Love at Sixty

By Yvonne Taylor

A woman attempts to prevent herself from falling in love at sixty years of age, but her ardent admirer is not giving up that easily.
The daunting experience of throwing her world upside down is mellowed by applying humor to the situation.
Finally, she reasons that nowadays, we will all live to be ninety and people need to fill the final decades of their lives with fun and passion.
As always, love wins the day, and a partnership between two hitherto stubborn and rather selfish people is formed, whereby new and exciting experiences are shared. However, Yvonne Taylors advice to others of her age is not to be taken all too seriously!

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Dec 11, 2013
• ISBN: 9781491886526

Yvonne Taylor

Yvonne Taylor was born in England but spent most of her life in foreign countries. During the many ensuing international encounters her wish to become an author grew steadily. This is her sixth book. Taylor now lives in Tuscany where there is plenty of inspiration for further fiction.

Book preview

1

B eauty sells, and beauty is often defined as youth. Seemingly, the world has forgotten all other human merits in its pursuit of materialism. Is there no hope for the majority who lack youth and beauty? Will romance and self-satisfaction overlook them? Should their hearts despair at the thought of living their final decades without this type of affection?

We hope this is not the case. Personally, I do think that many people have misread the fact that experiencing fun and passion in their later years requires a complete rethinking of values and aspirations. The experts say our lives have been extended by decades—but surely not to repeat the often sad and unfulfilling years of previous generations. People in their sixties and older are healthy enough to enjoy activities that did not even exist when our grandparents were alive. The question is, will we enjoy these years with a fun-loving and appreciative partner, or will we be bored to insanity because the person at our side does not excite us? This challenge has never been faced before. In the past, only a small percentage of humans reached their sixties in a reasonably healthy and mentally stable condition.

It would be rather unfortunate if women over the age of sixty tried to hold on to their youth, wearing short skirts and tops with low necklines which emphasised their saggy knees and scraggy necks. This behaviour would attract the wrong type of relationships which only end in disaster. If older men focussed entirely on maintaining or regaining their hairline rather than looking at their reflection with pride, they would also attract a superficial thrill seeker when their needs lie in a completely different direction. Life at sixty should present new horizons and ideals. We will only make a mess of things if we look backwards rather than forwards.

Misinterpretation of the above-mentioned faux pas should, however, be avoided. For example, although dignity is crucial, not all people over sixty want to look like perfect, white-haired grandparents walking along a beach with their grandchildren playing gracefully around their feet. Such images in advertisements do little to show the reality of life. Indeed, they point out the shortcomings of those over sixty because they are not all perfect role models—far from it if they have a divorce or two under their belt. Yet we need to address the role of grandparents. In our present-day society, we may or may not have access to all the young people in our families. I, for one, have a close and loving relationship to one of my grandchildren, while the other two are not allowed to know of my (or my ex-husband’s) existence. To address the subject can be painful—or in my case, post-painful. My point is that it is not enough to be a grandparent in today’s society. Children move away, go abroad, or simply don’t get on with you. So the adverts’ images of people over sixty have got it all wrong. They are, after all, only there to get money out of your pocket by promoting some unnecessary product. There are few people in this age group attractive enough to grace a camera’s lens, so let’s get back to reality. You are sixty, intelligent, reasonably attractive, and you have extensive life experience and a yearning for love and affection. Work is good therapy for loneliness—for those in and out of a relationship. But we want more than that. We have decided we want to spend the next thirty years in a fulfilling, exciting relationship in which we enjoy a satisfying life under the sheets, on the kitchen counter, or on the living room floor—whichever seems right in the moment.

How does one achieve this? The answer, according to my modest opinion, lies to a large extent in self-confidence. A person who habitually smiles exudes attractiveness and will attract someone. Nobody has time to notice your wrinkles when you offer a hearty smile or exude a positive attitude. This should not be hard work, however. It should come naturally—from a true sense of joy and satisfaction.

I am sixty and have just fallen in love. Be open-minded; one day you will also be sixty, and you may need some help. Or you may already be sixty, and you would like to know how to achieve the seemingly impossible. Allow me to mention a few simple facts which I consider key.

