Dateline: At the intersection of cupcakes and puppy love.
My problem is that I think I understand people. And maybe I understand Americans of a certain class and background and age, but that may be the extent of it. Or maybe Mexicans really are just as confusing and unpredictable as their country. But I can’t really get my mind around that one either because all of my genuine friends who are Mexican, including my ex BF “F,” are understandable within my established mental framework. And I also have perfectly–understandable friends who are British, one girlfriend who’s Italian (sort of; her mother is my neighbor in Boston), and I’ve had plenty of Asian friends in San Francisco. Sure, these folks aren’t open books, but they seem understandable and predictable. More or less.
Maybe my problem here is a generational thing layered on top of the cultural thing. The fact of the matter is that I’ve been dating younger guys. In fact, I’ve been dating guys who are ridiculously younger. So much younger that I’m a little uncomfortable writing about them here. But before you decide that I’m some kind of child molester who’s operating just over the line, as it were, consider a few factors.
First, my ideal guy would be close to my own age. Sadly, most of the guys my own age are overweight and out of shape and that’s a complete “buzz kill” for me. I can still fit into clothes I had in high school, and while staying trim requires some effort, it seems to be worth it. Two I’ve gotten to an age where my contemporaries are slowing down. They get tired. They want to take the elevator. They aren’t interested in walking four kilometers across town because the bus is full. But if I can find a 50-something guy with my energy level and fitness, he’d be ideal. Now, in all fairness, such men exist, but I’m sure a lot of them are already taken. I certainly was for a long time.
So the next best thing would be to meet a guy in his latest possible thirties or mid-40s. Alas, those guys are a pretty rare find, often already have boyfriends, or are too tied up in their careers or whatever to have time to date.
So enter the twinks, the twenty-somethings, the young fellows who want to explore the world and have new experiences. Here in Mexico in general, there’s a lot less age segregation than there is in the USA. Go to any Mexican party, and you’ll likely find people ranging in ages from teens to grandparents, all hanging out together, and all pretty much acting like they’re at the same party, e.g., not being totally clustered into age-specific groups. That’s one of the things I really like about Mexico since I think the USA is way too age-segregated and way too age-fixated. In fact, if you are a gay guy trying to meet someone online in the USA, the first question almost always is “how old are you?” It’s not, “are you cute?” “Are you in shape?” “Are you bald,” or whatever. It’s about age.
But here in Mexico, it’s positively shocking how many really young guys (mid-20’s ish) not only have no problem with the idea of dating an older guy, but a lot of them seem to prefer it. And I’ve discussed this at length with at least one very good Mexican friend who sees the same thing in his city. And this is part of what makes dating in Mexico City feel like such an “Alternate Universe,” at least to me. I’m being hit up by really young, super-cute guys all the time. Oh, and demographically, there just are a lot more of them here too. (And no, Felipe, the vast majority are NOT looking for money, as you’ll come to appreciate.)
So I joined an online service to meet guys. No, it’s not exactly a “find-your-forever-soulmate” kind of service. It’s really more of a hook-up service, but in one’s profile, one can indicate that one is looking for something besides random sex. And it’s popular, so you’ll have some folks to choose from. And besides, I don’t really know of any other service here with much currency. So be it.
Last Thursday, a very handsome young man hit me up. “Hi, Handsome” he wrote me in English. “How are you? I like your profile. I’d love to go out with you. What do you say? 😊”
I looked up his profile. It didn’t say much, but what it did say, it said in English: “White Latino twink with daddy issues.” And he’s 23 years old. Yikes!
“Thank you. You’re really handsome,” I replied (in Spanish now). “But why would you want to go out with an old man like me?”
“Old man? I see a cool guy who’s understanding, interesting and handsome,” he replied.
“Thank you,” I said. “Did you read my profile? I’m 54 years old.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“OK, fine. Where do you live?” I asked.
