Belting out the words to Janis Joplin’s Piece Of My Heart, I twirled in my sparkly mini dress, my newly highlighted hair swishing to the music.
It was midnight in a chic cocktail bar in Soho and I was on stage at the DJ’s invitation, after he’d seen my passionate dancing get the crowd going. My date was looking on admiringly, but with his arms crossed and stifling a yawn.
As the song ended and the crowd cheered, I returned to my seat and he gave my thigh an affectionate squeeze. ‘Come on, my good-time girl,’ he said. ‘It has been a heavy week.’ And putting a protective arm around my shoulder, he led me out the door.
This may read like a vignette of some ageing paramour reining in his younger squeeze — except that my partner Justin is 21 years younger than me. And at 62, I was the one acting like a buzzed-up teenager. If you had told me last year I would be dating a man nearly half my age, I would have laughed in your face.
But after a gruelling rollercoaster of failed romances, two miscarriages in my 30s and three marriage proposals (none of which saw me walking down the aisle), I met Justin on a dating website. A handsome lawyer of 41 with dark curly hair and Italian heritage, when he made contact, my first thought was that he couldn’t seriously be interested in me. But he told me ‘age is just a number’ and that he was drawn to my ‘radiance’.
Kate Mulvey (pictured) says: ‘If you had told me last year I would be dating a man nearly half my age, I would have laughed in your face – yet now I’m the one acting like a buzzed-up teenager’
Being with a younger partner in a glorious, life-enhancing relationship is the best human anti-ageing cream, for Kate, 62, who has a renewed spring in her step
‘Smarmy git,’ I thought. But I hadn’t so much as kissed anyone in years and longed for the touch of a lover, someone I truly fancied, so I decided, what the heck…
Six months and one week on, I find myself in a glorious, life-enhancing relationship that is quite honestly like human anti-ageing cream. I’ve lost that hard expression that so many women my age have. I walk with a spring in my step and catch myself smiling for no reason.
As for sex, Justin has reignited my long-lost libido. Sometimes, as I lie there dumbstruck with my head resting on his chest (which, can I say, is magnificent), I feel like I’ve won the love lottery.
Admittedly we haven’t said the L word yet. But we say how much we like each other. He tells me how much fun he has and that he can’t wait to see me again. And there are lots of loving texts.
On Sundays, we like to curl up together in bed, watch black-and-white movies (we are both obsessed with old films) and joke about who will get the last piece of dark chocolate.
You might well think I am deluded, just another cougar sharpening her claws. Yet the sands are shifting when it comes to older women in age-gap relationships; statistics show more than 25 per cent of women over 40 have dated a younger man in the past year.
And there are plenty of celebrity couples following the trend, including director Sam Taylor-Johnson, 57, and her husband Aaron, an actor aged 34. Talking to single friends, too, it feels as if dating a much younger man has become almost a rite of passage.
Of course, there are hurdles to consider. When he’s a youngish 50-year-old, I’ll be over 70. And, let’s face it, having a baby is out of the question.
Film director Sam Taylor-Johnson, 57, and her actor husband Aaron, aged 34
Justin is still climbing the ladder of success, too. When he mentions possibly joining a law firm in New York, he talks of ‘I’ not ‘we’. It is still early days; we haven’t talked about the future at this point.
In one way I am scared that if I mention anything long-term, I will spook him.
At the same time, as much as I’d like this to become long-term, I’m fully aware of its possible transience. Some of my closer friends, seeing how glowingly happy I am, tell me to keep an open mind.
‘He doesn’t seem to have a problem with your age,’ said one. ‘It’s just your own hang-up.’
As someone who has never married or had children, I have always trodden a different path from the norm.
My 20s were full of glamorous parties and eligible men. There was an engagement in my 30s, which fell apart when I became suffocated by his possessiveness.
After a further short-lived relationship at 39 and my first miscarriage, I found myself on the wrong side of 40 and childless.
At that point I thought I wanted marriage and children; there was another engagement but, after years of him refusing to set a date, I left him in 2014.
For the past ten years, I have dated with the best of them. But apart from a couple of short romances — even one more short-lived engagement — it was all to no avail.
I took a break from dating. Then, last Christmas, feeling a bit more hopeful, I rejoined Match.com.
