When I was around twenty-five, I moved into a friend's house for awhile. I was going to college and working part-time, so money was tight at the time. The house was actually in his mother's name, but she lived elsewhere. She did stop by from time to time to collect the rent, but she also had her own bedroom there as well. She was around forty-five and divorced; attractive and a nice figure. She was a few pounds overweight maybe, but nothing bad. Soon, I had the hots for her. Nothing happened, but to this day I wish something had for I always longed for an older woman like her.
— Paul, 57