Where Fire Meets Time
I can’t pinpoint when I first began to prefer the company of older men. It was sometime after we opened our marriage—when desire became expansive and discerning. My husband, close in age, had once been the entire landscape of my affection. But as my gaze began to wander, it wasn’t drawn by age so much as presence, and I found myself increasingly drawn to men who carried the weight of years with elegance.
That was also when I discovered I was sapiosexual—deeply, undeniably attracted to intelligence.
In my work today as a professional escort, I don’t require that same cerebral spark with every client. Our time is often fleeting, intimate but bounded, and centered on their desires rather than mine. And I genuinely enjoy that—meeting people where they are, creating space for their expression, and holding joy in shared experience.
Still, there is something profoundly satisfying about being in the company of a much older man.
Yesterday, I set a new record. Nicky* is 87, still working, still curious, and, I must say, an absolute delight. Our time together was both playful and grounding. Afterward, we lay tangled in the hush of post-pleasure, and he told me stories—tales of his younger days, his travels, his current passions. I listened, wrapped in the warmth of his voice and the quiet assurance of a man who has lived and is still living.
As a biohacker and an athlete, I plan to stretch my vitality as far into the horizon as it will go. But it’s my older clients who teach me what it means to thrive: that the secret to a full life is to never stop doing what brings you joy, no matter your age.
And for a few of these remarkable men, for now, that joy includes me.
It is here—in laughter-lined skin, in stories weathered by time, in hands that know their strength and their softness—that I see a reflection of what I seek to become: a woman who ages not with fear, but with fire.
Older men are like the ocean—vast and unknowable, shaped by storms and still capable of calm. They carry whole histories in their depths, and when I’m with them, I feel like the shoreline—touched again and again by waves of something ancient and alive. In those moments, I am not just present; I am elemental. I am tide meeting wisdom. I am salt and sunlight and surrender.
