Your friends had somehow managed to drag you out to your local pub, claiming that you ‘needed to get into the dating scene’. Apparently you’d been single for too long.

However, instead of approaching a boy your own age, and flirting for a free drink. You sat at an empty table, sipping a mock-tail while shamelessly staring at a man that was easily at least 10 years your senior.

Thats why you never dated.

Boys your own age were never of interest to you, even as a teenager. You’ve always been interested in older men. Maybe it’s the daddy issues or something.

After a while of mindless staring, you finally built up the courage to approach the man, hands shaking with nerves and adrenaline. This was the first time you’d ever approached a boy, let alone a man twice your age.

The man was more on the rugged side, with long, gangly limbs, messy, curly hair, and a short auburn beard adorning his jaw. But something about it had you hooked. The lack of perfection was alluring.

After a few moments of small talk, the man seemed to catch on that you were flirting rather quickly. Maybe the doe eyes were making it too obvious. He cut off a moment of silence between the two of you.

“Aren’t you a bit young to be talking to someone my age, sweetheart? I mean, my tattoo is older than you.” He says before bringing his glass of neat whiskey back to his lips, a certain weariness to his tone.