Two weeks ago I wrote about my recent surge in sexual partners since my singledom hit a year ago. One vital detail I failed to include about said surge is that the men whose lips have smooched my privates (real technical terminology I learned from scientist doctors) over this time period have, for the most part, been younger than me.

Why is this a vital detail? Don’t people copulate with folks who are older and/or younger than them on the regular and isn’t your life story no longer interesting to me? Ouch, reader. You got some serious attitude and some valid questions.

Several of my friends have the outlook that age is irrelevant when it comes to romance. And just to clarify, the above mentioned adult friends are only engaging in intercourse with other consenting adult friends. (Seriously creepy factor eliminated!) To them it’s totally cool for a 26-year-old to get their bootylicious thang on with a 42-year-old. There ain’t no problem with that. If you’re into it and they’re into it then I’m into it (FYI I’m SUPER into it. It being you and boning. Please share your boning stories with me via Instagram).

But for moi, this was out of the ordinary since the only three men I had intercoursed had all been sentient beings on this Earth for longer than me. Was I purposely seeking out older men in order to obey gross, crappy gender conventions? Not consciously, but subconsciously? A guaranteed possibility. Men beyond my years were always more alluring to me and I couldn’t figure out why. Looking back I’m rather confident that “why” was patriarchal rules of heteronormative courtship ingrained within me. Those rules influenced my preference of boyfriend material without me even realizing it. This is often how that sneaky bastard—the patriarchy—wreaks havoc on the unsuspecting world. In terrible, mysterious, “why?”-asking ways.

See, when I was a girl in my early adulthood and I would see a straight couple, and the female was older than the male, I would ask, “What is WRONG with HER? Why is she with HIM? To sink to that level she must be a weirdo and like a satanic cult leader and like enjoys Two and a Half Men?” This type of reaction makes me want to knock Past Jess right on her big idiot noggin. Instead of assuming the woman is damaged goods and she can only attract the youth of the world because of that, why didn’t I instead assume she was simply in love with a PERSON whose AGE DOES NOT FUCKING MATTER? Worst part is I know I wouldn’t have asked the same question if the gender roles had been reversed. Which is just… yikes.

I applied these same bullshit patriarchal rules to my own life. If a younger man flirted with me I would instantly rebuff his advances with a sassy comment like “Sorry, kiddo, but you’re too immature to sex ride this grown woman train” which upon reflection was unnecessarily sassy/strange/what is with that train woman metaphor that isn’t even a metaphor I’m just calling myself a train?

I was totally against the idea of dating “down” and for some reason I associated “down” with “younger,” which is rather ridiculous considering that I was “younger in age” than my first three boinkmates, so by that definition they had all dated “down” when choosing me. I was calling myself shit with every older man I banged and I didn’t even know it. In my eyes, younger humans were uninformed, unsophisticated, un-cunnilingus-adept juveniles who would prefer to listen to their ignorant music of the rap and frolic with their half-witted games of the video than learn to respect a ripened madame! Basically, I was a cranky 85-year-old grandmother, who feared young sirs would steal her rolled pennies to purchase bottles of cherry COCAINE.

I was acting ageist and I lived by stereotypes that were totally inaccurate. An individual who has taken thirty-two trips around the sun does not automatically mean they are cultured or even that they pay their own cell phone bill. And a person who has taken fewer trips is not automatically uncultured or unaware of the 90s perfection that is Devon Sawa (a cultural icon who I condescendingly assumed my young lovas hadn’t heard of since they were literally BORN IN THE 90S LIKE WHAT IS THAT EVEN?).

But then my backwards views changed. After forming an attraction to a guy in his early, early, early (DID I SAY EARLY THOUGH?) twenties, and resisting admitting interest in him for weeks due to my preconceptions about his lack of knowledge of the cinematic classic Casper (which he was both aware of and could quote FTW), I broke my rules and bedded the fella. What inspired me to do so? 1. I hadn’t had a non-vibrator orgasm in months. 2. He was tenacious 3. I stumbled upon a clip from How Stella Got her Groove Back and I was feeling POWERFUL.

But as soon as I tapped that bottom I felt immediate regret. “What have I done?” I thought, “I defiled this innocent boy who has literally slept with twice the amount of people that I have. I broke my rules. My ageist, stupid patriarchal rules.” I promised myself to never do it again and proceeded to immediately have sex with him once more. “That’s it forever,” I vowed, and then he went down on me. “That doesn’t count?” I wondered and then I went down on him. This repeated for several hours.

Once I calmed down and the nincompoop part of my brain chilled the fuck out I realized that this “problem” I had with the current situation of “younger nude dude near me” was a construction and not a problem at all. I was making it a problem. I was attracted to him. He was attracted to me. If he was into it and I was into it then I was into it.

Of course age can be a factor to consider in relationships if you’re looking for something long-term. But I don’t want a long-term relationship so that wasn’t a foreseeable issue. All I wanted was casual bare-skinned good times with casual bare-skinned good guys. So, who the hell cares what their wrinkle count was? Why was I so nervous about something that others perceived as par for the course? I was panicked I would be judged for it. That strangers would look at me and think “What is WRONG with that clearly satanic cult leader and her lil baby man bride?”

I rapidly got over that worry however when the orgasms began rolling in. I soon realized that society’s obsession with age shouldn’t influence my obsession with climaxing. Plus, all of the fresh guys I’ve copulated with have been intelligent, independent, and had varied levels of sexual skills (including quality young oral sex providers in between the not interested in doing it/dead to me ones).

I realized that I had been shutting out an entire group of people who had faces capable of smooching my privates (bringing it full circle with that scientist doctor terminology). I put aside worrying about what people I don’t know were thinking about me and I chose instead to own my sexuality, own getting busy with younger men, and own my status as a hot vixen who bewitches early early early twenties gentlemen with her wisdom of Devon Sawa. And there ain’t no problem with that.