The Art of Expertise

Just recently, someone, out to injure my pride, attacked me in the only possible way they could think of. They brought up my age. The truth is, I have a few years on her. Just a few (ahem).

You know, it never occurred to me to change my age in anyway before; whether it be higher or lower. That was until I read a half serious post on a local thread regarding escorts and their posting lingo. Alongside each poster’s stated age was an alternate value, of notably lesser years. This, obviously, to accommodate for the little white fudges of the truth that escorts were known for making. 

I was mortified to discover that women using my birthdate were actually another decade older. That would make me in my forties! FOR SHAME!

I immediately whacked four years off of my a birthdate. And, suddenly, I became a 35 year old. Truthfully, I think I might have accidentally (ALWAYS) been off about two years, every once in awhile. (Hmmm. Makes me wanna reread that list.)

Then, that would mean that, this Thursday, I will be turning the grandiose age of 40. My… That’s a lot of mileage. Or… Would you just chalk that up to experience? You see, because I know the difference. Without experience, there can be no precision.

As women, we definitely prefer experience, I’d say, in most situations. Any woman that chooses an inexperienced man is likely to have ulterior motives.

We want an interested gentleman to know what he’s doing AND be good at it. We would know this, because he would have done it before. As badly as I want to disagree with this statement, I can’t. 

That whole scenario about a woman wanting to train her man… I call BULLSHIT on that right now! Where are those overly enthusiastic women at? I’d bet ya, not from the South.

But who doesn’t want a newer, younger model? One that can go further. Run faster. Jump higher.

Me! That’s who. How the fuck will I keep up with that mother fucker? Just sayin. I’ve changed over time. I’m much more laid back. A little more into the buildup, rather than the climax. 

The expertise of an experienced lover is priceless in my book. You might be able to work a few years off, but there’s no way I’d trade age for experience. There is no comparison.

And you wouldn’t believe the things that have gotten better with trial and error. One can actually hone a skill, over time, almost to perfection. Of course, if you leave your own little spin on, maybe one day they’ll name it after you. Who doesn’t want to be so good at something that they’re known for it?

Once, I was schooling a few young friends about the joys of turning 30, when two of my older confidants began to chuckle. When I inquired, I was told, “If you think the thirties are good, just wait till you’re 40.”

Well, the wait is over. I can only hope that what they said is true, because tomorrow is my birthday. They were both grinning ear-to-ear when they said it. That’s enough for me.

Cheers, friends!


4 Replies to “The Art of Expertise”

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