There are a number of differences a girl encounters when dating men of varying ages. Some prefer the careful comfort of a May-December romance while other ladies don’t bat a lash at cultivating a cougar status. As a woman in my 30s, I enjoy men of multiple maturity levels and have dated men as green as 23 and as gray as 46. And while I enjoyed sampling both categories of chap, I can’t help but draw a few, key distinctions. Here are my top four:

1. Target vs Tiffany: It’s like trying to decide between a walk through Central Park versus a helicopter ride over Punta Cana. It’s the board game you love to play in his studio apartment in NE that he bought you at Target for your anniversary versus the little blue box awaiting your weekend arrival on the balcony of your Kennedy Warren apartment. I’ve spent nights eating pizza and playing Scrabble that have been far more amazing than any evening I’ve spent eating off a prix fix menu at a five star restaurant. That said, a diamond is forever and a cubic zirconia makes me want to blow chunks on the other patrons at the Olive Garden. And while money can’t buy you happiness, it sure as hell can make fucking one person for the rest of your life a bit easier to stomach  It’s the pauper versus the prospering and it’s the kind of game that breaks the very best of our worldly brethren. It’s the Cheeseburgers against the Filet Mignons in the fourth quarter of the championship tournament and all I crave is a medium seared bone-in rib-eye.

2. Beer Bong vs Single Barrel: I have to admit, when it comes to mens’ vices, I’m often a pawn in the hand of whomever is paying the bar tab that evening. Just call me Solomon and split that baby smack dab down the middle. As much pleasure as I take in binge-drinking and nights full of making bad decisions to Lady Gaga looming over the bottle service section, I can’t help but long for the grey-templed guy who sips his small batch like liquid bliss while sitting on his porch swing with his vinyl collection spinning languidly in the background. While the young man gets high on the latest “it” drug to hit his college campus, the older man takes his sweet time rolling a burner on his antique coffee table. While Mature Monty may languish in long, drawn-out kisses in the May rain, Vernal Vic understands the benefits of a late night round of sexting in the December cold.  Killing me softly isn’t always preferable to love in an elevator and visa versa. Addiction has its drawbacks, but teaching an old dog new tricks might prove the perfect compromise.

3. Fucking vs Fulfillment: As a woman who supposedly hasn’t reached her sexual peak yet (I may have a few suitors who would beg to differ), I hesitate to equate a man’s sexual prowess with the number of rings around his truck (sorta speak). But sex plays a major role in determining the passion injected into any relationship and needs to be recognized as one of the cogs in the widget that makes the love apparatus go round (counter clockwise please). A lot of women assume (and we all know what that does) that a man’s age determines his ability to do three things; go hard,  go down, and go the distance. And while this generalization may apply to a significant percentage of male-female genitally inclined encounters, it’s not always accurate. Going hard while often physically easier for the younger gent isn’t anything a little blue pill can’t cure for at least four hours for the elder suitor (do call that hot-line number on the back of the box if it goes any longer boys – it’d be a super duper bummer if you lost tunnel vision down there). Going down on the other hand, while all men think is some inherent gift bestowed upon them personally by Pan himself, is a skill best left to the noble and the few. I hate to dash the random man’s hopes, but as the recipient of many alleged mouthy maestros, I’m going to admit here and now, few of you actually know what in the hell you’re doing. That said, my pleasure quotient averages out to somewhere smack dab in the middle. Grab a copy of the gazillionth edition of Our Bodies, Ourselves, and bone up boys, the rewards will revisit you tenfold. And finally, as for going the distance, practice makes perfect. Fuck those nuns who said you’d go to hell, 78% of them do it too and they’re still pie in the sky as long as the holy father is concerned.

4. Frank vs Justin - When push comes to shove, it really does all boil down to attitude. The lady may very well be a tramp but that doesn’t necessarily mean she’s longing for your dick in a box. The 23-year-old has little to lose as he embarks on the early stages of adulthood. Fewer responsibilities, less contrition, mere backpack baggage. This can be very refreshing, invigorating really, a weight lifted from my own 32-year-old shoulders for the duration of the encounter, whether it consists of one hot night on his futon or a whole semester full of love. The 46-year-old on the other hand brings with him two decades more of history, triumph, failure, and more often than not an ex-wife or two. And while his burden may be heavier, he’s had that much more time to learn how to carry it with panache. We’d be foolish though to assume that age always equates with humility. The penitent man is as likely to carry a lunchbox as he is a cane. In the end, a girl of any age knows when a man feels lucky to have her in his arms, regardless of whether he can drop and give you 2 or 20.

They’re still racing out at the Trestles
But that blood it never burned in her veins
Now I hear she’s got a house up in Fairview
And a style she’s trying to maintain
Well if she wants to see me
You can tell her that I’m easily found
Tell her there’s a spot out ‘neath Abram’s Bridge
And tell her there’s a darkness on the edge of town – Bruce Springsteen