I’ve just hit fifty and am divorced, happy and single, while most of my friends are still married, more or less unhappily. I love sex and have recently made several attempts to have relationships with men to enjoy it without too many complications.
Interestingly, it turns out to be much harder than I anticipated, judging from my most recent trial and error session on yet another dating website (not TBW) with its emphasis on no strings relationships. On the first day I signed up I received no fewer than 200 messages from men, who ranged from desperate old geezers offering to take me to Portugal for the weekend, to well-muscled 23 year-olds sporting massive erections and a tenuous grasp of the English language. Many hopefuls were married and looking for a bit on the side, which I ruled out as an automatic complication, while others were just plain hideous.
However I managed to make what I thought was a promising shortlist of possible candidates, my aim being to meet up with them all within a week. I noted each one in a small memo book – name/age/location/profession and any interesting points they had told me about themselves so as not to confuse them, and began interviewing the next day.
Experience has taught me to keep the first meeting brief – coffee is best – and close to home. Travelling is expensive and time consuming so I decided to persuade as many of them as possible to meet me at a Starbucks opposite my office, so I could pop out from work several times a day if needs be without interrupting the day.
Philip the rugby coach was handsome, fit and chilly. He was clearly a bit of a pro at this and while not a man I’d like to have in my own home, one I’d gladly shag. We agreed some ground rules within twenty minutes of meeting, including a date, using condoms and going to a hotel. The transactional nature of it both excited and scared me. But would I be brave enough to go through with it?
Then came Bill, the out-of-work banker, who was handsome and sweet, but his teeth were yellow and his breath stank. I recoiled when he kissed me goodbye and I instinctively wiped my hand across my mouth as I walked away. No chance I thought. What is it with guys who don’t brush their teeth before a date?
Next was James, a GP, who turned out to be timid and an internet dating virgin. He was also smaller than I was expecting and sweating nervously. He asked if he could hold my hand. The answer is always if you have to ask, then No, you should have just grabbed it. And yet there was something thrilling at the thought of being the one. I noted Maybe in my book.
Mac worked in some kind of insurance and was still hung up on his ruined marriage and the fact his children hated him. He gave off a whiff of loneliness that was not sexy. Hang on a minute, I wanted to tell him, didn’t I write in my profile that I wanted to flirt and be made to laugh? I’m not one for the sympathy shag.
And then I met Simon…. To be continued
by Kitty Cole
