A May-December Love Match

With 50 being the new 30, dating a man 20 years older is worth a few dirty looks

By Alexandra Gekas
 
Stepping out of a cab downtown, I grabbed Carlos’ arm and immediately felt him tense up. Didn’t he want to be seen with me? Was he embarrassed? Sure, I am a woman half his age, young enough to be his daughter, but I wasn’t self-conscious about it. Why was he? Why was I oblivious to the stares of women his age (also my mother’s age) and he wasn’t?
 
As it turns out, other than that moment on our first date, age has barely even been a consideration in the 18 months Carlos and I have been together. When we met, I was 26 and he was 48, and sure, it’s been the fodder of a joke or two between us (he’s my sugar daddy; I’m his trophy girlfriend), but nothing more.
 
When I first met Carlos I didn’t consider the possibility of romance, probably because of his age. I had been early to board the Acela from Washington D.C. to New York City and had already taken a seat by the window when he rushed onto the train and sat across from me.
 
We were both on business. We struck up a conversation and spent the three-hour ride joking, drinking wine and eliciting the nasty looks of the other passengers in the quiet car with our laughs.
 
We found we had quite a bit in common that night. And we’ve often discussed, considering how different our backgrounds are, what that says about humanity.
 
We’re  both writers, speak French, have similar tastes in films, and share matching political views. But more importantly, in spite of our tandem argumentative and stubborn streaks, our personalities/temperaments are utterly in sync and our senses of humor – boisterous and a little sophomoric at times – completely gel. 
 
Of course, when I describe it, it sounds like any number of people. But the way we are just fit – we clicked into place the moment we started talking.
 
That’s why, when I got an email from him the following Monday, I was happy to hear from him but I didn’t think much more about it. He thanked me for a nice evening, cracked a joke we’d shared and I responded in kind.
 
Before I knew it we were emailing back and forth, virtually nonstop all day, every day. Whether from our computers or our Blackberries, we were in constant conversation. Every text, email or instant message making me blush and rush to respond with an even wittier reply.
 
What was it that changed? Truthfully, when I look back on it, I see from the start I was drawn to him. There was just something I liked about him. So. Much. But it wasn’t until I felt protected behind the veil of technology that it became flirtatious.
 
And during those first few weeks of emailing, as it turned from like to lust and from lust to love I felt a connection I had never felt before.
 
For one thing, Carlos’ age (or more accurately the charm, wit and knowledge that comes with it) worked hugely to his advantage. I have always been told I am mature – an “old soul” as my mother says. I don’t know if that is true, but what I do know is that I don’t suffer fools. And Carlos is anything but a fool.
 
If I may wax poetic for a moment, he is the funniest man I have ever met and that’s because he’s so smart. He is warm, he is classy, he is masculine (but likes tough women) and when using the written word he is in his element. I was totally 100-percent seduced through his emails.
 
And, of course, he is sexy. It’s important to clarify this just to keep things on the up and up because while his age is not an issue to me, if he were a dumpy, tired middle-aged man well…this would not have happened.  Not only is Carlos handsome and very fit, but he is one of those rare people whose light burns just as brightly at 50 as I imagine it did at 20. He is insatiable about life, often running circles around me with his energy.
 
Obstacles? Sure, in the long-term. The first thing out of people’s mouths when they offer me the unsolicited advice I seem to be asking for whether I know it or not is “It’s fine now, but what about when you’re 50 and he’s 73?”
 
Regarding social conventions and acceptability – or lack thereof – when it comes to intergenerational dating, I’d say our biggest detractors are women closer to his age than mine. At the risk of over-generalizing, they see Carlos as rightfully theirs and me as a youthful usurper of sorts. The younger woman syndrome – which seemingly strikes fear deep in their hearts – has caused me to be the recipient of quite a nasty look or two. And I understand; I would feel the same way.
 
However, when it comes to guys closer to my age -those who conventional wisdom and my parents would consider more proper suitors - reactions are usually supportive of Carlos. “He must be good at something” is not an unfrequent remark I’ve overheard.
 
Perhaps both groups project into the future.
 
And the future is also in my thoughts.
 
I think about raising children, retirement, the I-don’t-want-to-die-alone phobia. But what trumps it all is a simple truth. I’d rather spend 20 amazing years with Carlos than 50 so-so years with someone else.
 
Besides, who’s to say any relationship is going to last 50 years nowadays? All I know is I have loved Carlos more than I knew possible from nearly the minute I met him and he has loved me. And there is no other man in the world who I would want my children to call their father.
 
I was never the girl who believed in “the one.” Had never been in love before I met Carlos and didn’t feel I was missing out. Like most women I was hoping to meet a nice man, fall in love, get married, have kids. But at 26 years old, I wasn’t exactly in a rush.
 
Carlos just happened. He happened to me when I was least expecting it…and I happened to him.
 
And to be clear, we have our problems. We have our fights (some for fun, some not so fun). But age has not had anything to do with it: stubborness -perhaps, confrontational temperaments - for sure,  age - never.
 
All I can say is if I am lucky enough to turn 50 and still have him in my life, then we will have made it longer than most couples. You can’t help who you fall in love with, and love’s not that easy to find. I embrace it and so does he.
 
Now, whenever we step out of a cab downtown, and I reach for Carlos’s arm, I know that if he tenses up it won’t be because of my age, but because his arthritic rheumatism is kicking in. 
 

Alexandra Gekas is a journalist living in New York City.