If I Fucked John Mayer

My roommate and our friend we were having over, both straight men, were trying to bestow on to me the opinion that John Mayer was the best guitarist of our generation, and incredibly hot to boot.

It was this past summer, August maybe. Truth was I didn’t know much about the guy, I knew the one song, knew he’d allegedly been a jerk to Taylor Swift back in the day. The little I did know however made me feel confident enough to shoot down the opinions of my friends, and bewildered at the passion with which they fought back. They started citing songs and albums, admittedly I knew very little about guitars but I did know a lot about sexy men and from my point of view this slightly bug eyed, fishy lipped old guy was not it.

That night I had a PG-13 dream about John Mayer and woke up a changed woman. How had I not seen it before, the man was a sex GOD! For the next 48 hours I listened to every John Mayer album back to back, watched interviews, looked in to concert dates, I was obsessed! Not only was I memorizing his song lyrics but I started imagining what might happen if we met and how we might get together. His reputation as a womanizer nearly overshadowed all of his award winning work, yet this detail almost made him more alluring to me.

Look I wasn’t planning my wedding with the guy, just a little harmless middle school fantasizing while doing the dishes. We’d meet at an after party of sorts, I wasn’t even planning on going out that night, some connection through a friend of a friend. As an up and comer in the comedy scene the party was a good opportunity for networking, and I’d be surprised and humbled to discover he already knew who I was. We’d share a laugh next to the baked brie, making me suddenly nervous to produce another joke. Linked together by indifference for those around us we’d admit to each other how tired these things could get. He’d say he was actually just heading out but would love to keep talking. We’d go back to his loft that he confessed remained empty most of the time, he’d only use it when he was in the city or if a friend needed a place to crash. We’d be in the kitchen around the island, he’d have a glass of wine, just water for me. We’d kiss. He was experienced and it showed. Then again maybe it would be really bad, cause isn’t that just how it goes. He’d play his own music, but I kind of loved it. He’d have to leave early the next morning to catch a flight but he’d tell me how fun last night had been, I could stay as long as I liked, and he’d look me up when he was back in town, but we both knew he wouldn’t. So it’s not like I had put much thought in to this or anything...

In my clouded post sex dream mind none of this seemed that far fetched, the only hitch in the plan was the fact that John Mayer is exactly twice my age. I would have to live my entire life over from infancy to say I had spent as many years on earth as Mr. Mayer, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

It’s a weird time to date, being in your early 20’s. At 18, a seemingly arbitrarily chosen age, you’re thrust in to the adult world. You go from likely very little dating experience at all in your small high school social pool, to being legally allowed to fuck literally anyone, accept minors of course because you’re an adult now and that would be pedophilia.

I’ve always socialized with people older than me, only been involved with partners who were older than me, but that had always meant just a year of two that seemed insignificant.

Now when I see the reverse, guys my age getting with girls fresh out of high school, it’s seems wrong, weird, predatory. Yes “fresh out of high school” translates to only a few years difference in this case but looking back on who I was at nineteen seems like a lifetime ago. At 22 I’m already starting to feel too old for some of my peers. I asked a self identified “LG (Little Girl) Lover” my age about this phenomenon and he told me the allure of younger girls was simply that they were easier to get...As one of several very available, sexually frustrated, single girls my age, somehow that didn’t feel like the full story.

Canada’s laws regarding age of consent are very confusing, are different regarding “dating” versus explicit “sexual activity”, with specifications for each individual age below 18. They consider power dynamics in specific relationships, and the length of involvement between partners. The breakdown has so many specifications that seem to contradict each other if you take them all in to consideration. The laws reflect the matter itself: complex.

When I was 17, just before my eighteenth birthday, I found myself in bed with this guy I knew was older than me but I didn’t know by how much. Once we were both already semi nude and stuff had gone down, he got around to asking:

“How old did you say you were again?”

“How old are you?” I asked, turning the question back on him.

“Twenty-two.”

“How old do you think I am?” I said, nervous but trying to be cool and cheeky. Looking back this probably just made me seem even younger.

