“Fortysomethings and Fresh Meat”
A couple of nights ago, like pretty much every day for about a month now, I was doing nothing on the couch after a hard day’s work, searching for any kind of inspiration to keep up with my writing and face the sad autumn that, like every year, swept away the long warm summer days in a flash. A buddy of mine, a fellow troublemaker, sends me a message: “Take a look at this and have a laugh.” I open the link attached to the message and find myself on a well-known forum mostly frequented by punters, so I read the title of the post which basically says: “In your opinion, which is the best country to find young legal-age girls interested in forty-somethings?”.. I read some of the messages written by the users and realize that many live off prejudices, others pose as seasoned latin lovers and still others boast about trips around the world and conquests everywhere (but from what they write, they really give the impression of never having moved their ass from the unfortunate Italian boot (meaning Italy).). I keep reading and don’t know whether to laugh or feel sad at such nonsense. I’m almost tempted to answer the question in my own way, but in the end, I decide it’s probably not worth it and let the matter drop…
Until Today.
Tonight, after discussing with the aforementioned “colleague” about upcoming winter banging plans, and since funds are running low and satisfying the urge of sex will require dedicating a bit more time to non-professionals, reminiscing about the good old days, we also revisited the trivial yet twisted question posed in that discussion. So, without further ado, here’s my take in response to the question: “What’s the best country to find young legal-age girls interested in forty-somethings?”
The answer, all too obvious for anyone not living with blinders on, is: “None.”
To be honest, it’s a question I’ve heard many times from many people, and the conclusions of the average Italian guy are almost always the same: “It’s easier in poorer countries” – “In Asia it’s normal for twenty-year-olds to pair up with much older men!” – “With Latinas it’s impossible, unless you’re rich, they only care about money!” – “Girls from the East don’t really care about age difference or looks, as long as you’re generous and treat them like princesses, even models twenty years younger will give it to you without problems…” – “Ah, I’ve always had much younger girlfriends in Thailand, eh”…
Okay, okay… Granted, in certain cases, for various reasons and situations, some of these statements might be true for some people, but in most cases they’re just banal clichés and prejudices fueled by the ignorance that lives in each of the many chronic losers around the world. But since, for better or worse, I too am Italian, I’m specifically addressing my fellow countrymen. But not only them.
You should stop once and for all fixating on “What’s the best country for…”. Instead, if you can’t find a Girl either in Italy or abroad (and by Girl I mean someone to have sex with, not a girlfriend), you should seriously look in the mirror and ask yourself: “Where am I going wrong?”. Obviously, I don’t have the authority to judge others by intuition, nor do I have the truth in my pocket, but since we’re on the topic, I can tell you that if you’re around forty and you like twenty-somethings (let’s say between 23 and 30 to make it somewhat plausible), some of the most common mistakes men make, in my opinion, are the following:
1 – Wrong age target compared to your own traits/possibilities. (If you’re forty but clearly look like forty-five, it’s pointless to try to win over a fresh twenty-year-old; instead, aim for women in their thirties. They might not be the first choice, but the level of difficulty will be significantly lower for you. And if you have money to blow on flashy cars and expensive gifts, forget about ordinary young girls and go for the professionals— with the right pay, they’ll give you far greater satisfaction, and on top of that, you won’t have to deal with the inevitable side effects of a bad breakup from either side, which is no small matter.)
2 – Ignorance, cultural and/or language gaps. (Do you struggle with subjunctives even when speaking your native language? Do you know by heart the names of the football players in the English league, but if someone asks you to point out London on a map it takes you five minutes to find it? Are you convinced that Japanese girls are all like the anime characters you watched as a kid, that Korean girls are all short, flat, and submissive, or that Chinese girls all speak exactly the same language? Do you think the Spanish word Embarazada means embarrassed? The most interesting book you’ve read is Mo je faccio er cucchiaio (written by Francesco Totti, the italian football player), your favorite TV show is Le Iene, and you believe Barbara D’Urso (an old italian tv host for bored housewives) is an admirable figure? A Brazilian girl invites you to her place for Feijoada, and you pull out condoms? You approach a beautiful brunette and she greets you with Salām, but with a dumbfounded look you reply Ham? Are you convinced Italians are appreciated, respected, and admired everywhere around the globe? Well… maybe it’s time you start asking yourself why you can’t interact with girls the way you want.)
