This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance between the characters and real individuals is coincidence. All characters are over age eighteen.
A young woman confesses she prefers older men, and proves it.
* * *
I had been in town on business all week. One afternoon, I decided to spend the last hour of work at the BlockHouse coffee shop. When I got there, all the tables were taken, except one table for six that was occupied by only one young woman.
I asked her if I could share her table, pointing to the chair on the opposite corner from her. She said, "Oh fine. I'm expecting one more, so if there are more of you..."
"No, just me."
"Oh, go right ahead," she said, smiling at me.
She was young and sweet, a little plump with a heavy chest that she tried to hide with her clothing. We ignored each other at first. While I tried to connect to the shop's WiFi, she tapped away on her computer and looked frequently at some notes she had on paper. I was having no luck with the WiFi and the baristas were pretty swamped, so I asked her. Or maybe I just wanted to talk to her.
"Yeah, you have to pick the BH-Secure network, not BlockHouse_Guest. I had the same problem."
"Oh, that explains it. Thank you. I thought I was a guest here, so..."
"Exactly. I wasted several minutes thinking I fat fingered the password. I didn't want to ask because they're always so busy here." She seemed like she wanted to talk, and I enjoyed hearing her voice and seeing her smile. She was easily thirty years younger than me; I guessed around her mid-twenties.
We chatted for a while about computer problems and the frustrations of working remotely. She asked me what I did, and I asked her the same. She didn't seem to like the work she was in. "Me neither," I said. "But, professional backpacking doesn't pay very well, so..."
"Oh, you backpack? I tried it recently and realized I don't know what I'm doing. It's not as simple as it seems." We talked about that and other things, realizing despite our age difference, we had a lot in common. Finally, she looked at her watch and said, "Well, I think I've been stood up," pointing to the chair across the table from her.
"Uh oh, that's not good. Now people will think you're dating an old fart like me."
"Oh, not that kind of date. A girlfriend of mine. She probably got tied up. And you're not an old fart."
"Trust me, I am."
"No, you're not. I like older guys, and..." She stopped short and turned a little red.
"Really?" I looked at her and she was embarrassed but still smiling. "Awkward." I said. She looked away and banged her head on the table. I tried to give her an out. "I understand. Younger men can be jerks. I know; I used to be one. The whole dating thing at your age is so messed up."
"It is, cuz I've never really liked guys my age. I've never been comfortable around them. Oh, I...um, I'd better be going."
"Wait, I didn't take it to mean anything. Really, I understand."
"Maybe you don't. I really do like older men." Now she looked sad, and I got the impression that I disappointed her.
"I'm sorry. Sit for a minute. What's wrong?"
She stopped putting her stuff away and slumped in her chair. "It's so hard. My parents don't understand, and fuck them. My friends don't understand. But I like older guys. Is that so bad?"
"A lot of people think it's their responsibility to make choices for others. Usually because they see others doing things they would like to do but are hung up about it."
"It's not like I have daddy issues, you know. My dad is great. I just have issues with men my age. And I like you. I like talking to you. I like being with you."
"I like being with you too. I smiled and looked at her. What are you doing for dinner?"
She smiled broadly at me. "Oh, I've been eating alone all week, so yeah, if you want to have dinner, I'd love to."
"Alright, I'm Kent by the way."
"Stephanie."
"Where are you staying. I drove here so I can pick you up."
"I'm at the Maggot Inn."
"Sounds lovely, I'm at the Orange Cat Inn."
"Same place."
"Yeah, I hear you. I haven't found any bed bugs or cockroaches yet, and the toxic waste dump underneath the building doesn't bother me. You?"
"The only bugs work the front desk."
We drove to the motel. We went to our separate rooms and cleaned up. In another two hours, we were ordering dinner. Occasionally, we each saw other diners looking at us, and we imagined what they were saying:
"What's she doing with such an older man?" Stephanie said.
"Maybe it's her grandpa." I replied.
"Maybe it isn't and maybe she has daddy issues."
"Lucky bastard."
"Poor thing."
"Why not me; I'm more her own age."
"Stop looking at her; I'm right here. Jesus!"