“Aragón [just north of the airport]. But right now I’m in Condesa [very near to me] and on my way to UNAM.” (quite a ways south of here.)
“What’s your name? My name is Kim.”
“Alfredo”
“So are you a student?”
“Yes, French language and literature. Today I’m going to school, but I’ll be free after five. What are you doing today?”
We chatted a bit in French. I used to be fairly fluent, but frankly have forgotten most of it. Worse, I now tend to throw Spanish into it, but with a French accent. Fatal.
“So can we see each other in the afternoon?” he asked.
“Where are you thinking?” I said, “You’re super-cute, but your age is frightening me a bit.”
“We could go to a café,” he suggested, “We can just chat today so I don’t scare you. ;-)”
We chatted some more and then he suggested we meet at six at Metrobús Amores, which is right across the street from “Tacos Joven.” Who says God doesn’t have a sense of humor?
Frankly, I’m not sure what possessed me. Normally if I’ve met a guy online, I like to chat with him for a few days just to make sure that he’s not a total flake, that he’s still interested, that I’m actually interested in him, etc. But for some reason, I decided to meet up with Alfredo right away. Maybe because it was Friday and I didn’t have any plans for the weekend and felt at loose ends. Maybe because he really was extraordinarily cute. Maybe because he speaks French. Who knows? In any case, I fell for it and agreed to meet him.
This being Mexico, the meet-up didn’t go totally flawlessly, and I deserve part of the blame for giving him a vague answer about where and when we’d meet. But we finally met up, and he was just as cute, perhaps cuter in person than in his photos. For those of you who’ve done online dating, you know how rare this is. So when we met, I felt rather nervous, and I think he did too. Since it was later than we had originally intended, we ended up going for some quesadillas at a place near my house.
And we chatted and chatted and chatted. It turns out he’s interested in a lot of stuff, and had originally wanted to be an architect and did 3 years of architecture at UNAM before deciding to switch to French language and literature. He reminded me a LOT of myself and the guys I ran with at that age, most of them Stanford students, all of us fancying ourselves witty, urbane raconteurs, with a dash of dandy thrown in for good measure.
After we ate, we decided to do a bit of an architectural tour of my neighborhood, so we walked around and around, still the conversation flowing like water. After an hour of this, I was getting a little tired of walking, so I suggested we go back to my house for a glass of wine. He was amenable.
But still, I was feeling determined that I wasn’t going to let this go any farther than a platonic date, conversation and then a nice goodbye. But once we settled into my sofa, he just kept edging toward me, and I edged away. But he kept coming closer and closer, and finally, I ran out of sofa and just kind of gave up. Or gave in. Or whatever it is you do when you totally lose your resolve to be a good boy and just let yourself go.
We spent the night together locked in a warm embrace. Every time I would edge away, he crept closer and hugged me again. And surprisingly, I even slept reasonably well. The next morning I made him scrambled eggs and fruit, while he showered, and then he went off to work at the cupcake bakery near my house.
The following week passed fairly uneventfully. We swapped a few texts, but not many as he’s very busy with school and doesn’t seem to have a data plan. We arranged to have dinner on Thursday night, and I said I’d cook something for him. He said he’d be at my house around eight. “What kind of food do you like?” I asked.
“Something vegetarian?” he suggested.
“Sure,” I said thinking I’d make him my own variant of ratatouille, which also has green olives and capers. And I’d serve it alongside the basmati rice a friend had managed to score for me at Costco.
Thursday arrived. I decided to give the apartment a thorough cleaning. As the afternoon drew to a close, I set the table the best I could. (The apartment isn’t really furnished with much in the way of tableware, though there are a couple of decent placemats.) Then I cooked the ratatouille and the rice. Eight o’clock rolled around. Nothing. Eight fifteen. Still nothing. Eight thirty. “Ay! Where is this boy?” I thought. In my book, standing up someone who’s cooking you dinner is about the single rudest thing I can think of. I texted my Dear American Friend, who lives in town. “This is why I don’t want to date 20-somethings!!! I thought I left all this nonsense behind years ago. I’ve sent him WhatsApp messages, SMS messages, and even called his phone, but he’s incommunicado. I hate this!” DAF was comforting, but really couldn’t do much.
