I am 35 years old. I have done dating, and I got close to marriage once. But when I really checked the man I was about to marry, something in me went quiet, and I knew it was going to be the worst mistake of my life. So I opted out. He didn’t like it. My family didn’t like it either. They fought me about it, hard.

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“Phoebe, do you want to be single for life? Do you not want to give me grandkids? Look at your siblings, and you are the eldest. Every man is not perfect, you just manage. I managed your father before he died. How is it that you can’t do the same?” That was my mom’s anthem, and she sang it every chance she got, at family dinners, on the phone, even in conversations that had nothing to do with men at all.

But the man cheated on me countless times, and I couldn’t imagine dealing with that for the rest of my life, waking up every day wondering who he was with. A broken engagement is better than a broken marriage. I left him, and I have never once regretted it, no matter how many times my mother brings it up.

I met a man last year. We are dating now.

My problem is, I’m five whole years older than him. When I told him about my age, he just shrugged, like it was nothing at all. “It’s not a big deal, who cares what people say as long as we love each other.” I won’t lie, he got me when he said that. A man who knows what he wants and goes for it, that’s rare these days.

But I have never dated a younger man before, so I don’t know what it’s like, and I don’t know what it entails. Surely there’s a first time for everything, but I don’t know if I’m willing to risk it, not at this point in my life, not after everything I already survived once.

The good thing is I am unable to control myself whenever we meet. My days are filled with thoughts of him, and my nights, with dreams of him. He excites me so much, my chest tightens the second his name shows up on my phone.

I think of him, and there’s this joyous bubble that envelops me and makes me leave my senses behind. I forget my worries, I forget my age, I forget every warning I have ever given myself about men.

The problem is he has a big ego. I mean, he’s so full of himself, and sometimes I catch myself wondering if that confidence is real or just something he’s performing.

He is good in bed too, very good. His hands, his mouth, his touch, all of it works on me in a way I can’t fully explain, in a way that makes me forget to ask the questions I should be asking.

Looking at the age gap between us, his inconsistencies, the amazing sex, and those unasked questions, how do I describe what I feel for this man? Sometimes I feel like I gave in to him too quickly, like I skipped the part where I was supposed to protect myself.

Is There A Man Out There Who Doesn’t Cheat?

In spite of all the issues, I really feel great when I’m with him. He can hold intelligent conversations, he’s quite a good kisser, and I love his personality. There’s a version of this that feels worth fighting for.

How do I name what I feel for him?

Am I in my right senses, or do you think old age is doing something strange to me?

—Keith

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