I get on far too well with Older Men

I’ve realised something about myself recently.

I get on far too well with older men.

Not in an obvious way. It’s never loud or over the top. It’s always in the quieter moments… the way they carry themselves, the way they look at you without rushing, like they already know exactly what they’re doing.

I think that’s what gets me.

That calm confidence.

I always start off the same way. Sweet, polite, just talking. Nothing too much. Nothing you could really question.

And then something shifts.

It’s hard to explain exactly when it happens. Sometimes it’s something small, the way he replies, the way he holds a conversation, the way he doesn’t try too hard.

That’s usually when I stop being quite so well-behaved.

I get a little more curious. A little more playful. A little more aware of the things I probably shouldn’t be thinking about… but am anyway.

I think I enjoy that part more than I should.

That quiet moment where everything still looks innocent on the surface… but underneath it feels like something else entirely.