There was the foxy, young basketball buddy of a man I had dated (the ex wasn’t thrilled when he found out). The kid still lived at home—which he had neglected to tell me. I was twenty-seven, he was nineteen, I think. Which may not sound like much of a gap, but I was ahead in my years, and he was behind. It wasn’t love. It was hot sex. His body was ridiculous! We were fooling around in his outdoor Jacuzzi one night when his mom came into the kitchen and the light she turned on flooded us. We had to duck, and then sneak into his room when she went back to bed. Coincidentally, this was how I found out that he lived with his mother. We never had sex at his house again.