Gentlemen

 

Ping! Ping!

She rolled over in bed to face the phone on her nightstand. Stretching under the comforter and staring out at the morning fog, she reached over and unlocked the phone.

Well, that was an interesting evening we had. I know you’re super cute for a woman in her sixties, but you can’t go around treating guys that way, leading us on then shutting us down. I thought we had a great time, especially talking about the places I could take you and the fun we could have. But now I know you’re just a tease and a gold-digger….

It went on for three paragraphs, ending in that hated phrase, You Bitch.

What?! She rubbed her eyes, took a deep breath and reread it. Yep, still no change, yet she had a hard time believing it.

She thought they’d had a perfectly lovely second date, apps and wine at a high top overlooking the bay. Low-key, they had chatted about work, family, travel. Now that she thought about it, when the evening ended, he had looked a little expectant, but she had had no intention of inviting him back to hers when they hardly knew each other.

Well, what the hell. I guess he planned on a straight swap, wine for sex. I have to set my prices higher.

She leaned over and typed a response.

Good morning Steven, what a nice surprise to hear from you this morning. I had a lovely time yesterday. However, since your interest appears to be purely transactional, I suggest you fly to Vegas and hire a sex worker. There’s no shame in it. <HEART emoji, WINK emoji>.

SEND. She blocked his number and fell back into bed.

He wasn’t the first man to behave that way. He had probably been pretty good-looking in his youth and expected women to throw themselves at him. Or maybe he thought all that talk about money had her thinking of him as her sugar daddy. If he’d been listening, he would have realized she had her own money and no interest in being anybody’s sugar baby.

There were lots of guys like him; there were other guys who weren’t as cocky but had just never learned the finer skills of dating, somehow finding women who took them on as projects, at least until the reno failed. And then there were the widowers, the men who’d loved their wives for decades and couldn’t wait to turn her into a reasonable substitute, sliding right into their existing homes, families, and lifestyles with no voice of her own.

Men this age just didn’t seem to get it, despite a lifetime of practice. Or maybe it was the lack of practice. That’s when a sleepy smile started to form. I think I’ll just have to teach these guys what women want – a place for them to learn how to date, how to woo someone... Ms. Cortes’ School for Gentlemen.

Gilda Montesino