Me and Older Men : Janie

One

Ever since I was little I've always been attracted to older men but I was never that brave to make a move, to walk up to them speak. Even being surrounded by them I acted shy most of the time I preferred my male teachers at school, the first time Mr. Clark walked in front of the class room and introduced himself as our new teacher most of my classmates groaned and complained loudly. But I experimented something new, I took everything in observing him fully; he wore black slacks with black shiny shoes and a white crisp work shirt with a blue jacket over it. His face was clean and alert, his bottom lip was full and his eyes sparkled with laugher, he had a welcoming face and I decided I liked Mr. Clark right there, even when he seemed to ignore me most of the first few weeks until he finally learned everyone's name and I felt eager to learn and optimistic about this new school year. My fixation on the older opposite sex started early and since that day I prayed that at the beginning at the new school year another male teacher would walk through our halls and step into my classroom.

When I was finally able to select the classes I wanted to take my first thought was "Would the teacher be male or female?" but I also tried to be smart and stick to the classes that would help me the most. That didn't stop me for walking up to them and start a conversation about some assignments or for revisions on some kind of exercise at class or some homework I couldn't understand. At school I started to loosen up with the opposite sex, I was the girl you see around the halls talking to teachers and being known by even the principal by first name, I was always the first one to raise my hand at class to volunteer with Mr. Alvarado for the school signs for the Pep rally, or the school paper or any other activity that would put me in the same space as them.

I always tried my best to impress them with questions or assignments. Now I don't know how this started, it was just one day that I found my eyes drifting towards the silver hairs, deep voices and facial hair. How big and tall, how secure they looked walking around in suits with briefcases and with the big cars or bearded men with polo's and jeans. Mature men made my body tingle all over ever since I remember. By twelve they amazed by their big hands and mustaches. And it was nothing sexual at first, not until much later, my friends and me we were naively fresh and only talked about young boy kisses and music outside of school. My life was simple and fun, and with the only secret; I liked older men.

Most of my father's friends had mustaches and smoked cigars. They would gather late evenings and some Saturdays at the house with their glasses filled with whiskey and cigars to laugh and joke for hours. I would seat on the middle of the stairs to hear and admire from afar hearing them talk about things like companies and profit shares, stock markers and sport matches, things that I still couldn't understand at my young age. I tried to be as tomboyish as possible to be closer to them, I would try to join my father in activities that included my older brother, because if Paul was there that meant that Mr. Steel young kids would be.

Sometimes, if I got lucky dad would take me fishing with them on rare occasions and that's when I had my way making them; they would take turns on taking care of me helping me with the bait, hold my hand when we stepped onto the boat and stuck by my side at all times protecting the pretty mascot of the team and even pull my pigtails when they joked playfully with me. None of those times some other kids would join to it like it did, they stayed in dry land and at the shore and played ball or some silly boy game but none really tried to be part of the group of the dads. I would sit closer to Kent, who had and amazing towering height at 6 feet to my 4 feet 9-inch height, which I had inherited my mother's side.

Mr. Kenneth Steel or Kent, how my father would call him, was divorced and had two boys, one around my age and the other around my brother's age. He was the most startling man I had ever laid eyes on at twelve, with his black hair slicked back showing off his widow's peak, his squared jaw and long nose. He always had serious face, like he was making calculations inside his head but as soon I was around his faced warmed up and the thin hard line of his mouth turned into a million watt smile for me, only for me. He was charming and funny. He would hold my hand while he asked me how my day was and how was school. He would tussle my hair and squeeze my shoulders. Kent was always close with my family. We always exchanged birthdays and Christmas presents every year with him and his family. He was the perfect uncle, always giving me the best presents and the one who he most he included on conversations and activities. Even though we weren't really related he was always present at all the parties and gatherings. It was rare when he would be absent.  Since I was a baby I remember him there, the pictures around my house prove it, me sitting on his lap, or like the one of my kinder garden graduation, grinning without my two front teeth with his son Jacob on the other side but he only held my hand on that one.