Bisexual man not dating men
The chubby, balding civil servant in his early 50s who contacted me would not normally be someone I’d meet up with, but he messaged me in such a witty and eloquent way that I agreed to meet him for tea.His company amused me, so when he later invited me to his house so he could cook me dinner, I accepted.After all, if he looked so unappealing in his clothes, what on earth would he look like naked?Afterwards, many hundreds of people from around the world, men and women, contacted me to say they’d enjoyed the book and admired me for being so honest about what is still a fairly taboo subject: relationships between older women and younger men.Thankfully, I learned enough about him on the phone to decide not to go for a drink with him.He was a champion whinger whose bitterness could have melted the phone line.Shuffling self-consciously in his seat beside me at the cinema, I sensed that my date was about to make his move.I wasn’t sure whether he’d do the awkward arm-stretch-behind-my-chair manoeuvre, or ‘accidentally’ brush his thigh against mine.
Especially not when I still feel vibrant and youthful enough to attract the hot young Pups of this world? ’ sneered one anonymous troll, while others gleefully informed me that my actions meant I faced a sad and lonely old age.
At 65, my date (I’ll call him Jerry) was a few years older than me.
We’d been introduced by a mutual friend who thought we would be a good match.
Jerry was a wealthy, highly successful, intelligent, divorced chap who worked in the film industry.
He owned four homes around the world and, on paper at least, ticked every box going. He was scruffy with a scratchy-looking grey beard that made him look horribly unkempt.