There is something to be said about an older man. Not necessarily older, but older than me. My general interest lays in those two years my senior. But I have dated those well into the thirties. My friends say that I would faire better with an older man. In my experience, age is irrelevant; it’s still a crap shoot.
By form, an older man should be experienced, grounded, established. But in a city like New York, are you ever any of those qualities—or at least keep any of them? The City changes so quickly, can any of us really keep up? I have dated guys of in their early twenties more “together” that guys ten years older. But I think it a question of perception. We perceive older guys to have something to offer us that guys our own age cannot supply: stability, exclusivity and direction. And if on top of that he has an amazing apartment overlooking Hell’s Kitchen, then what else is a guy to do?!
I fall somewhere in between. My age dictates that I am “young,” yet I feel older than I should—I always have. I’ve always created close relationships with those older than me. In high school I was actually friends with my teachers, at work, friends with my managers. Perhaps their experiences and wisdom by sheer means of time spent of this planet draws me to their story. The funny thing is that I, being of a different generation can relate to many of the issues and things that plague my older friends; in that case, New York doesn’t change, just the characters. Resounding themes are omnipresent: games, deception, jealousy, the list is endless. Through experience, by way of age, you are able to gauge your options, plan a course of action and complete the challenge. And then when it falls completely apart, you start all over again, hopefully learning something that will help you the next time. Oh, the vicious cycle.
I went out on a Wednesday night a week before my twenty-third birthday. It would be my first birthday in the City. I went out because all I wanted was a cosmopolitan. I still remember what I wore: a burgundy t-shirt and jeans. Unshaven, didn’t care. I arrived to one of my favorite bars to find the guys that I was meeting standing outside in a cloud of drama. A “celebrity” (of sorts) was in the bar and not just in the bar, sitting with them! He was an actor on HBO’s Queer as Folk, no not one of the starring roles, some guy who had a bit part in the end of the series. Nevertheless, he was there! And chatting with the boys! Alone!
All I wanted was a cosmo.
I was introduced to the Actor. He was handsome, tall, blue eyes.
I turned to the bar to get my cosmo.
I was in heaven. My favorite bar with my favorite drink. What could be better at twenty-two? The boys were paying careful attention to the Actor. Questions were thrown across multiple rounds of cocktails. I listened quietly handling my glass like a newborn child. The Actor decided it was time for a smoke and a cruise around the bar. Within seconds of the Actor moving out of earshot, the boys exploded with the prospect of any of us succeeding with the Actor. He returns to the group very quickly. We get into a conversation about the guys who were on the upstairs landing, standing alone and posing themselves for their next conversation to anyone who returns a glance. The Actor was seemingly charming and funny. The downstairs becomes quite crowded at one point and the group decides to move upstairs for a more intimate feeling. I sit on a low stool and the Actor sits across from me. He removes a book from his back pocket before sitting down; he told me he went to dinner by himself earlier in the evening and was reading during the meal. It was something that I had never done and was secretly impressed by. Time for another cocktail. The Actor joins me. I switch to a vodka-tonic. Before I knew what was happening, he paid for my drink. So I left the tip. This little act took me by surprise. We went back to the group, they were feeling quite good now. I must admit, I was too. The Actor made his rounds with each of the boys, asks them questions, listened intently and was completely interested in what they had to say.
But wait, he kept looking at me…woah, this felt like flirting. Okay, we’re flirting. This drink tastes good…he has beautiful eyes…I gotta pee.
I head to the bathroom downstairs. The Actor follows. I wait for him outside the bathroom. We chat alone for a few minutes. He confesses that while we were sitting upstairs he thought to himself, “How do I talk to this guy...?” Well, he did.
And then kissed him.
“That was like kissing my grandma,” he says.
“You kiss your grandma on the mouth?”
Back upstairs, two and half cocktails later, I’m reeling. We continue to chat with the boys; the Actor holds my hand underneath the table. I begin to get jealous glances from the group. This goes on for a length of time.
We decide it’s late and prepare to leave. I end up in a cab heading uptown to the Actor’s hotel. If I remember correctly a Days Inn—which I didn’t know they had in Manhattan.
We stop at deli before going upstairs for beers—classy. He buys me a toothbrush.
I wish I could give you explicit details of the hot night. But there wasn’t any. We lay in the bed and kissed. A lot. I had to work the next morning, so we decided that it would be best if I didn’t stay. So, I left. Sober. I took the train home. I received call from one of my friends from the night and was quite surprised when I picked up AND told him that I was going home. To this day, I made the right decision. And I think it was one of my best played nights I’ve had in New York. He was very handsome, successful, and engaging. His intensity was as attractive as his smile and blue eyes. This is what I saw in Him.
The Actor was here only for the week. We texted throughout the remainder of his stay. At one point he even stopped by my store that I was working at to say hi.
That was the last time I ever spoke to him. And I never saw the thirty-nine year old Actor again.
Well, until I was on a date this year and he popped up in a movie we were watching. I gasped out loud, in the movie theatre. At least he’s working!
New York is older than all of us. She has seen things that we couldn’t imagine. She holds secrets so trusted that only an island dense with silver and concrete can protect them. She has seen change. Devastation. Throughout it all She endures. She has seen miracles. Triumphs. She looks to the fresh, hopeful imports to balance out the worn-out, jaded contemporaries. Has four years already made me a product of my environment? What will become after ten years?! The City kicks your ass. But I have learned that the City will help you off the ground when you trip walking across 34th Street. In the dark exterior of avenues, strength and height, New York was built to age with intensity and conviction.
So were you.
