around them made me feel closer to the life I wanted. Not because I expect them to fund everything or share their life with me, but because I get a taste of the future I want: seeing the apartments they’ve bought, hearing about their achievements, whether it’s an award for creative work, a published book, a movie screened, or a sports championship. When they tell me about their vacations and how they only travel business class now, or when they casually pay the bill with a titanium card, I feel like I’m getting a glimpse into the life I’m working towards. Their busy schedules, filled with things they’re passionate about, reflect the work they put in during their 20s.

I admire how they prioritise their long-term goals and dreams, often refusing to move meetings or calls for something else like parties or dates. Even though some struggle to balance different aspects of their lives, their ambition, motivation, and consistency are admirable. 

Ultimately, I guess, it’s not that I care to be with an older man—I want to be them.

Some of my encounters with men in that age group might seem questionable, but I’ve learned a lot from them, especially about work ethic and prioritising myself. I’ve started doing what they do, and I can already tell you it’s effective. I plan to stick with it, and I know I’ll achieve the things I want. I can’t imagine how unstoppable I’ll be when I combine their aggressive drive for success with our emotional intelligence and ability to balance multiple things. I’ll practically be a fucking superhero.

As much as being around them makes me feel closer to my super-successful future, I’ve come to realise that everything happens in its own time. There are no shortcuts. If anything, they’ve shown me just how much work you have to put in to make great things happen.

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Bali, December 2024