“Twenty-one? Please don’t say you’re sixteen...” He sounded legitimately panicked and I wondered if he’d been in this scenario before.

In my mind I thought “uhhh no, I’m not sixteen, I’m actually seventeen and three quarters, there’s a big difference.”

I told him I was eighteen, because what difference did a few weeks really make? He still seemed a little weirded out and we never saw each other again.

I don’t remember feeling threatened in that situation, if anything I probably thought it was kind of cool. Yeah older guys liked me, no big deal. I’d had a flirtation with a co-worker at that time who was twenty-four, this wasn’t out of the norm for me. To be fair, these guys didn’t know my actual age, it wasn’t something I promoted and being out of high school it felt like everything was fair game. I thought being sought after by older guys was a mark of my maturity rather than their immaturity.

Now I know people my age dating 30 year olds which really weirded me out. I couldn’t imagine anyone a decade older attaching themselves to someone younger simply for who they were but felt it must have to do with the way that they looked, or power, or most likely a combination of the two. Sure we’ve all had our moments before the rent bill rolls around of considering signing up for seeking arrangements, but somehow when the exchange of goods for services isn’t explicitly laid out from the start it just feels off...I suppose if both of the parties involved are on board and satisfied with the setup that’s their prerogative, but there was something about it that just didn’t sit right with me. My friend, who was dating a 32-year old with a cock supposedly the size of her arm, a gorgeous apartment, who left her goodie bags of blow, seemed to be having a grand old time. Maybe I was just jealous I didn’t have the balls to pursue an older guy who could treat me.

After 48 hours of my John Mayer obsession, his allure wore off and I was brought back to earth. The next week at work a customer came by that I’d never seen before. He was what I would classify as “middle aged”, forty, maybe late thirties at best, and good looking in a Bradley Cooper kind of way. He came at a slow hour and what would normally be a “hi and bye” interaction turned in to a fifteen minute conversation. He mentioned he was a song writer and I told him I wrote as well. He told me that he’d just gotten back in town from Nashville where he split his time for industry reasons. We exchanged influences, mine were far less cool as my mind draws a blank on anything I’ve ever read besides Harry Potter whenever somebody asks. He recommended an author he “thought I’d enjoy” and I had to admit I liked how he already thought he knew me well enough to make personalized suggestions. He eventually left without me even catching his name, thinking I had imagined what had felt like natural chemistry until my coworker, giving me a side eyed smirk, asked “Who was that?...”

The next week I secretly hoped he’d stop by again. I felt kind of weird about it, potentially pining after someone who was many years my senior. Fuck it I thought, these are supposed to be the hottest years of my life, mid-pandemic where else were you supposed to meet someone if not at work, and if peers of mine could do it, I could too! Two weeks after our initial interaction the mystery man stopped by again. He remembered me, naturally. I told him I’d read that piece he recommended and really enjoyed it. Again the conversation flowed easily. He asked what my name was, and knowing I’d be kicking myself later if I didn’t, I decided to try the whole “confidence” thing and wrote my number on a piece of paper I slide over to him.

“If you ever wanted to talk about writing or anything.”

He texted me that night. His age began showing itself in small ways. I noticed I wasn’t using as many acronyms when we messaged in case he didn’t know what they meant. Setting up plans to meet felt more like I was conferring with someone about babysitting their kids, rather then arranging a date--not that that’s what this even was officially.

We made plans to go and watch the harvest moon in the park that week. It was nice, we’d both brought blankets and sat distanced apart, it was hard to get a read on this guy; was he just terribly covid safe or not in to me? We exchanged our basic stories, my timeline was a lot shorter. Having not gone to university myself, when I spoke about school that translated to high school and I tried to make it sound like that had been eons ago, though in reality it can feel like just yesterday. He too spoke about his schooling as if it was forever ago though he was referring to college, and not just one college but two. When I asked where he’d gone he got a little embarrassed and then, almost as if admitting to something bad, he told me he’d gone to both Berklee and Julliard. Just the most prestigious music schools in North America, no biggie!

