What It’s Like When You’re 17 Years Older Than Your Husband
I’m 49 and he’s 32.
After dating Karl for a few months, I finally decided to tell my best friend I had a boyfriend.
“How old is he?” was her first question.
“He’s 25.”
“Seriously?! You said you’re never going to date a younger guy again. He’s going to hurt you, you know.”
When I met Karl, I was a 42-year-old divorcee living in the bustling city of Yangon in Myanmar.
I had just broken up with an American jackass, a 26-year-old with roaming eyes and a suspicious number of “crazy” ex-girlfriends.
That relationship had shattered me and I was picking up the shreds. I was done with men, mostly younger men.
One Friday night, my friends and I were hanging out with a bunch of backpackers.
I was attracted to one of them, but I kept telling myself to keep my promise about never dating younger men again.
But he was exactly my type.
Quiet with a stellar smile and ash-brown hair partially covering his blue eyes. Turns out he was also goofy like me but manly in all the right ways.
At night when we lay in bed, I rested my head on his warm chest and he caressed my hair…