By eight forty-five, I was heartbroken and starving. I poured myself a glass of red wine and started to eat. Not three minutes into my meal, the phone jingled, and there was a WhatsApp from Alfredo, “I’m so sorry. I’ve had a horrible day. Remind me of your address. I’ll be right over.”
I half considered ignoring his text and nipping the bud of this little affair. But in the end, I really wanted to see him again, and decided to give him a chance. Especially as we had only set the time as “around eight.” Ten minutes later he showed up, beading from having walked as fast as he could from where he texted me to my apartment. And I was delighted to see him and he was forgiven.
Over dinner we discussed his day, my day, French existentialism and the absurdist playwrights of the era. I’m a big fan of Ionesco, and it turns out he is too. He praised my cooking, and loved the wine. We laughed and had a lot of fun. And again he ended up spending the night, and it was just as sweet as the first, maybe sweeter.
Friday morning after he left, I was on cloud nine. Yeah, he’s certainly young, but goodness! So well read and conversationally capable. I started to fantasize. Maybe we really could bridge the age gap. Maybe he really does want a daddy, and maybe I can play that role. I sent him a smushy text, “Hey handsome, it was a pleasure waking up at your side, hugging you with the memories of last night fresh in my mind. And now that you’ve gone, your presence lingers in the apartment lightly reminding me of how much I want to see you again. I send you a hug and kisses. Saludos.”
No answer. Well, ok, he’s busy with school and doesn’t have a data plan. And he told me that the wifi at school basically had too many people on it to work properly. No matter. I don’t want to rush anything either. And it was Friday and I had work to do, so that was that. Still, I could hardly stop thinking about him. I had gone to see a penthouse for sale the afternoon of his first visit. Now I was fantasizing about the two of us living there together on the 11th floor in a totally chic style with a marvelous vista of the twinkling lights of the city. I fantasized about bringing my convertible down from Boston and driving him around with the top down, the wind tousling our hair. In fact, there was virtually no ridiculous fantasy I didn’t have.
The next day, Saturday, he still hadn’t answered my text and I began to wonder. Surely he had gone home and been able to use his own wifi, no? Or he’d have gone to work and connected there? Why hadn’t he answered me? Was something wrong? I started to feel a little bit anxious. But I occupied myself with stuff around the house. By the afternoon, I thought, “I have to see him. I’m dying to see him.” He had mentioned that he worked at a cupcake bakery near my house and I think he said I could stop by any time and see him. So I set out to do just that.
I walked past the cupcake bakery, and there was Alfredo. But he wasn’t working, he was sitting at a table chatting with some other young guy. “Oh, God!” I thought. “Kim, you really shouldn’t be doing this. If he wants to communicate with you, he will. Just go home and pretend you never had this idea.” I kept walking and passed the bakery. Alfredo hadn’t seen me.
Just as I was continuing down the block, a dear old gay friend from business school with close ties to Mexico City texted me. I explained my predicament. “And he describes himself as a “white Latino twink with daddy issues.”
My friend urged me to go back to the bakery and “take control.”
“If he’s into daddies, he wants you to be a take-charge kind of guy,” my friend said.
“Well, I suppose wimping out isn’t exactly being a take-charge kind of daddy, is it?” I texted.
“No. Go in there and be a man.”
“Ok, wish me luck,” I texted back with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I didn’t feel like a take-charge daddy. In fact, I felt like I was back in high school, a nervous seventeen year-old trying to figure out how this dating thing really worked.
But against my better judgment, and seeking what was probably inappropriate resolution to the situation, I went back to the bakery anyway. As I crossed the threshold, there was Alfredo. “Hola, qué tal?” I said. Instantly I knew I had done the wrong thing.
