As my French confrere told you last time, he and I have always been on opposite sides of the Age Question, or as I sometimes call it, the Kronos Conundrum. As you--and American law enforcement--can probably tell, Gaspard has always equated jeune with jolie. I, on the other hand, steadfastly avoid any women below the age of majority in any particular country. Not, mind you, out of any moral compunction or aversion to law-breaking. Far from it, in fact. I merely find them to be colossal wastes of time. The innocence and blissful ignorance that excites such desire in Gaspard seems mere foolishness to me. He delights in the opportunity to tutor a neophyte girl in that of which she knows naught. But, as I always tell him, the instruction of maidens in the arts of love is a task I will gladly leave to others. He always replies that he is up to the job. Truth be told, however, it is not the blushing and hesitation typical of young girls that most discourages me from pursuing them. Rather, it is the fact that they almost never have any signatory authority on any bank accounts.
Instead, my taste most often runs to the other end of the age spectrum. Indeed, if you will allow me a bit of immodesty, I am quite a hit about town with women of a certain age, several of whom are even silver-haired. Gaspard has never understood this particular fixation, though he has at times indulged in it. But on our walkabout of several days ago, during which Gaspard laid out the case for youth, I risposted with some arguments that were at least not unconvincing. Through badgering, I forced the Frenchman to admit that the lack of legal and financial rights has always made monetizing his dalliances with young maidens quite difficult, sometimes even maddening. In contrast, says I, a wealthy divorcee may with a mere phone call transfer two thousand shares to any account she wishes. Nor should it stop there--the variety of gifts that an older woman may bestow is a hundred times greater than that of a mere girl. Their reasons for giving are not unitary: some, finding themselves at life's midsummer at best, grasp for the florid love of vernal youth. And, finding it in your exquisite form, all the fiduciary prudence they might have will disappear like thistledown in a hurricane. On the other hand, some women, having seen a thing or two of the world, are merely very comfortable with the concept and mechanisms of exchange, and know what they are paying for. Regardless of which type you're trysting with, cars, liquor, and walking around money should all be within your reach.
I should respond to one possible stumbling block, which might cause you undue hesitation: the figure of the jealous husband. Yes, indeed, it is very possible that, whatever manner of woman she might be in private, your paramour is already wed to another. However, even Gaspard has been forced to admit that angry fathers are much more dangerous than jilted husbands. For fathers nearly always love their daughters, while husbands may have long ago stopped loving their wives.
You must not mistake me, though--my anililagnia is not all pragmatism and no passion. Rather, I have found that only a woman who has had many lovers can appreciate a truly exceptional one. Imagine, if you will, a virtuoso tenor. He may derive some delight from being the very first to fill a young girl's ears with song, and impress her thereby. But how much more satisfaction would he get from performing faccia a faccia for a lifelong opera-goer, and proving himself to have better tempo, melodic instinct, and control in the upper ranges than any she had heard before? It is the same with me. Secret sighs and stolen kisses are all the sweeter when I am adjudged by a real expert to be the acme of amorous acumen!
Of course, this last point--the most subtle of all--depends highly upon your own abilities. If you are lacking in this category, never fear! I am quite comfortable assuming the role of cicisbeo--but more on that later.
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