3– Insufficient, uninteresting, excessively extravagant or ridiculously anonymous appearance (often related to point number 1). If you have a hairy back, an overflowing belly, if you look like accountant Ugo Fantozzi or his colleague Filini, if you dress like one of the mannequins from one of the thousand H&M stores, or if you try to imitate Johnny Depp’s style but You Are Not Him, if you get turned away at club entrances and wonder why people he looks at you funny when you walk around at night wearing bermuda shorts with sandals and socks pulled up to your armpits… You should probably rethink your choices a bit and maybe get some advice from someone — maybe a female friend, assuming you have one capable of performing miracles.
4– Many guys look for and expect to find a serious and faithful girlfriend, a ‘good girl’ who doesn’t sleep with the first guy she meets — but who’s supposed to give it up to them on the first date, ass included, ‘Otherwise it means she’s not in love…” (And yet everyone should know that, with rare exceptions, the rule is: either you’re looking for an easy lay, or you’re looking for a serious, long-term, faithful girlfriend. You can’t have both without ending up, at the very least, being cheated on within a couple of weeks. In any case, if a girl sleeps with you on the first date, it doesn’t mean anything — it could just be a one-night stand or it could turn into the most serious relationship of your life despite everything. But even that depends almost entirely on you, and certainly not on the country you’re in.)
5– Narrow-mindedness/poor ability to adapt to situations (conceptually comparable to, and often complementary to, points 1 and 2). You can’t expect to travel around the world and interact with local girls without knowing anything about their culture, their customs, their food, their language — just like you can’t expect to behave everywhere as if you were in your hometown, judging everyone who doesn’t act like you as ‘weird.’ And you can’t just eat pasta all the time — or whatever your national dish is — without trying the local cuisine wherever you are, and you definitely can’t show up at a nightclub full of university students dressed like you’re going to an English waltz competition — or walk into a fancy restaurant wearing a Metallica T-shirt. Simple gestures, extremely intuitive concepts, self-evident truths. Yet, apparently, not everyone manages to grasp such obvious things…
Of course, it’s impossible to take every single case into account, and the few lines written above are mostly just a summary of the most common and foolish behaviors that, unfortunately, are still way too easy to observe all over the world. But it’s only fair to admit that Italians (’cause, much ti my regret, i’m italian) are by no means the only ones guilty of such colossal nonsense. Anyway, just to clarify things a bit (or maybe not), here’s a handful of examples — somewhere between serious and tongue-in-cheek — all strictly made up except for one, showing just how strange the world of forty-somethings chasing much younger girls can be.
- _”My name is Ernesto, I’m 40 years old, happily divorced and childless. I speak five languages, have lived traveling around half the world, and I’m still doing it. Physically, I’m a normal forty-year-old man—I look my age, I take care of my appearance, but I have never set foot in a gym and haven’t done any sports for at least twenty years. I drive small cars or big scooters because I’m not interested in luxury cars, and I find motorcycles too dangerous. At home, I live in a modest apartment; abroad, I stay in low-cost hotels or manage in hostels because I like adventure. I usually dress randomly, preferring comfort over fashion, and I like eating where it’s cheap—I don’t want to waste money on things I consider unnecessary. I believe I’m a sociable person and have the right topics to start interesting conversations, yet I can never seem to attract women’s attention, especially I have serious difficulties finding an excuse to approach girls much younger than me, particularly twenty-somethings or under-30s in general, so I can’t show my qualities and miss almost all the good opportunities.” (N.B.: I deliberately did not state whether the person in question is financially well-off or not, because in this specific case, if he doesn’t flaunt his potential wealth, the first impression is the same—and it’s well known that first impressions can be very important in certain situations.)
