Betty Dodson with Carlin Ross

Better Orgasms. Better World.

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Being 25 years old really offers no shame or secrecy. In fact, I’m expected to revel in my youth, and the presumptions made by being a twenty-something.

Actually, I’ve been having a case of the grownups, what with all the moving and making business plans and forecasting a future where I can do what I love and suffer a little for it – which is a pretty harmonious gig if you ask me.

Meanwhile, I’m surrounded by older gentlemen who have rocketed from their humble beginnings to the type of success that I long to procure. As some would say, if you want to achieve some sort of greatness, then you should always keep the company of those who best reflect your ideal accomplishments.

If you call me a gold digger or sugar baby, I’ll kick you. It’s not like that at all. Almost all of my attempts to be a sugar baby have failed anyway because I care less about gifts and more about items that most business people would appreciate: Money for the investment in new business ventures, massages, and the freedom to travel.

One gentleman hops from metropolis to metropolis, big and small, for some financially related career. It allows him to lead some life of leisure from time-to-time, with a house in the Hamptons and dalliances in South Beach. For a man in his 50s, I was surely impressed and immediately smitten by his vivacity. And yet, after a rather stormy session on my couch, his eyes shimmered wildly when I told him how I discovered his age, a secret he had kept since we met.

Of course, I asked him how old he was before that, to which he replied, “What do you think?”

“I already know,” I replied. “I just want to hear you say it.”

But he wouldn’t. He didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want me to think of him as this old guy, which he clearly wasn’t. But, nonetheless, we still don’t bring it up, which is weird for me because I find that its his most attractive feature, how well he wears his age.

Funny, most women just plain out lie while men make you guess, as if they already know how nice you’ll be about it. If I were a real bitch, I could go for the jugular because after a certain age most women feel like that too. And yet here we are, playing the guessing game.

Another potential client was rather timid with his telling me his age. He wanted me to take a gander, as if I’m a psychic. And I always wondered what was the point. Normally, guessing games lead to a big fun surprise that the guesser is thrilled to receive. Or the complete opposite – tragedy of some kind. Guessing someone’s age is as fruitless as watching paint dry. It’s a ring around the pole. It’s bullshit. Baby talk.

Come to think of it, even after I guessed he still wouldn’t tell me. What a waste of time!

As smart as these gentlemen are, they’re also rather oblivious. I’m young, yes. What else is new in their world? But, if I wanted a younger guy, I would go for the younger guy. In fact, I do. Hmmmmmmm young vigorous bodies at work. And I don’t go for the loud, golden labrador types that are just sloppy and too excited. Nope, I most often go for jaded assholes, stoners, types that are most likely on the cusp on their thirties epiphany, or they coast right on through it because, well, they’re so damn clever. And they’re so good in bed.

I’m rambling.

Anyway are my gentlemen callers suffering from Peter Pan syndrome? Ageless and dreamlike, also in a never ending state of emotional movement, whether it’s having different lovers, or secret ones…

In this sense, it’s different for these guys and I don’t know if my generation will experience something similar, although that need to be close to youth as an old man is not a new story. These guys in particular were married and had children before pursuing outside affairs (typically after divorce). Perhaps they’re making up for lost time.