He said “Hola” back, but he did so as if I were a stranger that had just casually said “hi.” So I totally played it cool. I went to the counter and ordered a cupcake and a cup of ginger tea. Since the place was small, I had little choice of seat, and I still held out the ridiculous hope that maybe this was going to work. So I sat at the next table across from Alfredo. But I whipped out my cell phone and texted my gay friend from business school and explained the situation. Alfredo and his friend continued talking. Was this his boyfriend? (I never think to ask, but I should.) Why else wouldn’t Alfredo introduce me? Or at least act like he kind of knew me? My business school friend and I discussed the situation, but no obvious solution to the problem came to mind. Save for a time machine that might carry me back fifteen minutes in time so I could just avoid the whole ridiculous situation. And with every passing minute I was feeling more and more like a high-school boy and less and less like some kind of “take-charge daddy.”
After about ten minutes, Alfredo and his friend got up to leave. The friend left first, and Alfredo hung back to talk to me. “Did you get my message?” I asked. A look of confusion passed over his face. “What message?”
“The message I sent you Thursday after you left my apartment.” I said, thinking, “Oh god, this is just getting worse and worse.” All daddy-like thoughts vanished from my mind, and I started to feel like maybe I had regressed to junior high instead of merely to the age of 17.
“Oh, right, yeah. I got it. Thanks! Have a nice day. I’ll see you around.” Alfredo left.
Besides humiliated, I was totally confused. My mind raced, and I said to myself, “This guy spent two nights with you. He looked at you with passion in his eyes. He hugged you all night long. What just happened? Have I really become so completely incapable of reading people?” I finished my tea, left, and walked home slowly. Dejected. Depressed.
I didn’t want to care about this. After all, I had just known Alfredo for a week. He was too young for me. I was fully aware of that. And he had just demonstrated exactly why he was too young for me. But I couldn’t help myself. I was crushed, and despite all of the emotional work I’ve done in the past year or two, I spent the rest of the afternoon in a funk. I called friends and whined. I texted my Dear American Friend here who has some experience dating younger Mexican guys.
He chided me. “You shouldn’t have gone there. You shouldn’t be spying on him. You really brought this on yourself. I’m not trying to be mean. I want to support you, but that’s the truth.”
“I know, you’re right.” I messaged back. “But it still hurts.”
But foolish hope never dies, right? “Surely he’ll text me when he gets home,” I thought. Sunday arrived. No text. Monday arrived. No text. Nothing. Radio silence. Monday afternoon arrived. Still nothing. But fortunately, Dear American Friend was scheduled to come to dinner at my place Monday night so I could whine to him in person. When he got to my place, DAF said I should never get my hopes up about such a boy, they always flake out in the end, even the seemingly smart, educated ones. And besides, the city was literally full of such fellows. “We are the rare birds here. Just keep that in mind. There’s tens of thousands of them and only a couple dozen of us.”
I knew he was right. And I knew that in any case, Alfredo was really too young, would always be so, and besides, I really barely knew him. After a lovely dinner, Dear American Friend left, and I washed up.
Just before I went to bed, the following message arrived from Alfredo: “Hi beautiful. I’m sorry I didn’t respond to your message sooner. I really liked your message from Thursday. And I felt like I missed you more after seeing you. And I also really want to apologize for not talking more to you that day in the bakery, but I didn’t feel very good because that day I quit that job. I hope you’re well and I hope to see you soon. I’m sending you a kiss, handsome.” 😘
So that message arrived last night. I’ve read and reread it a dozen times today. And I still don’t know what to do. I’m sure you can see the holes in the story. And yet, he said he wants to see me.
I’m in the Twilight Zone. And I’m not sure there’s any escape.
Alfredo Lanier said:
A late comment from another Alfredo: Staying within your time (age) zone is usually more conducive to long-time relationships. After the first-night frisson wears off, dear, you need some common interests to keep the fire going. Maybe you need to move on from cupcakes to more complex and nutritiona pastry..
