Not yet, but just yesterday I was telling a friend that I start humming “Mrs. Robinson” whenever I see one particular summer intern at work … oh, the things I’d like to do to that poor, unsuspecting young man… 
That’s it in a nutshell. I wish I’d said it.
As to the OP, I was 19 and she was 32. We were both taking a night course in accounting and she asked me for a ride home. I remember her with a lot of fondness and I hope she is doing well today.
I bet he’d be into it.
I was 24, she was 36, and a lecturer at my university: we lived together for two years before I finally figured that she was crazier than a shithouse rat, but I learnt a lot in those two years. I don’t remember her particularly fondly {well, sometimes: she was cool when she was sane, sober and off the drugs}, but I don’t regret it one bit.
I was 25, she was 35. She was great; and after a while when she decided that she needed a prospective husband instead of a boy-toy, she let me down easy. What a classy gal.
Yep, I was 20 and she was 36. I’d only been with one person previous to her, so she taught me basically everything I know. Two former girlfriends and my wife have told me that should I ever run into her again, I am immediately to thank her on their behalfs. So I gather she was a good teacher.
Maybe … after he stopped screaming in terror. 
I had a “Mr. Robinson” experience, myself, that I forgot to share before: I was about 23, Patrick was 38. It was the first purely physical relationship I ever had, it lasted for several months, and I learned a lot. Similar to Dante’s story, whenever I get compliments on certain, um, “things” I always tell the guy that he has Patrick to thank.
(He had the best thighs I’ve ever encountered in real life … sigh…)
Sigh, I promised myself I’d never participate in one of these threads, but . . .
Pretty close to The Gratuate, actually. There I was at 23, a college graduate for all of six months, at loose ends, and not having a clue about what I wanted to do with myself. I’d broken up with a long-time girlfriend not too long before and was feeling pretty weird . . . and horny.
My Mrs. Robinson was 45 years old, and she was an artist. Though never married, she had a son about my age (whom I never met). We kept it platonic for a couple of months and then screwed like epileptic bunnies for one night. It was pretty cool, but that was the only time we did that. We remained friends for a while, but we realized we were drifting apart.
A few months after that, I shipped out for basic training and never heard from her again. Ah well . . . That’s casual sex for you.