She suddenly appeared on my connections on Feeld, an open-relationship, pervert-friendly dating app, with one photo of herself in a black one-piece swimsuit with most of her face cropped out. Her profile said she was looking for a “female mentor.”
Oh, good.must be fakeI thought about this while drinking wine after the kids went to bed.
Indeed, as I neared 40, I was able to appreciate the power of my femme fatale vibe as I attracted many young women with motherly issues. Whether I was dating a man or a woman, I was always looking for signs that told me I had the upper hand. That is, their hands were shaking nervously as they tried to take a sip of water. In other words, I’m not your typical suburban housewife or mother.
When my husband and I left organized religion in the midst of a pandemic, we started talking about issues we had previously ignored. One of them was our sexual incompatibility. His lower urges caused irritation in his bedroom, especially as I became more in tune with my body and sensuality without the “pastor’s wife” label.
With this confidence and growing desire, I finally admitted what I had known since high school: I was bisexual. After her doctor’s examination reveals that her hormone levels are normal, her husband also disapproves of her by suggesting that he may be asexual, specifically a “gray ace.” came to their own sexual conclusions.
It wasn’t what I wanted to hear, but through many late night conversations and our desire to stay married, we decided to be open about our relationship and revealed the things I had hidden for so long. I was able to explore parts of myself.
It wasn’t a big surprise that the gay community in Southeast Washington wasn’t exactly strong, but I found myself connecting with people who seek physical intimacy with a deeper connection rather than the opportunity to fulfill lifelong fetishes and fantasies. I wanted to.
I was inundated with couples looking for a “unicorn” or third person (i.e. an attractive bisexual woman). Young women have asked me to dominate and degrade them with paddles and derogatory name-calling. I was also contacted by a late-in-life bisexual married woman who wanted a “one-and-done” experience. Let me tell you, that’s all fine and fine with others as long as all parties agree and don’t feel pressured to participate, but I’m looking for something different, a more consistent and meaningful relationship, especially since we’re close in age. I was looking for a relationship with someone.
Meanwhile, I hadn’t made any worthwhile progress on dating apps, so I scoffed at this recent connection request.
Before turning down her invitation, I focused on this potential disciple’s age: 20 years old.
oh this was too young,I thought. I could be her mother. My kids are closer in age to her than she is to me!
It might have been the clear intent of her profile (most people tend to be vague), the subtle photo, or my paranoid curiosity, but before I could find a reason not to I tapped the heart.
Like many women in experiments, I thought she wouldn’t react anyway, and that it would save me a lot of time repeating, “Are you catfishing me?” . Litmus test.
Unfortunately/fortunately, she sent me a message telling me how beautiful I am. I thanked her, but she quickly moved on to her interrogation. She went to school in Spokane, but I found out that she lived an hour away in the big city next to hers. She was also 6 feet tall and they said she was a real model…or something like that. We were both daughters of immigrants. I’m Cuban and her family is from Iraq.
The conversation was very easy and flowed well, unlike other interactions I’ve had with other 20-somethings. I was still wary, but I gave myself permission to be flirtatious.
But my brain was in overdrive.
She’s not very interested. Yes, I’m hot, but do we have enough in common to remain attractive?
In what casual way would she try to get sensitive information out of me, like my mother’s maiden name or my high school mascot?
If I met her, would I be kidnapped and thrown into a human trafficking ring on the other side of the world, run by a powerful elite with a penchant for older women with C-section scars?
My husband thought I was being ridiculous and said, “You’re too focused on the age difference.”
I turned 40 the next month. Overjoyed to have her supportive husband and the opportunity to discover her own sensuality and sexuality, but feeling a lack of direction, a waste of time, and finding connections worthy of her age. I suffered from difficulty. This beautiful girl, or woman, was incredibly kind and transparent, willing to send me photos, even professional ones, to confirm my concerns and answer any intrusive questions. I did. Still, I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before she finds someone else to lead her into a world of liberated inhibitions, without her arthritic knees and far more respectable breasts. was doing.
After a few days of joking around, I slowly became less responsive and just hoped that she would get bored and find someone closer to her age.
She regularly checked in on me and asked how my day was. One day she said she was going to her sister’s class party at school. I cringed when I heard that this brother was the same age as my daughter, but offered to schedule a video chat. She enthusiastically agreed.
The night of our chat, I was optimistic but not overly excited. By that time, I had become an expert at virtual visits into the lives of potential dates in the Pacific Northwest. I was in my pajamas when we both logged in, anything to give her a reason to bail on her.
