by Deanna Ashford
What is it about young men I like so much? Is it the taut lithe physique, the smooth skin, the sparkling eyes or that assured arrogance of youth? The thought of those firm young thighs, their ability for sexual endurance. Mind you it doesn’t happen all the time but sometimes I see a young guy and I think Wow! The sexual surge is powerful, there’s no doubt about that, but there is a small wee voice in my head saying “but you are old enough to be his mum!” (Maybe a very young mum, I hasten to add, I don’t like to think I’m that old yet.) Then the devil on my other shoulder says “what the hell, he is so, so tasty.”
It seems a long, long time since I celebrated my seventeenth birthday but I can definitely remember at the time I really only fancied older guys. I thought that young men of my age were a little crass and immature, and to go out with someone older was considered the height of sophistication. Even when I reached my twenties I still preferred older guys. Maybe I was a tad materialistic because I definitely preferred my boyfriends to be older, more sophisticated and to of course have a decent job, a car and all the other necessary accoutrements which made dating them even more enjoyable. On reflection I suppose it is as sort of basic survival instinct being attracted to males who are bigger, stronger and obviously more important.
But as I’ve grown older I have found that my outlook has been turned totally upside down. Who cares if they don't have any money: marriage and settling down with them is not on my agenda – it is beauty and sexual charisma I am after. I’m definitely attracted to younger men and oddly enough the older I get the younger the men I fancy seem to become. There is a limit of course beneath which no sane person would stray but fortunately I haven’t reached it just yet.
Should this bother me? Goodness no! Where’s the fun in that?
After all society has always made it acceptable for young women to be attracted to much older men. Centuries ago young girls in their early teens were forced to marry men way older than themselves, sometimes old enough to be their grandfathers and no one saw anything wrong with that. Even today trophy wives aren’t exactly frowned upon. Look at Hugh Heffner, he is 81 years old and yet he has three girlfriends - all young blonde bimbos in their early twenties. And he claims that he sleeps with them all. Perhaps sleep is the operative word here, most 81 year olds I know drop off at a moments notice!
Yet when Demi Moore, who is now 45, married Aston Kutcher a young man 15 years younger everyone was surprised and a little shocked. In essence she was just about old enough to be his mother. Then there is Joan Collins whose husband, Percy, is 32 years younger than her.
I wrote of an encounter between a younger man and an older woman in my book Doctor’s Orders.
Colin is a nurse in his early thirties and Zara is a well know actress a good 15 years older than him.
Zara’s skin was a pale ivory and blemish free, while her body was just perfect: curvy, not stick thin like most of the actresses Colin had come across since working here. She looked more like a thirty year old than a woman fast approaching fifty.
Colin tried not to think of her in a sexual way, but he found it far from easy, as he poured the sweet smelling oil on her back and started to massage her with long, smooth strokes.
‘That feels nice.’ Zara pillowed her head on her folded arms.
‘Relax, think of nothing,’ Colin said, so very conscious that he was touching a woman he had adored for years. A hungry ache of longing formed deep in the pit of his belly, and no matter how hard he tried, it couldn’t be totally ignored. Her full breasts were compressed by her weight, and they spilled enticingly out of the sides of her body. As Colin slid his hands up the sides of her back, his fingers brushed the soft curves. He wanted to roll her over, cup them in his hands and cover them with gentle kisses. His heartbeat quickened at the thought as life blood flooded his groin. His cock hardened – God, how he wanted this woman.
Zara's bottom was was pert and tight, with no sign of softness or dimpling - a testament to the time she spent working out in the gym. Colin dug his fingers into her gluteus muscles, kneading and squeezing. The movements pulled apart the cheeks of her buttocks and he caught a glimpse of her rosy brown anus. Aroused by the delicious sight, he tried hard to concentrate on the massage, sliding his hands lower to stroke her legs.
She gave a soft appreciative sigh and her legs rolled open just a little. Colin's fingers, slick with oil, slid between her thighs, just brushing her dark blonde curl. He felt her shiver and was so tempted to proceed further; to mesh his fingers in the silky pelt, dip them inside the lips of her sex and seek out the throbbing heat of her quim.
I have friends who taken a fancy to one of their son’s young friends and felt mortified that they feel that way. Fortunately that hasn’t happened to me yet, I’m happy to ignore the young men coming to my door and traipsing up to my son’s room, all dressed the same in baggy jeans and tattered ‘T’ shirts. It seems to me that it is far easier, and probably far safer, to lust after a young guy who is totally unreachable.
In the past I’ve always gone for muscular men, the prime example being Sawyer from Lost, who is the perfect on-screen bad boy. His sultry glances and arrogant attitude make you wonder just how good he’d be in bed. Spectacular I’d guess if his wicked smiles are anything to go by. He’s bad, so very bad, and that makes him far more attractive than good doctor Jack. Nevertheless, there is no way I could class Sawyer in the ‘old enough to be his mother’ category. He’s 38 and way to old, but he is still gorgeous enough for a mention (This is my post!)
It is the sweeter, younger flesh, I’m attracted to like the erstwhile elf Orlando Bloom. Thousands of females fell for the cool blonde innocence of Legolas wondering what it would be like to bed such an enigmatic creature. Then we saw the real
Portia Da Costa also admits to fancying a young man. I quote “Professor Charles Eppes as played by David Krumholtz in Numbers. He’s beautiful, quirky and a genius beyond his years. He’s young enough to be my son but my feelings are far from maternal!
Since my interest in