Ubong,
just turned 63 and a grandmother recalled a recent date she had with a
man ‘her age’. A merry widow in the real sense of the word, she’s a
fairly successful real estate agent and spent a fortune looking after
herself – and the results are spectacular. Against her better judgement,
she’d decided to go to the movies with him when he kept raving about a
Nollywood film he was involved with. “Shuffling self-consciously in his
seat beside me at the cinema, I sensed that this my date, was about to
make his first move: said Ubong,”
“He
went for the old’:fashioned romantic option and gently took my hand in
his and gave me a squeeze. But rather than making my heart melt, the
gesture made me cringe.
“Staring
ahead at the scream, all I could think was: ‘How soon can I extract my
hand from his without appearing rude? I waited a few seconds, subtly
slipped my hand out of his grasp and edged myself away from him. At 66,
Ovie was a few years older than me. We’d been introduced by a mutual
friend who thought we would be a good match. Ovie was a wealthy, highly
successful, intelligent, divorced chap who’s invested in several
profitable ventures. He owned homes here and abroad and is supposed to
tick every box going on a date with me. In the flesh, however, it was
another story. He was
scruffy
with a scratchy-looking grey beard that made him look horribly unkempt.
He also suffered from a bad back, which gave him an old man’s gait. The
thought of being intimate with him repulsed me. If he looked so
unappealing in his clothes, what on earth would he look like naked?
“I
tried to push aside mental images of grey chest hair, a sweaty bald
patch and a flabby stomach. There was no way I could ever sleep with
this man.
Not tonight. Not ever! In fact, if they were like this, I doubted whether I
could
ever sleep with any man my own age. Experience had shown I was better
off with toyboys, so why have a swing to the other end of the age scale?
A few months ago, before my 63rd birthday, my friends made it known they
were
fed up with my escapades with toyboys. I was urged to try a man my
age. One of the more unpleasant accusations was that my adventures with
younger men had turned me into ‘shop soiled goods’, and that this would
deter any ‘nice’ man. According to this friend, my actions meant I
faced a sad and lonely old age. Try man my age.
“While
I could easily disregard the vitriolic views of my friends, some of
whom I suspected were merely jealous or prudish, I did feel it would be
sensible to put my experience in perspective by dating some older men.
Surely they
had charms and allure of their own? And so it was I decided to date this
ageing industrialist. We had dinner at his palatial residence, and yes, it was
easy to converse with a man who ‘had’ the same things as me. Yet, as the
conversation
steered predictably down the safe avenues of favourite holiday spots
and people he’d worked with, my mind wandered back to those playful
exchanges I’d enjoyed with one of my favourite younger chaps, during our
wonderful sexy afternoons.
“Aged 32, I teased him endlessly about political figures he had no clue about.
But
he was confident about his toned body and what to do with it. Was I
being too fussy? Had my flings with younger men led me to set the bar
unrealistically high? Let’s face it, a paunchy man fast approaching his
70th birthday will not compare favourably with a 32-year-old stud. But
let’s turn the table. If I was frumpy, over weight, with unkempt grey
hair and dressed in sensible shoes and polyester slacks, would Evie have
asked me out in the first place? No! So why on earth should I settle
for an out-of-condition old
codger like him just because society deems it appropriate for me? Especially
not when I still feel vibrant and youthful enough to attract the hot young thirty-somethings of this world?
“Since
Evie, I’ve crossed paths with other older men and I’ve discovered how
world-weary and bitter they can be, desperate to off-load their
emotional baggage on any female who would listen. One top civil servant
in his 50s stifled me with his tales of woe. “I divorced my wife after
only four years of marriage and haven’t found a replacement since then.
And that was 18 years ago,” he whined. Yawn. “My longest relationship
was barely two years.
Why
is that? Why am I so hopeless when it comes to women? What is it about
me? Am I not attractive?” No, you’re not, I wanted to bark. Because you
whinge and whine the whole time.
“Another
date launched into a tirade against his former wife, claiming she was a
terrible woman who’d had affairs and abandoned their children. Then he
started on his subsequent partner – she was a selfish gold-digging
alcoholic apparently. I’ve got my own gripes about exes, but I wouldn’t
dream of bad- mouthing them to a virtual stranger.
“Let’s
face it, to days middle-aged men are clueless about most things.
They’re not great on grooming, mistakenly taking their lead from the
young. I mean, designer stubble can look sexy on a cute 30-year-old, but
it makes a 62-year- old look like a dishevelled pensioner. On the other
hand, mature women these days are all too aware of the importance of
taking care of the face, hair and body, and of dressing well in order to
hold the interest of the opposite sex. Why don’t older men think the
same rules also apply to them?
“And
it isn’t just about appearance. Older men don’t seem to know how to
conduct themselves around women. They hail from the era when ‘men were
men.’ They were the provider, the defender. They made the moves, they
called the shots. But that doesn’t wash in a modem society filled with
strong, independent women. The balance of power has shifted and this
seems to confuse a lot of 55-plus men, even the successful ones. They
don’t know whether they should pay for dinner, or whether it’s OK to
compliment you on your legs.
“Men
in their 30s neither know nor care about ‘rules’. Used to the notion of
equality between the sexes, they are more spontaneous and natural. If
they think you look sexy, they tell you. If they disagree with you, they
tell you.
And
a lot of them are financially independent not the gold-diggers they’re
often painted to be. A few months back, I entered an enjoyable part-time
relationship with a man who lives outside the state. Every few weeks,
he comes to Lagos to see me his ‘naughty secret.’ At 37, he’s no
youngster, but he’s still almost two decades younger than me. I see him
as a sort of compromise. He is neither young enough to be my grandson
nor old enough to look like my father. It will end at some point,
probably when his wife finds out, but for now this arrangement will do
me very nicely, thank you!”
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