Age Sure As Hell Matters! The Superb Quality of Older Men

"Really?!?! You guys have that big an age gap?!?!?!"

Give me a break. From the way my hyperventilating friend was gasping, you’d think that my boyfriend was a 99-year-old "Dirty Old Man" with arthritis, a bad toupee, and skin that resembled a raisin.

For the record, my honey is 27 years old, financially secure, self-reliant, and independent. I, on the other hand, am 20, surviving on allowance, living with my parents, and still playing my last few rounds of the "Who’s-the-Real-Boss-Between-Us" game with them. I am graduating from my senior year in college. He got his diploma six years ago. We have what I would prefer to call a seven-year "age dent" between us.

Despite the smart-ass theories about why relationships with "age dents" start (e.g. "The guy must be such a pathetic, miserable crud that he can’t get a girl his own age!"), the reason they are established is very simple: Two humans realize they have more in common than just oxygen and small talk. A bond—the fruit of prolonged conversations, the union of two minds, and the effect of raging hormones—is formed between both of them. And then, there is the inevitable spiraling into the pit called love. The relationship I am in now began just like any other, but as it progressed, it’s proven to be unlike those I’ve had before.

I had two other boyfriends before him. Sad to say, they are short of officially being proclaimed fiascos. There is just something about older men—they are confident, self-assured, and almost arrogant. But damn is it attractive! Let me explain.

Imagine being in a bar crammed with young people. The boys (all huddled together as a gang) openly gawk at the hot girls they see, but will most likely only talk to the girls they actually know. No aggressive pursuit for an unknown target takes place. Twenty-something yuppies are a different breed. They have mastered the art of talking to girls. With a seeming confidence borne of a steady paycheck and experience through the years, they know how to zero in for the kill. They are smooth as butter, and always seem to know what they are doing. Young ’uns, to tell the truth, bungle up and fumble. That is precisely the reason why so many girls get attracted to bad boys their age. Bad boys act much older and knowledgeable. Out of a natural instinct imprinted on us since the beginning of time, women subconsciously want a man who can take care of them and help provide for the family. They want someone to take charge.

And take charge men do, in bed or out of it—though the former is a more enjoyable experience than the latter. Here is something to ponder on…older men know their way in bed. Whether it is just not-so-innocent fooling around or the whole nine yards, it seems that the same philosophy comes into play. They know exactly what they are doing, from the moment they put their hand on yours, to the first kiss of the evening, to the last. I am not fussy about my man’s previous experience in the past. The way I see it, he is involved with me and proves his love everyday (whether he intentionally means to show me; or, even better, when he does an action unplanned that springs from the heart without him knowing it). It is actually pretty amazing to have a guy who knows how to love you with his body.

All that comes with age and maturity, I guess. I am a firm believer in maturity being a key element in any relationship. I suppose one of the reasons we get along so well is we both have considerable maturity. His maturity comes as a natural effect of his biological aging and his upbringing. I was blessed with maturity in excess, despite my youth. It all balances out nicely. It is wonderful to have a boyfriend who understands perfectly when I have to work on projects and miss out on spending time with him. It is incredible to have a guy who doesn’t go into a satanic rage every time an unidentified male friend approaches me to speak to me. And best of all, my man has straightened out his priorities. He knows exactly what his priorities are (family, work, friends), in that order. I never have to worry that he’s playing too much basketball, or that he’s flunking out of school because he is consumed with passion for Counter-Strike, or that he and his rowdy barkada are cruising for a bruising and roughing up other guys. The man I worry about plays the stocks, fiddles with his laptop, and enjoys nights with his rowdy barkada (some things never change) but has long since left his war-freakish habits behind. And he happens to love me. Yes, despite all my quirks and mood swings and the teeny, tiny, insignificant fact that I am seven years younger than he is. And I love him for that.