I kind of have a thing for musicians, don’t we all, but when most guys say they play guitar that usually means they know the chords to a couple Oasis songs. This guy was the real deal, not only did he most likely own a bed frame but he was currently fixing up a house he’d recently bought in this city I could barely afford a room in. He told me how after school he’d been scouted for modelling and spent years travelling for work. Now he was getting back to the music and working on an upcoming album. Boy do I pick ‘em.

Suddenly my coffee shop job to pay the bills was seeming a lot less significant. We connected on a lot, it was fun hanging out, but I was realizing we were at completely different stages of our lives. I knew I wasn’t less than, he had just already gone out and done all the things and I was waiting for my own stuff to begin.

He texted me a couple days later and told me he would really like to take me out to dinner, “on him” he specified. Again I still didn’t know what this guy wanted from me, while dating may have been inappropriate, being friends just seemed peculiar. My friend dating the big dick 32-year-old texted me, in response to my confusion, saying “No grown man just wants to be your friend.” Was this true? Was pure innocent friendship dead now that I was in the adult world of hetero-dating?

While my inner child was withering, I also wanted to hang out with musical prodigy ex-model Bradley Cooper and accepted his invitation. Immediately after, I began having stress nightmares about the situation. My heart would race, and not in a good way, whenever I got a text from him. Something inside me was not fully comfortable with me dating someone only a decade younger than my parents.

The next week he came by my work. I acted normal, I was in the middle of moving apartments so the stress from that wasn’t helping my anxiety. I began noticing more small things, like the fine lines at the corners of his eyes, had those been there before? He’d mentioned he was really in to fitness and as he walked away I silently remarked on how he had a really good body for his age. What was I doing, I thought. I should be with people who are at their physical prime now, not people who were hot back in the day. I should be getting the latest model, not the vintage edition.

I ended up postponing our dinner due to my move which he totally understood. He followed up sending me a text that still makes me cringe. He said that he acknowledged he was “quite a bit older” than me but that he had “no ulterior motives” stating he just wanted to “connect more because it felt good”. It was like the bubble of our silently unacknowledged age difference had been popped. I was just trying to broaden my sexual horizons, even though the very idea of it was causing me panic attacks, I didn’t need a new old friend!

Maybe it was the guy, the timing, but venturing in to the world of major dating age gaps didn’t seem to be my bag. It was like my John Mayer fantasy had crashed and burned right in front of me.

I do see the allure of being someone’s mid life crisis. Once they’ve gone out and lived their life but find themselves longing for their younger days past. Sitting in my roach infested apartment I do wonder to myself though what aspects of those days they so desperately yearn for.

With so much life ahead of us in our 20’s we’re all too hopeful to settle down, too afraid to miss out on what could be, to take what’s directly in front of us. Always on the lookout for the next thing, the next person, the newest flavour of the week. To be with someone who’s already had the next thing and realized it wasn’t all that great, to take them back to the start and show them what could have been.

Maybe it’s purely a biological thing that draws men to younger women, some kind of pheromonal attraction to those with 350,000 viable eggs vs. a measly 200,000.

On the phone of this boy who had been explaining to me the allure of younger girls there was an Oscar Wilde quote typed in to his notes app that read “Everything in the world is about sex, except sex. Sex is about power.” Maybe there’s something to that. Maybe the men who are crippling under the pressure of being told by society to be alphas gravitate towards younger, less experienced women to feel superior, stronger, more wise. Maybe women who often have to carve their own way in this world, fight for every opportunity, gravitate towards older men who can carry some of that weight they’ve been carrying alone for too long.

Let’s pad each other’s egos, exchanging power for desire.

Maybe we’re just repeating patterns that have been ingrained over centuries through violence and sexism. Fetishizing inequality, reclaiming it until it looks like our own natural lust.

Maybe it’s something Freudian, but let’s not go there.

Maybe it’s simply the thrill of having something you know you shouldn’t.

When I see photos splashed across tabloid fronts in the supermarket of Leo DiCaprio with yet another 20-something Victoria Secret model I immediately wince. When I think about what I would do if Leo DiCaprio invited me on to his yacht my answer comes to mind just as quick. Yes. I mean come on it’s Leo DiCaprio! Love you too John. But just as my new old guy friends.