I don’t know what those interests, that glue, would be since I don’t know you and you keep your profile and background pretty foggy. Have you had a long-term relationship? Maybe this is all in your blog and I should read it from the beginning.
I’m sorry you don’t have a boyfriend, if that’s what you’re looking for, because you sound like a nice guy and someone who deserves a nightly hug before going to sleep.
BTW morenos are the handsomest but güeros will do very nicely too. My Norwegian mate of nearly 45 years proves that.
Cheers,
Alfredo
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Kim G said:
Hola Alfredo! I hope you enjoyed the blog. Maybe someday we can have coffee and I’ll tell you more. But yes, I’ve mostly been in long term relationships. Saludos!
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Unconfirmed Bachelorette said:
Ugh, this reminds me of my dating misadventures. And why currently, I prefer cats. The comment about scattering your life force was most interesting. But I can see why initially the twinks would be of interest. Once you realize they’re flaky at that age, they become less intriguing. At least that’s how it happened for me at a time I briefly thought being a cougar might be fun. My fantasy involved being a teacher of all things, including sex. It didn’t take long to figure out they think they already know everything. I’m glad to hear you escaped Chicken Alfredo. Thirty-seven sounds more promising. I’m off to read the next installment.
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Kim G said:
Hola Ella! Alfredo is *very* cute, and he keeps sending me messages, surprisingly. i just got another one this morning. I keep vacillating between current policy (ignore him) and thinking I might try to send him something explaining what happened from my point of view. But as you say, these young ‘uns think they already know everything, so trying to explain it might be of limited utility in any case. As for your being a cougar, frankly I was *very* intrigued by the whole concept of cougars when I became aware of them. I have a 50-something friend who was looking for someone and I kept trying to persuade her to date 20-somethings, but she was most uncooperative, not even trying a single one. Meanwhile, I’m with my 37-year-old, and things are very nice so far. Saludos and thanks for stopping by!
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garydenness said:
This dating lark sounds an awful lot of hard work. If I remember rightly, back in my day, it went, “Hi, how are you”. And everyone lives happily ever after. So long as everything is bleached and scrubbed daily. Otherwise there is trouble. My cupcake came laced with Clorox.
If you were in the area I’d buy you a gift. The Ladybird ‘Guide to Dating’. Did you have Ladybird books for kids in the US? They’ve taken on a whole new twist…
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Kim G said:
Hola Gary! The dating lark is a lot of hard work. Fortunately, there seems to be some brighter news on the horizon, which I suppose I should write up in the interests of full disclosure. Though I don’t want to jinx anything that’s still going on.
Meanwhile, Cupcake Boy has texted me a few times in the past couple of days asking me how I’ve been and generally acting like nothing untoward happened. You think he’d have come up a slightly more sincere-sounding apology, but no. I still haven’t answered either.
As for the Ladybird Books, they look wonderful, but I’ve never heard of them. Pity, that. Saludos and thanks for stopping by!
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florentinogutierrezr said:
Aw, Kim, the way you were telling this story literally took me there, like I was watching everything from the window of the apartment across the street, on a higher floor. I wish I could have showed up at the bakery shop at that precise instant, join you at the table and make things easier for you, talking non-stop like we usually do. My friend Hector is, like you, dating young guys as of lately. Last week he came to visit with a tall, skinny, thick-eyeglassed guy from Honduras who spoke a funny Spanish. A couple of days later Hector flew to NY to work, and from there he texted me saying he doesn’t really understand “Lempira”, as we nicknamed the young man. He seems to be in great need, but does not seem very eager to take a job sorting fruit at the produce market when Hector suggested it (remember he’s not a Mexican and cannot have access to formal jobs). He says he doesn’t have any money to buy food, but mentions he went out to party with friends last night. He won’t respond to messages promptly as well, I think this is very, very common with young guys, they read the texts, but don’t seem too prone to reply. I can’t but agree with Lee when he says our brains are’nt fully formed before our late twenties… these modern young guys are just locos, locos perdidos, and I believe you can date, hang out, have fun, go places, but perhaps you could truly live every day (every date) as the last one and not expect to build any permanent relationship. But not all of them are locos perdidos. Maybe some day, there will be the one who really, really knows what he wants, and what he wants may be you forever. Hugs!
