Read MONICA PORTER’S unashamed account of how she took 15 lovers – most of them under 30 – and two in one day:
He was waiting for me in my local London pub, The Bells, in his tight jeans, T-shirt and trainers, looking a little apprehensive. He offered to buy me a drink but that didn’t seem right, so I went to the bar and got my own glass of wine.
As he warmed to our conversation about his work (in accountancy) and his family (from Lancaster), and I told him something of my own life, his shyness began to fade and he smiled more.
I liked his informal yet respectful manner. He was bright, thoughtful and knowledgeable. By and large he wasn’t interested in girls of his own age. ‘All they want to talk about is The X Factor and the latest celebrity gossip. After a couple of dates they start putting on the pressure. They want a proper relationship and commitment.’
I could see the attraction for him of the older woman; he didn’t have to spell it out. We strolled back to my place. I wondered what the next step in this unfamiliar scenario might be. ‘What would you like to do now?’ I asked, not meeting his eyes. ‘We’ll do whatever you want to do,’ he said.
Many would say the age gap between us was absurd, but I don’t think either of us thought about it for a second. And I found his healthy, strong body very appealing. He stayed over that night and fell asleep with his head nestling on my shoulder. And the next morning he left. From then on we saw one another every three weeks or so. I always called him Pup and he generally referred to me as Miss. I loved the vaguely Benny Hill sauciness of it.
My partner and I had split up the previous year, after a 13-year relationship. And not long after that, in July 2012, I had woken up to the depressing realisation that it was my 60th birthday. Now I was single and 60 and feeling on the scrap heap. It seemed as if it was all over for me – the love and passion, the sex and sensuality.
Perhaps from now on I would focus on my relationships with my family. And no matriarch is more devoted than me. My sons were then aged 35 and 29, and my grandchildren were two and five. Time to move into a granny annex, maybe?
But I decided it wasn’t yet time for the scrap heap. Over the coming months, I would discover an army of males in their 20s and early 30s all harbouring fantasies about being with older women.
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