Do you know what you're tired of? Anxiety. It's everywhere: in the media, in your friends, in the damn water table via all the Xanax people are flushing out. But worst of all, it's in men. You meet some young guy, he seems cool, then two dates in and he's crying on your lap, acting like you're his mother, and (thankfully?) unable to get it up. That's OK; everyone is entitled to their moments of weakness––I've certainly had mine.

But do you know what the one fantastic aspect of being older is? All that stuff just goes away. The sneer of cold command and the ruthless indifference to what anyone says dissolves anxiety like acid. So you're in luck. I will cultivate you like a garden, and plant you like one too. I will see your needs before you do, and tell you how to achieve them; I will surround you like a blanket and vibrate you like a bell. With my help, you will become the best version of yourself you could possibly be. Maybe that means a Nobel prize, maybe it means being prime minister, maybe it means exalting your flesh until it sings with pleasure. Whatever it is, you will find it with me.

In return, you will be cynical, creative, and beautiful. I don't care if you push against me; I welcome it. But I have less than zero interest in boring crusades or moral certainties. I am very interested indeed in those thoughts and deeds that announce you to yourself as subversive and self-destructive. Maybe you're bored; you're certainly in a relationship that makes you bored––that's why you're here. Either way, you will be indifferent to bourgeois morality and its tedious prescriptions. What does capture you is that moment of gasping exhilaration when your body and your mind align into a pattern of such blissful exaltation that you would live there forever. You won't; no one does. But we will live there some of the time at least.

Who am I? I've been around. University professor, business owner, publicly visible––all that shit. I'm the guy that people go to when they want something to happen but don't know how to start. I'm in superlative physical shape; if saggy dad bods are your thing, stop reading now. You want conversation that makes you feel like the female lead in a 1940s film? Then talk to me, but know that this film won't be getting through the censor.

So do it: open the chat, send the message. What do you lose? Maybe some small quantum of effort. What do you gain? Everything, nothing, something in between. Let's see which it is.