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Kim G said:
Hola Tino, well, I can think of at least one young guy who seems to have a lot going for him. And I’d venture that you know him well. Very, very well, in fact.
It would have been terrific if you had somehow magically been able to show up at that bakery in that very instant. I love the idea. And in any case, it’d be great to see you, whether you are rescuing me from some awkward situation or we are just hanging out.
As for my dating young guys, I think I’ve learned my lesson. Meanwhile I had a terrific date last night with a guy who’s 37 and has a LOT going for him. I will tell you more offline. Saludos and thanks for stopping by. Te mando un fuerte abrazo también!
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Steve Cotton said:
And you wonder why I am a libertarian.
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Kim G said:
Wonder? I’m not sure I really wonder about your libertarianism. But what really makes me wonder is how that comment landed on this page. But no worries. As a kindred spirit, I’m happy to have it here, free and unfettered by regulations. Saludos!
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Theresa Diaz Gray said:
If it was anyone but Steve, I’d make a crack about him meaning to write libertine and spellcheck changing it.
regards,
Theresa
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Kim G said:
Theresa! Thanks for a good chuckle!!! Saludos!
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Angeline M said:
I think twink Alfredo wanted to see how a guy who is 54 works (I was going to say feels, but my thoughts got complicated on that one). He also said he had daddy issues; when he needed a free meal and someone to cook him dinner, and a bedtime story, you played the daddy part well. Don’t delude yourself into thinking this could ever go anywhere, and certainly not to that penthouse if you’re as smart as I think.
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Kim G said:
Hola Angeline! Interesting thought. He kind of “took me for a test drive?” Haha… As for the fantasies, I have a very vivid imagination, so it tends to go into overdrive when it has something to fantasize about. But I don’t think I ever really seriously thought we’d end up married happily ever after. But it was a *fun* fantasy. And despite the weird ending, we had fun and I have no regrets. And besides, I got a funny blog post out of it. Saludos and thanks for your comment!
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Barbara Lane said:
Ah….the Penthouse Fantasy….I think we’ve all had our own version of that at one time or another. Yet isn’t it with our Forever Hook Up? We don’t want that one to end. Alfredo is a boy in terms of maturity. I bet you anything his fantasy and yours are two totally different things. The hard part (ah hemmmmm) is connecting with a man who is mature enough that his fantasy and yours collide in an amazing way. Do we not want to live our fantasy off into the sunset? Of course we do. And how fortunate are those that do. Meanwhile we get returns on our investments into our Being Banks in direct proportion to the amount of interest paid. Hook ups such as Alfredo are simply scattering your Life Force. Can you afford that? More importantly – do you want to afford that? Titillating I know. And cheap thrills are thrilling but alas they are simply that: cheap thrills. You are too fine a man to settle for cheap thrills. YOU are the prize. Wait for someone who wants to take you home, cook for you, thinks about you, can’t wait to see you, who adores you, who wants that penthouse with you. YOU are so worthy of adoration. Come from that place, and never forget it. XO
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Kim G said:
Aw, Barabara! So sweet, so nice, and yet SO wise too. Thank you for that! You made my day! And I am really taking to heart what you said. Thank you! Saludos y un fuerte abrazo!
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imaginemerida said:
Sounds like YOU’RE the rare one — stable, available, and in shape. The trifecta! I’d have a hard time getting past that incident in the bakery. I can’t imagine treating someone so callously because I “didn’t feel very good” that day.