It turned out to be one of the best video chats I’ve ever had. As we both relaxed in our casual nightwear, we talked about our immigrant families and how being away from our faith communities has affected our lives. We shared our favorite heels and bonded over our love of expensive clothes at Anthropologie and Pedro Pascal. She said she was going to a casting call in New York and I brought up some of my published creative nonfiction work that was floating around the internet. And of course she read them later.
The first time I really laughed with someone was during my middle-aged, confused, attached but not really haphazard, non-monogamous dates. She snorted profusely and had teary eyes.
No, no, no, this wasn’t supposed to happen.
I told her that we had to cut our two-hour conversation short because I had to pick up my son from a school event. Afterwards, we messaged each other and had so much fun chatting that we were hoping to meet up again soon.
Then the next day I heard nothing. Midway through the next day, I sent a modest follow-up message. The next day I didn’t hear anything, and there was nothing I could do at that time.
Sabotage mode has started.
I started focusing on our age difference. It was ridiculous for him to be interested in her, she told herself. As an Enneagram Type 8, I have had to cut ties before others because my biggest fear is looking foolish, ill-equipped and betrayed.
So I cut off contact with her on a dating app. I deleted the chat on my messaging app and removed her from my contacts. I kept going back to her phone and asking her if she really wanted to block her.
“It’s over,” I told my husband. “It wouldn’t have worked anyway.”
“Maybe she’s busy or lost her phone,” he says.
“Gen Z never loses their phones!” I said, trying not to sound bitter or upset.
And she held out her hand. (Yes, I chose not to block her.) She asked about what had happened to our message thread since her message thread disappeared and vented about her recent school obligations. Ta.
And then I threw it all out. About sabotage mode. our age difference. My temporary lack of confidence. Most importantly, I apologized.
She was polite, asked provocative and concerned questions, and assured me that she would not steal my social security number or coerce me into participating in a gift card scam.
I didn’t deserve her kindness. She showed maturity beyond her years.
In the end, it didn’t work out and our connection ended.
But something interesting happened. Through that experience, I learned that as a human being, I am far beyond the stereotypes of my age and generation.Last year, even the Pew Research Center announced We plan to change our research procedures to be more cautious when using generational labels and age-based assumptions.
Kim Parker, Pew’s director of social trends, said of this better outlook: “By choosing not to use standard generational labels that are not appropriate, we are reinforcing harmful stereotypes and “We can avoid oversimplifying complex lived experiences.”
Online, many of us get our generational know-how from articles and social media posts that exaggerate trends or mock the concerns of certain age groups. I’ve been guilty of this too, as I’ve found many of the memes and jokes humorous. But I had to ask myself, is this information creating a thicker wall against potential connections with others in my life?
I started lingering as my much younger work colleagues were discussing their life goals. I invited older colleagues into the conversation and also asked them about their interests. I encouraged “my fellow” older Millennials to talk more about their lifestyles, which are very different from mine.
It may sound cliché, but most people just want to be heard, so I started proactively serve as It’s a conduit for people to see me as a safe person who can address their weaknesses and dreams without assumptions. He is in his mid-twenties and aspires to be a nail technician, and recently left his career as an educator. A date with a young polyamorous couple who also left church service. I’m an empty nester in my 50s, writing a silly futuristic novel. She’s a grandma whose after-school gymnastics schedule has delayed her travel bucket list. In all of these cases, I’ve been moved by how the human experience connects us, but I’ve had to break the ice and stop being an age snob. And believe me. I think it would have been easier to say “no thanks” or just leave the earbuds in, but think about what I was missing out on.
Every time I meet a new person, no matter what year they were born, I want to be amazed by the depth of their story and their empathy. I need to give people the time and opportunity to reveal their true selves. This is a fair suggestion whether you’re engaging with a date, a co-worker, or a neighbor. As you discover who you are on this journey and find peace in the process of aging, you will be able to discern who is worth your time and who is not. But first we have to accept them.
When it comes to dating and apps that promise to provide you with a plethora of potentially life-changing encounters, I’m no longer interested in creating a more filtered experience. You’re done toggling options, checking boxes, and cutting out desired age groups based on “maturity.” Yes, people become haunted and unstable, but I now engage and meet people of different ages and experiences. They create a fun paradox: “You’re so different from me, yet so similar.”
And I am grateful for the opportunity to experience that strange connection.
Desiree McCullough is a writer living in Washington state who enjoys family trips to the Oregon coast, browsing thrift stores for killer heels and distressed art, and watching Jeopardy! Hers with a glass of Riesling. Upon receiving her Master of Humanities in Creative Writing in 2023, she set out to write a confessional memoir about her post-missionary adventures in sensuality and sexuality. For more information about her, please visit: DesireMcarafe.com or clavicle.substack.com.
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