- _”My name is Gianluigimariagioele (typical noble name made up of multiple given names), I’m 40 years old, single, and I look pretty average for my age—slightly balder than when I was in my twenties, a bit of a belly, and a few extra kilos because I like good food. But I’m not obese, just well-fed, or at least that’s what my mother always says. I speak Italian, but I’m not great with the subjunctive; however, I don’t really care because people understand me anyway. I like driving my BMW X6; I like comfort, and since I’m a bit short, it also lets me look down on others. When I go dancing, though, I take my 911 out of the garage of my countryside villa, even if those three kilometers of dirt road through my family’s vineyard before reaching the main road aren’t exactly ideal. But the girls always say it’s a nice place, so I don’t complain.
I’ve been on vacation to several places, mostly tourist resorts or luxury hotels in exotic locations recommended by travel agencies, but I’ve never been to that club in Kodaira where my friend Gianni, who lived in Tokyo for a while, used to pick up Korean university students. However, I posted tons of photos on Facebook from those ten days of guided tours in Dubai, and my Facebook friends gave a lot of likes; some even offered to come with me on the next trip when I said I’d pay for everything. I guess she finds me funny and attractive.
But it’s not the first time a girl has accepted my invitation to go out. Even in clubs, at the usual table with friends, between one bottle of champagne and another, it often happens that a girl agrees to come out with me, and when I suggest taking a ride in the Porsche, they never say no. I know I’m an attractive guy—it’s true because every time I manage to bring a girl home, she usually sticks to me like glue. The last one was a 24-year-old Russian girl. She didn’t speak our language very well, but the night I met her at the club, we understood each other right away, and she laughed at my jokes between drinks, even when I jokingly told her my Porsche was worth more than her apartment. But you know, I’m very charming.
Then at some point, she asked me for the time. I looked at my Daytona, and it wasn’t even two o’clock, but she asked if we could leave because she wanted to be alone with me. In the end, I found her naked in my bed the next morning and the morning after without leaving the house, and she said she loved me after spending just one weekend with me. She works as a waitress in a lap dance club, but she seems like a good girl—very affectionate and sweet. I told her she was beautiful but that I didn’t want a relationship, and when I took the X6 out of the garage to take her home, she almost didn’t want to leave. I think it was a big heartbreak for her, and after I broke her heart with those words, she started saying incomprehensible things in her language. She seemed almost angry, but it’s understandable—I think she really fell in love, poor thing.
Ah, what can I do to women? Who knows…”
- _”Hey there, everyone! My name’s Franco, but my friends call me Rocco. I’m a 40-year-old guy who’s been practicing martial arts since I was 15, and I’ve never stopped. When I was younger, I spent a few years in Thailand while I was into Muay Thai. I had a local girlfriend there, but I was young and later found out she was seeing other guys for money. Still, I always went to bed early and trained in the morning, so I had no idea.
Nowadays, I focus more on swimming and especially bodybuilding to stay in shape. My body is a temple, and I take good care of it. I’m vegan, don’t smoke, and only have a beer occasionally. Usually, I get around town by bike. I have a dog, a bulldog named Rodolfo. Yeah, I know, he’s funny-looking, but I couldn’t live without him—he’s my best friend.
Friends and colleagues call me “Rocco” (like Rocco Siffredi, the famous porn actor) I know, I already said that, but Rocco isn’t my real name. I like to say this because there’s a rumor that guys with muscles have small… well, you know. Anyway, they call me Rocco—I don’t know if I’m making myself clear.
I work as a trainer at a popular gym downtown, frequented by university girls, lap dancers, bored housewives, and women insecure about their bodies looking for aesthetic improvements and, mostly, self-esteem and approval. Often, some horny young girls start chatting me up; some get close pretending they don’t know how to do the exercises and try everything to get some physical contact. Sometimes I go along, sometimes I don’t because some of them are just ugly.