And that’s the problem with people at that age. I honestly don’t think our brains are fully formed until maybe our very late 20s… the part of the brain that has empathy and kindness, not just pretty words, to offer. When all you’ve ever been is young and adorable, and pretty words have always gotten you what you want, it’s easy to become callow without even realizing it. With a few disastrous flashes i the pan, I’ve never dated anyone under 30, and I never felt ready to get serious until I was 26 or 27, but that’s just me.
Mind you, I haven’t dated since 1993, when classified ads in Metroline Magazine was the cutting edge dating technique. But I don’t think things have changed that much. (And I was 28, brain fully formed!)
Just remember, it’s you holding the cards here. Ya big hunka man, you.
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Kim G said:
Hola Lee! You are absolutely right. I still don’t get what happened in the bakery. Was that his BF? A prospect? Why did it take him FIVE DAYS to message me afterward? Those are all the holes in the story. So yeah, I’m with you. His loss. And you’re right about brain development. That’s why young people do such crazy things; they literally don’t know better. Meanwhile, I’ve got another date on Friday night with a MUCH more eligible bachelor. Wish me well. Saludos y un abrazo!
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Lee Steele said:
I’m sooooo happy you agree and that you’re not going to subject yourself to a young man’s tactics. I’m sure he’s a perfectly nice guy, but he has a lot to learn about how actual adults act. Enjoy your Friday night date! I wish you well.
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Kim G said:
Hola Lee! Thank you so much. Indeed, Alfredo has a lot to learn about how to treat people. I hope he’s a quick study for his sake. Saludos!
(P.S. Not sure why this went to approval; new email?)
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Marc said:
Sounds about as interesting as when a delightful young man who realizes he won’t wind up as my boyfriend decides to do the next best thing – fix me up with friends in his date pool. My Spanish has been put to work big time and I have nailed asking the important early question (You do realize I can be your father, don’t you?)
And I have gotten new insights on US’s drinking age of 21 during the whole thing.
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Kim G said:
Hola Marc! Haha, indeed. I keep asking that question, “you know I’m 54, right?” And I just can’t get over how unfazed they are. Unfortunately for them, they don’t quite realize that being 54 gives you a *much* shorter fuse for BS than they might expect. Saludos and thanks for stopping by!
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redshoesarebetterthanbacon said:
Yes, there is escape. If you’re 50-something, fit, and still have most of your wits about you, you know there is. Walk away from this one. He’s a jerk, and he’s just playing you. Nothing good is going to come out of a relationship with this one.
How do you feel about those cougars only find pleasure in 20-something men? They’re really sort of sad, when you really think about it. I’m not buying your line that the only men available to you are twinks. That’s bullshit, and you know it. They’re not into silver daddies not just because they look up to the sophistication, wit and money that age confers upon an older dude. They’re into silver daddies, because those guys will put up with anything, just because they’re so grateful from attention from a man half their age.
Listen to your DAF. He knows what he’s talking about. You are not the only fit, attractive, unattached, 50-something gay in all of CDMX. Not all of the 30- and 40-somethings are taken. Chill, take your time, and forget about those twinks. And some of those out-of-shape, overweight 50-something guys may have redeeming features that you haven’t taken the time to notice.
You can do better than this little French cupcake. And you know it.
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Kim G said:
Hola Ms. Shoes! Your comment made me laugh out loud, and as usual, you are 100% right. Without giving away subsequent episodes, I’ll just say that I met a *very* eligible 37 year old on Sunday afternoon. So see? You’re even more right than you suspected. Saludos and thanks for the fabulous comment!
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Felipe Zapata said:
Quite so.
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Croft said:
Totally agree with Ms. Red Shoes! The right guy is out there, you do not have to settle.
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Kim G said:
Thanks, Croft! I appreciate your support. But just to clarify, sure, I can escape Alfredo, if I haven’t already. But the Twilight Zone remains. Saludos!
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