He was funny. Clever, too. He was dynamic, energetic, charming and made me laugh hysterically. He flattered me constantly and I loved it.
He was 56, older than my dad. And I was just 19-years-old.
As the internet busies itself being outraged over the 30-year age gap between newly engaged couple Stephen Fry and comedian Elliott Spencer, I remembered my brief flirtation with a big fat age gap. Unlike Fry’s mine did not end with loving success and the decision to stay together forever. It came to an abrupt end, with the appearance of a very wrinkly penis.
Stephen Fry and fiancé, Elliot Spencer.
He wasn’t rich, or dashing, or even overly charming. But somehow, I found him magnetic and soon we started meeting secretly to continue our flirtatious dalliance.
It all felt a little bit covert and wrong, which is why I think I entertained it for so long. All my friends were dating pimply-faced uni-students and I was being tuned by an old man. LOL. Jokes.
But after a few months and a few Bacardi Breezers (bankrolled by him of course), my horny young mind started to think:
I mean, could I go there? Would I go there?
I was mentally attracted to this man, so was that enough? Could we just turn the lights off and do it from behind so I wouldn’t have to look at his watery old man eyes?
He was a big talker. So when the moment eventually came, I was expecting fireworks. He had prepared by putting fresh sheets on the bed.
We derobed. He was excited. And I was excited. But something else was… not.