I love the company of older women. By âolderâ I mean my generation. By âolderâ I mean you remember the Cold War and 4 TV channels. You remember that a big upgrade was from rotary to touchtone. You remember Jimmy Carter and Johnny Carson and VCRâs that were the size of a suitcase. You played the BeeGees and ABBA on your turntable. You had big hair. Youâre not a millennial or Gen X or Gen Y or any other silly thing.
I love that youâre not afraid of men, that you donât panic when a man speaks to you or throws you a compliment. I love that you accept that men are not perfect nor are they to be taken for granted.
You are not afraid to say what you like, how and where you like be kissed or touched. And if that activity isnât just right, just so, youâll direct me to what you want.
Youâve read books, you know history, youâre secure with your money. You have your own place. You donât giggle when I kiss your neck. Youâre offended by bad manners.
Thereâs nothing wrong with some gray, and I think those smile lines around your eyes are incredibly fetching. Anyone who thinks beauty is analogous with youth is an idiot.
Maybe youâre not 20 years old anymore but you can still catch a manâs eye, and
I would sleep with you in a heartbeat- that is, for at least as long as this old heart still beats.