Sunday, April 15, 2007

The Shelf Life of a 24-year-old Boyfriend

Two weeks ago, my roommate and I went to the club across the street to meet some boys, dance, look hot, feel hotter. This clean-cut, painfully young college boy rigorously pursued me throughout the evening, though I was smitten with the DJ (who was a little more age-appropriate.) I thought I'd scare off the young boy once I told him my age, but much to my dismay, this only made my little suitor more attracted to me. I relented and took him home that night and drank him in like a glass of fine (albeit young) wine.

Still recovering from a break-up with someone nearly twice this boy's age, I couldn't help but notice how much good that night did for me. First off, 24-year old boys are cute. Really cute. They radiate this virility and their bodies are like rubber balls. They're musculature is like twisted metal. And when...how far should I go with these sordid details? Well, when you have sex with a 24-year-old, his erection feels like steel - like his life depends on fucking you. There’s something deeply carnal and immediate about it. Its like being stabbed by a pretty dagger.

But more than the standard young hottie stuff, I liked how obviously he liked me. Lavishing me with attention, compliments, physical touch - and it kinda shocked me that those elements felt so FOREIGN to me. Like I contend with so many defective, bored and uninspired men (we can ALL have that too world-worn quality), that when you get the warm, fuzzy stuff - the attention and affection, it almost feels weird! (And please don't tell me I attract them - there are tons of men out there who have the emotional availability of a toothless comb. I just happen to know a lot of them intimately…or not so intimately, as the case may be.)

So I rode my fresh daisy high for the rest of the week - getting tons of romantic text messages and emails from him. I didn't really even need to see him, you see - it was simply the knowledge that this expressive, young Rubber Ball was out there, bouncing around and actively liking me. I breathed a little deeper, my step lightened - I felt the way one is supposed to feel in Spring – a feeling that often alludes this Scorpionic lover of Winter, bare branches and moss-covered tombstones.

But alas, our "love" was not to be long on this earthly plane (shocker, right?) My friend Ruby and I went out one fateful night last week and met up with the Rubber Ball. Ruby had just found out her dad has cancer and is re-adjusting from a 3-month sojourn to an orphanage in Africa. She was drinking deeply and singing Karaoke repeatedly. At one point, Ruby yanked the mike away from some college student and announced to a stunned crowd that her dad has cancer and “Screw you!” While I relished in the punk rock-like awkwardness of the moment, I also knew my good friend was in trouble. Rubber Ball really saved the day and tried to talk her down from an unfolding fit of rage, confusion, disillusionment and...did I say rage?

Well, I was really impressed by my Rubber Ball’s gentleman-like abilities and told him the next morning via text. Unfortunately, he was confused by the number I was texting from and thought the thank-you was coming directly from Ruby. He proceeded to tell "Ruby" how close he was to kissing her that previous night and how he looked forward to seeing her again. How he admired her behind greatly and how, while he hooked up with Beth, he hoped that didn't deter the two of them from "talking." I tried furiously to stop him. No, Rubber Ball, don't bounce all over my castles in the sand! My New Spring…it just sprung! But stop, he wouldn't. I had to call him and break the news that he had made a most fateful and tactical error. He reacted defensively and well, like a 24-year old. I acted like a 40-year old and promptly broke up with him.

Love is fleeting, we all know. Lust is even quicker. And a crush on a 24-year old can only last 24 seconds. Or 2.4 days. So their shelf-life is about as long as fruit fly’s existence. But for those 24 seconds or 2.4 days, you feel this flash of sexual energy that can literally hurt, it feels so good and life-affirming. And after the disillusionment passes, you are grateful to share your inner 24-year old girl with an actual 24-year old boy. And kiss him good-bye...and find a more honest 23-year-old!

Just kidding…kinda.

Editor's Note: This same douchey guy by the name of Jackson Stairrett Shappy (lame name, I know) or Jackson Stairrett has tried to enter my life several times since this initial post years ago. He's a certifiable sociopath with stalker-like tendencies. Apparently his mother never wanted him (and can you blame her?) so he lives to get back at women by manipulating and lying to them. One of the women he screwed over created a Facebook page dedicated to outing him by displaying his countless lies along with his cock shots (really? Do men ever think that works?)

So apparently the shelf life of a psycho named Jackson Stairett Shappy is much longer than I'd anticipate.


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