*These events are a true story. Names and locations were changed*
Much of this country consists of overall decent but devastatingly boring towns. I lived in one of those as a transplant- nothing wrong with it, in fact it was often placed near the top of lists such as "best place to raise a family." I didn't hate it, but I was 25, working my ass off everyday, and didn't have any strong connections here for a release.
In a world so hard to meet new people, I would try my hand at the assortment of dating apps. Sex was one factor, but even just the spontaneity of meeting someone at a new bar, having an interesting conversation, and calling it a night could be worth it. The last couple years, I had a handful of flings with a variety of girls in their 20s. I wasn't the dreamiest guy in the world, but I was a decent height, kept up with working out, had a good job, and had some very specific qualities like my collarbone that women seemed to like. I was able to meet plenty of women, but none stuck around for very long.
The dating apps became monotonous, so much so you sometimes forget who you even swiped right on. One day I checked out one of the apps to see an intriguing match: Sharon, 50 years old. Sure, I've been with some older women in their 30s, but I was almost intimidated by this, always having had a closet fetish for older women. She appeared a little plump with a stomach and large breasts. A round face, oddly cute for a woman her age. She wasn't a drop-dead bombshell, but appeared fun and flirty; a similar aura to a friend's fun wine aunt you met at their family party.
I don't recall the exact details of the conversation, but initially, we never paid any attention to our age difference. We spoke about our jobs, what we liked to do, and quickly exchanged numbers. We agreed to get drinks and appetizers at a restaurant in between our areas. Somewhere along the way, she sent me a risque photo exposing her cleavage. Despite her forwardness, I still wasn't expecting much to happen, still intimidated by our age difference.
That Thursday night, I sat at the bar waiting for Sharon. There were some doubts and anxieties leading up to this moment. What if I see people I know from work? How will I be able to explain getting food and cocktails with a woman twice my age? I began to think of some potential excuses I could provide. Is she my neighbor? Nah, that doesn't make much sense. Would she be offended if I brought it up?
I turned around from the bar and saw Sharon approaching. I smile and ask, "Sharon?" for clarification.
"Hi, Joey," she said, we hugged as we greeted each other. "I can't believe we're doing this," she said with levity. What I thought was going to be a bit more awkward quickly became more comfortable.
"It is what it is," I say, trying to keep cool. "Who cares?" I do, apparently, but I won't act like that.
"You're half my age," Sharon says, as if we don't already know that.
"Yep," I say with a chuckle. "What of it?"'
