Why, at 51, I’d never sleep with a man my own age!
By a writer who says middle aged men are slobs... and young bucks are desperate to date her
AFRIEND introduced me to Dylan when I was 47. He was ridiculously attractive — a personal trainer with blue eyes and blond curls —and there was an instant spark between us. At 27, he was also two decades younger than me.
I’d just signed up for a Tough Mudder challenge, so when Dylan offered to train me for free I leapt at the chance. Soon, we were going on 10k runs four times a week.
The day he asked me out on a date, I could barely contain my joy.
After cheap Italian food (it was all he could afford), we headed back to my flat. The minute I closed the door he kissed me and we made passionate love right there in the hall.
More than once, Dylan told me how sexy I looked — my flat stomach and slender hips, he said, resembled those of a 20-year-old.
While most women my age might be flattered by such a compliment from a man 20 years their junior, I wasn’t surprised. Now 51, I’m in great shape, tall and slim, thanks to a combination of good genes and working out, and I’ve been told almost the same thing by younger men on many occasions.
Which is why I was appalled when author Yann Moix recently announced that he preferred ‘young women’s bodies’ and that: ‘The body of a 25-year-old woman is extraordinary. The body of a 50-year-old woman is not extraordinary at all.’
To me this makes no sense, and his ignorance — and arrogance — is staggering. If I were to compare my body now with my body at 25, I’d say my body now is far more extraordinary.
I have never felt more attractive. I no longer smoke nor go out drinking every weekend, as I did at university. I take better care of myself by exercisround ing five times a week, getting plenty of sleep and eating a mostly vegetarian diet.
My body reflects these life changes: I’m leaner and far more toned, my complexion glowing and smooth.
HOWEVER, most 50year-old men make little or no effort to look as good as I do. In my experience, most men that age are overweight and out of shape — and the thought of having to sleep with one makes my skin crawl.
I haven’t always dated much younger men. Until 2012, I was in a long-term relationship with Thomas, just three years younger than me. Then he broke things off. It followed a series of painful events, including the death of my father, botched parathyroid gland surgery that left me struggling to speak for seven months and two rounds of failed IVF.
Thomas’s decision caught me completely off-guard, especially as our relationship had started with a coup de foudre.
We’d met online, then decided to try to start a family after our third date. I’d never previously longed to be a mother, but at 41 I suddenly felt the urge to have a child. Sadly, it was not to be.
Moving out of our home left me devastated. I was inconsolable. Any desire I had to try for a baby died the day we said goodbye.
Although it took me years to recover, in 2014 my girlfriends encouraged me to date again. Like so many middle-aged would-be daters, I found myself experimenting with Tinder. Despite the superficialness of it all, it was fun. A whole new world was opened to me by simply adjusting my search to include (or exclude) a particular age group.
It was strangely empowering, too, as there was no one to judge who I chatted and flirted with so unabashedly.
It’s not that I sought younger men at first — the thought never crossed my mind — but, rather, younger men were suddenly pursuing me. As messages filled my inbox, I was tickled, if slightly put off by them being only a wee bit older than my eldest nephew.
Still, I reasoned, I was getting over a serious relationship, wasn’t looking for a life partner yet and had nothing to lose. One girlfriend, married for 25 years, was horrified. She advised concentrating my search on men between 55 and 65, as they would offer stability. Possibly, yes. But he’d more than likely bore me to tears, as the impression I got from older men’s profiles was that they preferred quiet evenings in. What followed was a series of hilarious and fun-filled dates with men aged from 26 to 37. They left me beaming with confidence, and the majority of my girlfriends (all married with children) green with envy. Every other week I was entertaining them with stories of my jaw-dropping romantic life. My liaison with Dylan didn’t last, as he went off travelling New Zealand. But there was George who, to my delight picked me up on his motorbike.
And Archie, who, on our first date, took me to a climbing centre. Leo was training to become a massage therapist and insisted on giving me hour-long massages.
Then Charlie, who mistook me for 35, and felt uncomfortable in the French bistro I’d chosen as he’d only ever been to fast-food restaurants.
Although some were, admittedly, a little lacking in polish, they all charmed me with their eagerness to please and impress. One confessed he’d always had a thing for older women; another told me I was ‘hot’ and age wasn’t an issue.
I was astonished, since I’d assumed that in the world of internet dating, men were drawn to younger women. Instead, the fact I’m accomplished, with no kids and not looking to have any, seemingly hit a chord with men younger than myself.
While often things didn’t get as far as a physical encounter, when they did it was the most exciting sex I’ve ever had. Their bodies were honed and beautiful and, at that age, men also have an insatiable sex drive.
All too often, older men I’ve dated are focused on their own pleasure. Many spend their time in bed worrying whether they’ll be able to perform adequately, then congratulating themselves if they do — even if they’ve needed Viagra to achieve a favourable result.
Younger men seem far more respectful in bed. Maybe it’s because they know an older woman can teach them a thing or two, or because of their generation’s liberal attitudes.
In the past I might have let the man take the lead; now, for the first time, I felt like I was in control.
MEANWHILE, the blokes I met up with in their 50s were set in their ways and rude, talking endlessly about themselves or belittling me with snide comments.
Monsieur Moix, although he turns 51 in March, says he is ‘incapable of loving’ a woman over 50. Does he assume all women my age have let their bodies go? Or is his rudeness a smokescreen, because he knows no mature woman would put up with such arrogant and sexist thinking?
Unlike Moix, while I have enjoyed dating younger men, I’d never rule out dating a man over 50 so long as he was unwed, in good shape, interesting to talk to and knew how to treat a lady.
The thing is, I have never met one. And if there is anyone I am ‘incapable of loving’, it is a man who is disrespectful, regardless of his age.