I had an opportunity this week that I’ve been dying to tell you about. I was asked on a date by a 45-year-old man while at Panera on Tuesday night. His name was Henry, and all I could think about was the horrifying age difference. Here I am, a 21-year-old guy, (at my sexual peak, nonetheless), and here comes my grandfather, spewing lines about how 45 is the new 30! But, being the friendly (read: horny) guy that I am, I went ahead and gave him my phone number.
And this, dear readers, is where the problems began. Students have grown up in the age of technology. We have always had iPods and MacBooks and cell phones (oh my), and stories from dear ol’ Mom and Dad are true: they really had black and white television ‘in their day.’ Unfortunately, so did my geriatric gentleman friend, Henry. It turns out he just got a new cell, and ‘baby’s first iPhone’ comes with an unlimited texting plan of which he makes full use. So, I had texts at 4 a.m. wishing me good morning, 12 p.m. hoping I was having a great day and even 10 p.m. texts saying ‘good night.’ When did this guy sleep? Or work? It’s exhausting just reading the texts!
I have slowly been realizing that, not only is this guy insane . . . but I am definitely enjoying the attention. Sure, I know the relationship isn’t going anywhere; he is 50, after all! But with every message, picture or phone call I ignore, I just glow from the excitement of being chased. For once, I’m being wooed, courted, chased, etc.
When was the last time you were really courted by a man? Someone who, from his long poems and messages, seems like he is genuinely interested, even though you don’t really know him? It’s funny, this is what dating used to be, before OkCupid, mutual friends or frat parties. Just a handsome boy approaching a beautiful girl at the general store so he can ask her to accompany him to the country fair that evening.
Henry will most likely never see me again. But, I sometimes think about what would happen if I picked up that call, or made a definite plan to see him again (in public, of course). We would absolutely never get physical, not that I’m judging your love of sex with the over-50 crowd; it’s just not for me.
Later that evening, in a sudden attempt to regain some semblance of a sex life with anyone under 30, I donned my tightest T-shirt and went out with some girls to a frat party. (Not my first choice for evening entertainment, but a little Natty Light is good for the soul). Upon our arrival, however, I was surprised to see a ratio of men to women that would make a lesbian jump for joy. Where were the men? I understand the point of limiting the amount of junk in the room, especially since all these frat guys have to get laid, but there’s nothing wrong with a little competition, especially with so many alpha males in one crowded basement. Their reasoning for not inviting more dudes to the party was some nonsense about minimizing their risk, but I cry foul. I paid my $10. Let me get a chance to get it in, too! How are the gays supposed to find love on Ashford Street?
Even clubs downtown understand the need for random dudes. While ladies are offered the keys to the kingdom with comp passes and bottle service upgrades, us poor guys have to wait in lines, shell out huge cover charges and ultimately go home alone.
But this has sexism has a larger impact than just bros not getting laid, it also means that girls can’t bring their boyfriends, gays can’t meet up and drink and straight guys that just want to hang out with girls can’t just dance and have a good time.
Note to fraternities: I am in no way claiming that you are homophobic, or hate other guys. The last thing I want is a bunch of angry letters from Pike telling me about their one gay friend from home who they always hang out with. All us non-bros out here want is the opportunity to come over to your house, pay for some crappy booze and dance. After all, the girls that come to your houses are not interested in having sex with you. They’re interested in drinking your beer and looking hot.
So, loosen up a bit. Let more dudes in, and you’ll get more girls, too. Besides, men will pay for the opportunity, upwards of $20 per dude, just to come in and drink your Keystone.
Luke Pearson a weekly columnist for The Daily Free Press. He can be reached at lpsexquestions@gmail.com
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