At first the only messages were from balding 70-year-olds with erectile dysfunction, or lonely men who had never had a long-term relationship. They all needed saving and had little to offer.
You can forget TLC or an orgasm from men my own age. They are often snippy and resentful because life hasn’t turned out the way they thought.
On dates they ogle women young enough to be their daughters, which leaves you deeply uncomfortable.
Before you think me a hypocrite, I’d argue that while older men can be predatory, women, being the physically weaker sex, pose no such threat to younger men.
Still, I was shocked and slightly suspicious when I received Justin’s message one bleak January day: ‘Wow… Sexy and a writer, how amazing to know someone like you,’ followed by a heart emoji.
I replied, cautiously, ‘What’s this… You’re 20 years younger!’
What on earth would he want with an old lady like me?
But when he replied, ‘Age is just a number’, my mind snapped awake. It had been at least a couple of years since any decent-looking man had made me feel desirable. I was so starved of a lover’s touch that I physically ached.
I was also stuck in the miasma of post-menopausal tiredness and tetchiness, and suffering from a condition which my doctor advised could cause pain during sex. The only bedtime company I had been keeping was with a cup of Horlicks and a pair of night socks.
The ‘sands are shifting when it comes to older women in age-gap relationships’, says Kate Mulvey – just look at actress Sienna Miller, 42, and her partner Oli Green, who is 15 years younger
It had even dawned on me that my sex life might be over. Was I condemned to a life of unwanted celibacy when intimacy had always been so important to me?
But two weeks and many flirty voice messages later, Justin and I arranged to meet.
I had joked to my close friends that as long as he didn’t run down the street screaming in horror at the sight of me, I would consider it a win. But inside I was terrified he wouldn’t find me attractive.
I hadn’t been on a date in nearly a year, and didn’t think I would measure up to someone so young and handsome.
Despite looking after myself with yoga and zero white carbs, my days of looking flawless naked are over.
So I plucked and poked, bought new make-up from L’Oreal and opted for a classy mini skirt, skinny ribbed jumper and flat boots. It was my usual go-to date wardrobe, but I did worry he might think I was trying to look younger.
As I hailed a cab, heart pounding, I felt dread mixed with excitement. How should I greet him? Hug, shake hands?
He was already standing at the bar in the swanky Chelsea restaurant. ‘You are more beautiful in the flesh,’ he said as he pulled out my chair, and we were soon laughing. He even held my hand briefly before driving me home.
When he texted later that evening and asked if I would like to see him again, I was over the moon.
On our second date, we exchanged life details. Justin is a property lawyer whose parents are from Sicily, although he was born in London. He has never been married, no kids. He has dated older women before, though his ex was only ten years older as opposed to our 21-year gap.
Again, I tentatively asked, ‘Why me?’ He said he liked the way I looked, thought my profile was funny and was drawn to my ‘warm smile’. Then he said, ‘Don’t overthink it.’ So I didn’t.
We saw each other the following week and quickly started to spend all of our spare time together.
He is quieter than me, and far more patient. Yet he is the first man I’ve dated who really challenges what I say; he may not be as quick-witted, but he is more thoughtful and I often agree with him without thinking I have lost the argument. But then he is a lawyer.
He picks me up for walks in Richmond Park and we sit sipping lattes, talking non-stop, feeling more and more happy in each other’s company.
After roughly a month, dates became sleepovers. Prior to Justin, my libido had been hovering at around zero. The last time I had indulged, several years ago, the sensation had been more sandpaper than symphonies.
So I had taken myself to my GP and emerged with an armful of unguents, oestrogen cream and a numbing agent in preparation.
When it came to baring all for the first time, I was so nervous that I got undressed with my back to him. Yes, 60 may be the new 40 in glossy-magazine speak but, like so many women, I find there is a world of difference between the two decades.
Middle-aged spread, wrinkly skin tone (years of sunbathing) and saggy-bottom syndrome are just some of my crosses to bear.
When I finally relaxed, with the help of low lighting, I was palpably relieved that the chemistry between us was great.
It helped that he commented on my ‘stunning figure’, and how my skin was so soft.
‘Tell me what you like,’ he says, running his fingers up my thigh. So I tell him — and may I say he has taken me to realms I didn’t know existed.
