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Article about i like a older guy

But walking away is what gave her true strength. I Thought Dating An Older Guy Was Cool — Until I Sensed That Something Was Very Wrong. At first, dating a 21-year-old guy made 15-year-old Sarah Dessen feel excited and powerful.

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But walking away is what gave her true strength. I felt invisible for much of my teen years. Because of this, I was drawn to people like my best friend, who was dynamic and bold. She was the one who things happened to, the starting point of every story. I was the oracle, remembering each detail from my supporting role. There was safety in the shadows, but also a kind of darkness. In tenth grade, we made friends with a group of older guys who hung out on the main street of town, which ran parallel to the local university — guys who'd once gone to our same high school and had never left the social scene. When they weren't doing BMX and skateboard tricks in front of the post office, they were spending what money they had at the nearby arcade, or spinning on stools and shooting straw wrappers in their favorite burger joint, just across the street. There was something especially cool about being friends with them. We were still at an age where our parents insisted on treating us like children. How wonderful it felt to have an adult" who valued our opinion, thought we were not just cute but interesting. More From Seventeen. My best friend was 14 when she fell in love with a 21 year old. (I know how that sounds: I cringe now just typing it.) But at the time, to us, it wasn't weird or taboo as much as this epic, forbidden romance. What can I say? We were so young. My friend's older boyfriend was close with a guy I'll call T. Before long we were all hanging out together, driving around in his car: T and me in the front, my friend and her boyfriend in the back. While they made out, we made conversation, thrown together in the awkwardness of nearby coupledom. Before long, we had our own inside jokes, a shared eye-roll at yet another lover's quarrel in a small space. We talked about music, about high school, his experience then and mine now. He was a nice guy. He took an interest in me. I can't say it wasn't flattering. One day, T. dropped me off at my house after school. My mother, spying him from the front window, asked me how old he was. "I don't know," I said. (I did. He was 21.) "19? 20?" Her brow furrowed. "I don't want you hanging around with someone that much older than you." "Mom." I'm sure I rolled my eyes. "He's just a friend." "And you are 15," she said. "So, no normal 20 year old wants to hang out with someone who is 15. I don't like it. Stay away from him." This was the sort of thing that always led to my leaving the room in a teary huff, maintaining loudly that she Just Didn't Understand. Once again, she was treating me like a child, someone unable to make her own decisions. So I lied. It didn't seem like such a big deal, as my best friend was doing nothing but sneaking around to be with her boyfriend. There is a certain thrill in deception. Suddenly, I wasn't that scared, invisible girl anymore, watching from the sidelines. I had my own secrets. It made me feel powerful. One Saturday, the guys planned a picnic in a nearby forest park.
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