Page 10 of The Fed Sex Man

I hoped steamy contemporary was suggestive enough to spark his interest. I braced myself for the onslaught of sexual innuendos that he was sure to make.

“Out of school for five years, huh? I thought you were older. Not that you look older, it’s just…” He glanced over his right shoulder. “I think it’s the glasses. They make you look distinguished.”

I was disappointed that he didn’t bite on the romance novel lure but was flattered about the distinguished comment. The remark regarding my youthful appearance edged its way beneath my skin. After a lingering moment, I began to itch.

Outside the confines of the bookstore, I felt young and unaccomplished. As one might imagine, I hoped I didn’t appear that way.

“I’m probably older than you think,” I said. “It took me a while to get through college. Allen Eagles class of 2007. I graduated college in 2013.”

He gave a shallow nod as he maneuvered through traffic. I waited for him to acknowledge what I’d said or continue the conversation, but he said nothing. After a few moments, I broke the awkward silence.

“How about you?” I asked.

“How about me, what?”

“Where did you go to school?”

“Plano Senior High,” he said.

“When did you graduate?”

“A few years before you.”

His face was free of any wrinkles, whatsoever. I expected he was a few years younger than me. I really didn’t care how old he was. Eventually, curiosity got the best of me.

“What year?” I asked.

He drew a long, slow breath. “2000.”

“Oh,” I said. “I would have guessed you were younger than that.”

I no more than spoke and wished I could take it back. He did look young, but I didn’t want him to think I took exception to him being a few years older than me. Truth be told, I was attracted to older men.

“But I’m glad you’re not,” I added. “I prefer guys who are older than me.”

He flashed a smile that could have melted steel. “I’m thirty-five.”

I grinned. “Twenty-nine.”

He shrugged playfully. “What’s age, anyway?”

“Nothing but a number.”

“Exactly.”

The novels about men who were fractionally older than the respective women they dated all eluded to the same thing. Older men were more capable – and willing – to take care of their female counterparts than men who were lesser in age than the women they courted.

I wanted to ask how someone like him could be single but was one glass of wine short of being courageous. Bravery came with wine or with time, and there hadn’t been enough of either. At least not yet.

Following the failed erotica discussion, I opted to bring up a subject that all men seemed eager to discuss. Talking, regardless of the subject matter, would ease my state of mind.

“I like your car,” I said.

I knew nothing about cars, other than that my father and brother were infatuated with them. They talked about them for hours on end, leaving my mother and I to talk about reading, our fingernails, and bargains. Men’s attachments to cars, I’d learned, could be life-long. Cars were to men what shopping was to women.

An obsession.

“Thanks,” he replied. “It’s been a project.”