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I remember the first time I tasted the forbidden fruit. It was a Saturday. The sun was shining, the Natty Light was ample, and the nostalgia was everywhere. This was last year, and I was back in my college town for a football weekend and had gained the affection of a young college coed. She was a cute, little brunette and I charmed the pants right off of her. Literally.
So, me and this little cutie did the no-pants dance that night. We were very responsible about everything, because the last thing I wanted to do was ruin this gal’s college experience with an unexpected pregnancy. Come on now, I’m a gentleman.
As we were wrapping up and putting our clothes back on, I noticed her class schedule hanging on the wall. Intro to Biology…Principles of Chemistry…shit. They were all freshman level courses. I’m 26, meaning she needed to be at least 20 for this to not be creepy. “So, how old are you?” I nonchalantly asked, hoping that she couldn’t sense that I was starting to freak out.
“I’m 18. Why?”
Oh, sweet Jesus. I had broken the golden rule of hooking up. A law as constant as gravity. I had broken the “half your age plus seven” rule.
I had always known about the “half your age plus seven” rule, but had never really needed to worry about it. Half my age plus seven was usually under the age of consent for the early part of my sexual enlightenment, so it disqualified the rule entirely until now. But here was this girl, a full two years younger than what would qualify as an appropriate sexual partner for myself, and I was petrified of the ramifications. I expected the police to break down the door and haul my sorry ass off to jail, where I’d spend the rest of my life paying for my crime of breaking an essential rule of consensual, adult passion.
This girl wasn’t even born in the same decade as me! My mind was racing and my head was spinning. Did I just take her virginity? Is she going to fall in love with me? Where’d she get such a good fake ID? Will I need a restraining order against her?
Immediately, I shifted the blame to her. This harlot of a teenager had tricked me into engaging in intercourse with her, causing me to break one of the male gender’s most sacred rules. It’s her fault she looks like a junior when she’s really just a few months removed from her high school graduation. Someone is pulling some sort of elaborate ruse on your boy.
After anger, the panic sets in. What damage might this do to my reputation? Shit. People are going to think I’m some sort of pervert who preys on naive, college freshmen. My legacy is going to be forever tarnished. I’m a predator. Every time I come back to campus, people will say, “Oh hey, there goes that guy that has sex with all of those teenagers. Perv.” What have I done?
The panic will soon subside and that’s when the shame begins to really eat away at you. Next thing you know, you’re losing sleep at night, taking three showers a day, and watching exclusively mature porn. No more “barely legal” for you, you sick bastard. MILFs only from now on. I’ve brought this on myself.
The shame will linger and eventually fade, as it often does. You can’t live with the mistake forever, because in the end, you got laid and that’s more than you could ever ask for. It’s not like you’re some 40-year-old hanging out at dollar bottle Tuesdays, waiting for the drunkest chick to stumble out of the bar and take her home in your Tercel.
Soon enough, you’ll get back to living your normal life and finally stop having all those panic attacks about having a shotgun wedding with a knocked up 18-year-old, who will forever resent you for ruining her college experience. Each day is better than the last one and you’ll be back in the swing of things, having sex with people your own age once every three months.
In the end, you’re happy to know that you can still close on college chicks despite being on the downward arc of your sexual prowess, like the almighty Clooney. Just as long as you don’t become a repeat offender, you’ll be just fine. As in everything else, moderation is key. You’ve got to get a taste of the forbidden fruit every once in awhile. It’ll keep you young.
Respond
She reads at a sophomore level.
The half plus 7 rule only applies to relationships. Grow a pair and savor the barely legal liaison.
They’re still close in age to be future wife potential anyhow.
18 is the only number you need to worry about.
I one time met a girl at a bar. Luckily, my band was playing, and I had to pack all the equipment up afterwards so I just got her number to talk to her later. We were texting the next day when she said she was “on [her] way home from school.” From school? Not class? Red flag. She finally admitted she was 16 (17 in a week) and a junior in high school… Her older sister was dating one of the door guys.
I was mortified. Terrible night.
The rules are:
1) Is she legal? (For men)
2) Is he my age or older? (For women)
Cry me a river, ya queer.
wtf are you on about? I’m almost singularly attracted to younger men.