Gay Wisdom
I’m at lunch with Carlos. After I’ve filled him in on all the details of the affair I’m having with my twenty-one-year-old intern, he claps and says, “Finally, my straight married friend gets laid. Well, congratulations.”
I say, “Thanks.”
He says, “And you’re doing okay with the guilt?”
I say, “Yeah, that’s surprisingly easy to deal with. I just think about Alyna refusing to fuck, or not being into fucking anymore, and I can rationalize away the guilt pretty easily.”
He says, “That’s good. You have to get laid.”
I say, “Actually the weirdest thing about all this is that I’ll sometimes question why this girl’s fucking me at all, like what she finds attractive about me.”
He says, “You’re insecure? What a fucking pussy.”
I say, “It’s not insecurity. It’s just questioning the whole thing, I guess. Does she really like me or not? You know?”
He says, “You’re a pussy. But I’ll break it down for you anyway. You said it yourself, when you told me she said she wanted a mature guy. You’re mature. The guys she’s used to don’t have jobs, don’t have money—”
I say, “Don’t have a wife and kids.”
He says, “You dumb fuck, that only makes you more attractive. Her little twenty-one-year-old girl brain doesn’t know why that shit’s attractive to her, but it is. She’s biologically programmed to find it attractive. Her sole function as an organism on this planet is to find a guy to breed with who can provide for her offspring. Granted, the guys her age are hotter, in better shape, just more fucking virile all around—”
“Thanks.”
“Well, they are. They can probably fuck better. Maybe not eat pussy better. You probably know better technique from experience. The point is, you’ve got something they don’t: You’ve proven you can provide for a wife and kids, because you’re fucking doing it. And deep down, under all of the layers of bullshit that I can only imagine you have to deal with when you fuck a girl that young, her inner self recognizes that you’re a valuable biological choice. That’s what she finds attractive about you. That’s why she’s fucking you.”
“I guess that’s not so bad.”
“Not so bad? What did you think she was attracted to, how cool you are? The car you drive? Your fucking haircut?” He laughs.
“I don’t know. Not how cool I am, I guess. Maybe something having to do with my personality and not just my marriage status.”
“Yeah, I’m sure she can hang out with you and not want to hang herself, but trust me—you’re not cool to her. You’re old. You’re interesting and you’re more established than the guys she normally fucks. You should be happy about this shit. You’re fucking a hot piece of twenty-one-year-old ass. That’s a nice thing.”
“Have you ever done anything like this?”
“Fuck a twenty-one-year-old?”
“Yeah.”
“Uh . . . are you kidding? Tedward and I don’t usually fuck anyone over twenty-one. So, yeah, I’ve done it. A lot.”
“Okay, then.”
“You don’t have to be jealous. You just have to like dick and you could be doing it, too.”
“And there’s the trade-off.”
The rest of the conversation is about nothing important, as our conversations usually are. Carlos tells me a little bit about his wedding and we get the check. When I get back to the office I look at Holly from my desk. I wonder if Carlos is right about why she fucks me—that I just represent a way to satisfy some primal urge that every girl has, that she has no actual interest in me as a person. She turns around and catches me looking at her. She smiles, turns back to her desk, and types something on her phone. My phone vibrates. I look down to see she has sent me a text message that reads, “Your hot.” I overlook the spelling mistake and convince myself that Carlos is not entirely correct.