In the last five years, since my last girlfriend left me after catching me with another woman, I’ve probably brought home about a hundred different girls. Many of them I never saw again because they were only passing through town for a few months or a year or two; others stopped coming to the gym but I sometimes run into them around town and they say hi. But I’ve never had a relationship lasting more than a couple of weeks because they never take me seriously—maybe because at the gym I try to be nice to everyone, and girls often tend to touch me here and there, even if just jokingly.
I’ve even gone out for pizza with some married women, but in the end, it’s always the same story: they want me to take them home and then they give me head to get fucked like sluts before going back to their husbands. Gross. But that’s fine by me—I have fun and keep the clients happy. After all, the pay’s good and I like the job.
With twenty-somethings, it’s a whole different story. You can tell right away some of them would jump on you, but they never do because they’re decent girls. With those, I usually just act normal or sometimes tease them indirectly to have a laugh at their expense with my colleagues. With the more uninhibited ones, though, I have a lot of fun. You can spot them from a mile away—they’re dripping with desire and looking for someone to fuck them like there’s no tomorrow. And modestly, that’s something I’m good at.
Rarely have I taken someone out to dinner and paid for it. Often, dinner, lunch, or pizza is offered to me because they invite me, but from time to time I suggest splitting the bill or paying for it myself, just so I don’t feel guilty.
Once, I went on vacation for a week with a twenty-year-old girl. Technically, she could have been my daughter, but she was damn hot and had invited me to her house, or rather villa, by the sea because her parents were on a cruise somewhere, I don’t know where. It was fun, but I never really felt comfortable in that situation. Maybe in a few years I’ll look for a decent girl again, meanwhile as long as I can I have fun with horny chicks and wait for the right one. Anyway, for those who don’t know, my friends call me Rocco…”
- _”Hey there, I can’t tell you my name because I’m married and I’m afraid my wife will find out. If she catches me cheating, she’ll ask for a divorce and leave me penniless… I’m about forty years old, but I can’t tell you my exact age to avoid suspicion, you know, I have a wife and… Oh sorry, did I already say that? Forgive me, but I’m anxious because if she finds out I’m cheating, she’ll leave me and my world will collapse; I worked hard to find a good woman and start a family, and anyway I love her, we’re a happily married couple. We see each other rarely, she often gets home around ten at night because she’s always busy at the shop, I get up at seven in the morning to go to work and by midnight I’m in bed, but she often falls asleep on the couch because she can’t fall asleep in bed. So, we see each other about two hours a day minus the time she takes to shower, remove her makeup, and put on pajamas, but luckily we are a happy couple, in fact we never argue. On Sundays, however, we spend the day together, we often go have lunch at her parents’ or my mother comes to keep us company, mostly for the baby because he’s with her every day and misses her immediately. Sometimes after lunch she takes him for a walk and we take the chance to have sex, but we don’t always manage to do it well because nowadays I need some time to finish with my wife; honestly, I have to admit that ten years ago she was much more attractive than now, but let’s say every now and then we manage a quickie on Sundays, that’s it. On Saturdays, though, I can dedicate myself to my real passion, women under 30, but only in the afternoon because my wife goes to the shop at ten in the morning and closes at eight in the evening, so I have to be home early to prepare dinner and first I have to pick up the baby from my mother’s; but I almost always have an entire afternoon free once a week. Sure, sometimes I also have to do the grocery shopping, but it’s at the supermarket that I often find young moms alone with their kids in tow, and it’s easy to strike up a conversation with them, then you know, one thing leads to another… Once I met a twenty-eight-year-old mom with whom, after a month of shopping together, I managed to secretly meet up under the excuse that I had to help a friend fix a motorcycle at another friend’s house. Actually, I met secretly with this mom and we fucked like crazy in the car for a couple of hours, then a call came from her husband who had been looking for her from his friend who was supposed to back her up and from the tone of the call I think a big mess happened. I never saw her again after that, and she never got in touch. Too bad, she wasn’t bad at all. Anyway, among my friends there’s also a womanizer who a few years ago invited me to follow him with two other guys our age to a place he frequents: “Come with me if you want to fuck good stuff without worries! What good are rushed moms in a car with anxiety!” he said. …And I probably shouldn’t say this because I’m happily married, but… he was right. Of course, it’s not easy to find a way to get back to that place where for less than a hundred euros you fuck girls that look like they came out of a selection for showgirls or a porn movie, but the few times I went I wanted to tell my wife to go to hell and have a wild time. But if I did, she’d probably take the house too, so I keep hoping to find another under-30 woman on Saturdays at the supermarket, even though honestly I’d really like to have that new girl who works in the office where I work, but I’m happily married and it would be too risky with her… And besides, I love my wife, and I’m sure she has always been faithful to me. …Actually, if I think about it, I almost feel guilty because she would never do such a thing. I’m really a lucky man.
