Older does not necessarily mean better

When deciding whether to enter into a new relationship, everyone, whether consciously or unconsciously, makes a mental list of the pros and cons of this potential union. I dated a straight-edge guy in high school, and the first pro that came to mind back then was "well, he'll never see me wake up in a smeared-mascara, vomit-breath, post-bender, where-the-hell-am-I, oh-god-why-is-my-shirt-on-backwards haze". A few months into our relationship, however, I realized I'd neglected to notice the #1 con of our straight-edge relationship...it was boring as shit. Not that all people necessarily need alcohol to liven up their lives, it's just that HE did. He's probably the main reason why I currently cringe every time I hear the word "emo".

Years later, I found myself in this lovely city, pondering the merits of entering into a casual relationship with a far different breed -- the older man. No no, I'm not talking a true May/December romance a la Hilary Duff and Joel Madden (RIP, you crazy couple). But at a good 7 years my senior, I thought perhaps I'd finally tapped into a guy with both pros and cons I could work with.

Pros:
-Friends with many married couples, perhaps indicating at least a hint of an interest in a committed relationship.
-A homeowner. No, I'm not a golddigger. I believe that owning a home is a good indication of a desire to stay in one place, and as an alumna of a long-distance relationship, I can 100% say that is SO not my scene.
-A career, not a job. Ambition is a big turn-on. But seeing someone who has had ambitions that he's met...even better.

Cons:
-Immature sense of humor. On a mature man, we can just call this "young at heart".
-The propensity to get shitfaced no less than 5 times per week. We'll call this one "fun loving".

It should be noted, those were just the cons I saw upfront. The final con will be described below. But at the beginning, I just thought I'd landed a stable, successful and fun guy. So much for first impressions.

Over dinner and drinks, the banter was equal parts witty and fliratious. He walked me to my apartment building and kissed me on the cheek. He followed up an appropriately short time later, and we agreed to meet up at happy hour later that week. He introduced me to his friends, and I introduced him to mine. The progression was startlingly easy. I thought, "so THIS is why women like older men!" No after-date groping, no ridiculous delays in scheduling another date, no text messages saying "i'ym drunkkk, whrew re youuuu?" I was refreshed, and encouraged.

And then the weekend approached. Just like the full moon is to werewolfs, so are Friday and Saturday nights to Urban Douchebags - it brings out their inner animal. We'd agreed that he'd let me know where he and his friends would be going out, and perhaps we'd meet up. I ended up feeling a bit under the weather and text messaging him to let him know I was staying in and going to bed early. Case closed?

Not quite. I wake up to a text message at or sometime around 3:00am. It's from him, and it says, in Drunk Type that I'll translate to English here, "what are you doing?". I must have been in a feverish haze, because I stupidly responded "Well I WAS asleep". Then, he calls. He says "I'm standing outside your building, can I come up and say hi?" Hindsight is always 20/20 and I now realize I'm a total idiot, but I knew at the time that I kind of liked him, and I didn't want to be rude. So I agreed, and in the process somehow neglected the fact that he was creepily standing outside my building.

The next 20 minutes were a bit of a blur. He walked into my apartment, removed his wallet, his keys and his cell phone from his pocket and put them on my dresser, took off his shoes and his North Face vest, and took a running leap into my bed. I stood back, my douchebag radar going off like CRAZY. I asked him what he was doing, and he went off for about 10 minutes on how much he liked me, how much fun he had with me, blah blah blah blah blah. I wanted to take it as a compliment, which it might have been had he said it over something benign like brunch. Coming from my bed, however, I could only assume this was a late night performance of the Art of Seduction, Urban Douchebag Style.

He finally got up from my bed, and we kissed a bit. Well actually, he licked my face. With my eyes closed, I might as well have been playing with my neighbor's golden retriever. I knew I needed to put a stop to this, and soon. Again, I asked what he was doing, and he uttered four words that, to this day, make me feel so dirty and embarrassed I want to take a hot shower and then hide...

"I'm just so aroused."

The expression on my face changed from mild shock to unadulterated disgust. He could tell. "Do you want me to leave?" he asked. At this point, having abandoned all fears of being pereceived as rude, I simply said "yeah, that'd be great, thanks". This was followed by a couple feeble "are you sures" on his part, and a few "yeah, I'm very sures" on my part. He collected his belongings and left.

A text message (of course) followed in the next few days..."I'm sorry about Saturday, I hope you have a nice Thanksgiving". I never responded, having no desire to see him again. And I suppose if I ever did feel like seeing him, I could just track down a golden retriever to get the job done.