Confession Time.

*tap tap tap* 

Is thing on?

Right. Okay. 

*cough*

Okay…. My name is Anne, and I like younger men.

There. I said it. And look, I know you already know this, but the truth is I have been living in denial. I've commented on the issue of younger men before, but I think it is time I admit to myself (and the world) that this is more than a partiality. It's a god damned proclivity (gosh doesn't that sound filthy!).

In the past I have made excuses, like "it's probably just the places I'm hanging out" or "they're the only ones with the balls to approach me", but the reality is, I just like them. If you were to line three fella's up in the street, odds are I would pick the younger of the lot. Provided they looked like a man of course. Indeed, it is my rather pervy habit of ogling men in the street as my bus drives through the city that has prompted me to confront this preference. The ones that get double takes are all so young. But so hot. 

So how young is young? In recent discussions with fellow single ladies, the +/- 10 rule was mentioned. But I feel that at my current age this would be inappropriate as my lower limit would be 17. That's just wrong. So for now I'm working with a +/- 5 rule. But it's usually -'s. And occasionally, – 6's. Although the last – 6 was a particular incident that led to incredible outrage and sexual frustration, so I probably wouldn't do that again. 

I am still trying to figure out exactly what it is about the young ones that I love so much. There's that well groomed, clean cut, wholesome look they seem to do so, so well. I like that. A lot. And throw in some dark hair and dark eyes – and an occasionally swept fringe . . . . 

Then there's the earnestness, that hope and optimism for life that seems to float around them – all things are possible, including the bedding one Ms Anne. I suspect I like this because I need to be around people whose zest for life is similar to my own. This earnestness abounds among the younger kind, they haven't yet been made hard by too many broken hearts. My own psychological introspection whispers to me that this is probably a symptom of my own virginal heart, which has yet to experience proper love and as such has only been bruised and never fully broken.

Although I find myself in somewhat of a quandary because more often than not, the younger fellas are missing that level of self-assurance without arrogance, which I find extremely attractive. I guess that sort of thing comes with age, however my much less significant forays into the +'s seem to indicate that that type of confidence in oneself is reasonably rare, which is unsettling in itself. 

And that's another thing! Sometimes I think I like younger men because it is okay for me to feel older than them. Why would I want to feel older? Probably because my experiences have made me realise that being with a man who is physically older than you, but always makes you feel like the grown up is utterly infuriating. If I'm going to feel old either way, it might as well be with someone younger than me who is a smokin' hottie and a snappy dresser.

So there. I've done it – confessed! I am not ashamed.

Okay, that's a lie, I am ashamed, but in a bemused "I cannot quite believe myself" sort of way. Like when I fall over in public or realise my discussions about my vagina were a lot louder than I thought.

I am not quite a Cougar yet. They definitely operate in +/- 10-15 range. I like to think of myself as more of a Snow Leopard – young(er), cute(er) and just as sassy. 

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