- _”Hello Travelers! I’m Il Redattore (means the Editor), friends call me S. something and maybe some of you know me by one of the other pseudonyms I sometimes use here and there. Soon I’ll be 40, in just a little over six months. As I’ve always said, “I’m not handsome, but no one’s ever called me ugly.” Apart from that, I was almost married for about seven years (I once broke a mirror, but I didn’t think the bad luck would be so severe), never faithful, partly by nature and partly because I get tired quickly of the same pussy, even if good. Ten years ago I went for the first time to a German FKK club, and between us, I never really left that place. I cheated on my poor long-time ex in every possible way: casual quickies, a secret affair that lasted a couple of years, once with an old ex of mine, another time with her friend who was supposedly a friend but not really, a work colleague recently dumped by her boyfriend, and a few escorts when I didn’t have anything better at hand; once on a cruise I left her in the cabin because she had a bit of seasickness and had taken some pills to sleep, so I went back alone to the casino because it was early, and an hour later I was in the cabin of a half-drunk Spanish woman who, after winning some money on the slot machine next door, said I brought her luck and offered me a blowjob as thanks; then since I was there, I went further—at least until her friend came back, but that’s another story… Despite everything, although I never really lacked opportunities, after being at that Sauna Club in Germany I understood that was the way to go—a comfortable, practical path, full of curves but only pleasant curves, a path to follow without worries, hassle, paranoia, or side effects. After leaving that ex to her fate, I re-entered for a short but intense period into a whirlwind of horny vulvas that seemed to fall from the sky; it had been years since I had such freedom of movement, and the possibility of grabbing every chance made me euphoric, stunned, sated, and satisfied to the point I almost forgot those places called FKK that had so upset my already messy sex life. From twenties to forties, showgirls, chubby women, married, single, divorced, mothers, girlfriends, friends’ exes, ex’s friends, strangers, lovers, I fucked them all in those two years of wild revelry; yet almost every one of them carried problems—big or small, theirs or others’, emotionally involving or not, silly issues, long leftovers, pseudo-loves, and fights at the end of a little story. I remember that shortly after leaving her, the almost-wife came back with a trivial excuse, and I took advantage of it for one night; after all, she knew well how to handle the royal bird, and the fact she was no longer the one who took care of the house full-time already made her more interesting. Anyway, fifteen days later I was on the other side of the ocean, but that’s another story… The fact is that meanwhile those sporadic visits to the infamous FKK had planted the seed of reason in me; it was only a matter of time before it sprouted, the illumination was just around the corner, and ultimate wisdom was ready to manifest itself. Today, on the threshold of forty, I can say that I have no problem sleeping with a twenty-year-old; on the contrary, from my current point of view, I believe it is one of the easiest and least demanding things a forty-year-old can do. But to avoid misunderstanding these statements and to better understand my apparently senseless words, you should free yourselves from those chains that bind you to the prejudices about love, sex, feelings, and women with which you have grown up.
…I remember exactly the moment when I saw the light, and if you’ll have just a bit more patience, I’ll be happy to tell you about it in the next episode, maybe without going too much into useless details—or maybe not.…” ^^