And yes, his sex drive is pretty intense. I confess to moments of fatigue when we have sex in the morning and again in the evening. To be honest, though, it feels lovely knowing he finds me so desirable.
When, a few weeks in, he told me to leave ‘some stuff’ at his place — a sure sign it was official — I wanted to dance on tables. It is as if a part of me that had lain dormant under layers of life, emotional baggage and old rejections, has come racing to the foreground.
I’m having fun like I did in my 20s, only this time with an emotional cushion, because we know and trust each other.
Being with a younger man feels light and hopeful, but at 41 he is mature enough to know how to cherish and treat me properly.
We do connect beyond the superficial stuff, too. He is intelligent and we want to talk about the same things in the same depth.
We both love getting up late, and our favourite meal is steak and chips.
To my relief, he doesn’t have a vegan bone in his body.
That said, we are sometimes at odds over JK Rowling’s pro-women stance; he can seem a tad woke but I appreciate it’s a generational divide.
I like the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs. He is confident and self-assured, and I love his calm, low-key way of being — it is the perfect foil for what he calls my ‘zaniness’. I don’t feel like a notch on his bedpost or a ‘Mrs Robinson’ rite of passage. (One 23-year-old I dated back in my 40s — no, this isn’t my first experience of dating a much younger man — said, ‘Been there, done that’ when talking about me to a friend.)
Despite the age gap between her and her younger boyfriend, Kate doesn’t feel ‘like a notch on his bedpost’ or a ‘Mrs Robinson’ rite of passage (pictured from the film The Graduate)
I like the way he holds my hand when we walk down the street, too. One Saturday, having dragged me to the Tate Modern, we met with a torrential downpour on our way out. I had a mini tantrum and he dashed off, returning drenched, umbrella in hand, to escort me. I loved him that little bit more for being such a gent.
Yet while we feel like any other normal, happy couple, not everyone agrees. Some friends have declared, ‘Far too young, it will end in tears.’ Others told me bluntly, ‘Of course he doesn’t love you!’ I laugh it off, but deep down I just can’t believe that I deserve happiness this late in life. After all, isn’t that what we are taught?
The same hypocritical friends flirt outrageously with Justin every time he comes into the room. And male friends make sarcastic comments about him being mistaken for my son (I know, hilarious). Others think it’s a bit, well, gross at my age.
At one social event, we were talking to an old male friend
who started directing all his conversation to me, edging Justin out of the way. There is nothing like turning up with a handsome hunk on your arm to highlight an old man’s lack of virility.
On the other hand, dinner parties with a group of pensioners are enough to make a youngish buck fall asleep in his soup.
Topics of conversation include pensions, the cost-of-living crisis and various health issues. While one friend droned on and on about the NHS, I did catch Justin rolling his eyes. I had to laugh; we made our excuses and left.
It’s no better when we’re with his friends. It’s clear some of the single men think it’s weird he wants to date me. Others, though, ask me to introduce them to one of my female friends.
But I find it particularly difficult to shake off the sense of unease when we’re with his friends who are parents and dashing about after young toddlers. That’s when I feel really old — and keenly aware I am childless.
In other ways, though, a relationship with a younger man and the associated confidence boost have given me a much more youthful outlook.
I’ve started to wear pretty, flippy dresses like the ones I wore in my 40s — I even dug some out from the back of the closet.
I have also become less crabby. People my age tend to complain a lot; being with someone more lighthearted has upped my mood.
I try not to mention my creaking knees but, despite throwing myself into the odd disco with abandon, after a while I do long for bed. Slowly, holes are creeping into our happiness. I draw the line at late nights at the pub during the week and slope home alone.
My social life may be busier but I am more tired as a result. This is not the best for convivial intimacy but, hey ho, sleep comes first.
The future is, of course, unknown. I certainly haven’t touched on the matter of whether he wants children — I don’t dare to.
But the other week, as we lay curled up on the sofa, cocooned in cashmere and cuddles, he did say there were far better things to do than change nappies. I am banking on that being a subtle indicator.
So I am trying to live in the moment. Even if it doesn’t last, I will never regret this passionate, caring relationship that has brought me back to life.
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