Trent hit me up online a few weeks ago and has been aggressively pursuing me until I finally agreed—against my better judgment—to invite him over tonight. Don’t get me wrong: I have no complaint about a sexy, muscular jock wanting to climb into my bed; but I’m a little wary about our difference in age. I just celebrated my forty-seventh birthday last week, making me 24 years older than Trent.
He shows up at my door with a hint of a smirk on his scruffy face, his hazel eyes dancing as he introduces himself. At 5’10” he is only a few inches shorter than me but his lean, athletic body makes me feel like a giant in comparison. He pats me on the arm like an old friend and glances around my living room before finally looking up at me. This boy is fucking beautiful, yet oddly masculine for someone so young. Continue reading