Firstly, dignity must always be at the forefront. If, as in my case, you are unable to hide the deep laugh lines above your cheekbones, you have two options. You can accept them as the result of many happy moments, or you can give up on a future full of fun and passion. Your partner should love you for your intellect and conversation—your personality. If all those around you find your traits irresistible, your partner will also find you irresistible. Remember the reasons that people loved you in your youth. Was it your smile or your positive attitude? What drew people to you? If you have neglected these traits recently, it’s time to develop them again. You may want to spend a few hours or even a few days in solitary reflection, reminding yourself of who you really are. What did you know and feel as a child which has now been confirmed to you by years of experience and perhaps partial hell?

Secondly, don’t worry about the moment when you make your first attempt at letting go with the partner you will find or rediscover. The moment of truth, when all barriers fall, need not be planned. The location is not important. Desire will take over, fast and unstoppable, as if a locomotive was running over you. There is no time to consider dropped breasts or a tummy that protrudes conspicuously while your heart is beating wildly.

Let me illustrate. For the first two weeks of my present romance, I felt I was living in a washing machine on an endless lather programme. My brain seemed full of suds, and my thoughts uncontrollable. I fought against falling in love. I couldn’t accept that I was attractive enough for someone to fall in love with me. I saw only wrinkles and droops in the mirror—a worn-out body with no sign of lustre or tautness. What was he thinking, telling me he loved me? Fortunately, I was slim—and about to get even slimmer as a result of sleepless nights in the washing machine phase. I had an appetite and ate well, but three kilograms just slid off for no apparent reason. (I read much later that hormones play a decisive role in weight gain and loss.)

Thirdly, don’t let the mere thought of ageing affect your energy levels. My new love described me and my bursts of energy as being ‘like a hurricane’. I had always been known as speedy, but now it seemed my energy knew no boundaries. Four hours of sleep sufficed, and my energy levels raced upwards like bottle rockets. I was twenty all over again and, as my hideous tummy disappeared overnight as a result of three kilos of excess fat sliding off me, there was only the sagging flesh above my caesarean scar to worry about. How could he possibly accept that? Could I somehow hide it from him by keeping the lights turned off? Unfortunately, desire sometimes arrives during daylight hours. We cannot always lie flat to minimise the effect of unwanted drooping flesh. Likewise, we cannot waste our precious energy by worrying about something that we cannot change. The only solution is acceptance of who we are and the stage of life we are currently going through.

But even if I accept it, can he? And can I be sure he is not just trying to spare my feelings? The questions mount up, causing my self-confidence to drop into the danger zone. I find myself again wasting energy on ridiculous thoughts instead of saving it to show off the charm and wit I’m attempting to reinstate.

I will need all the energy I can summon to keep myself awake at midnight to stare at the starry sky while he rests his arm on my shoulder. So I shouldn’t tax my energy stores unnecessarily, because I can be sure that his worries are rather more significant than mine.

Before I approached this desirable, imminent moment of falling into a baffling and complex state of affairs, I had to ask myself: do I really want to go through all the drama again? Didn’t I have enough of that at twenty, thirty, forty, and—God forbid—fifty? I was just settling into being a grandmother as I bought Christmas presents for grandchildren and put them under the Christmas tree. ‘Grandma’ sounded rather comforting, as if I had fulfilled my duties and could sit back a little.

I watched my children squabble with their spouses and hoped nothing serious would evolve out of these episodes; I remembered all too clearly how I had forfeited a marriage too easily. Memories of those past mistakes now poured into my soul. What I had considered dead and buried resurfaced as I watched my grandchildren struggling to get attention from their stressed-out parents. It reminded me how I—all those years ago—didn’t always find time to join in my children’s games or listen to their tales. And now at this time in my life I want my family to be confronted with my new partner when everything is so nicely settled?

My children might be embarrassed at the thought of me holding hands with a male, never mind my deeper desires. And how would the grandchildren react? Would they sit and stare in horror when I walked arm-in-arm with a stranger rather than knitting polo necks for their next skiing holiday?

Until now, my ex-partner has conveniently avoided me and visited his sons while I was on one of my many travels. How would he react when his hairdresser girlfriend—whom the postman often makes advances to—shows off her youthful hairdo next to my thinning mane?

Apropos the travels? Would my new partner accept travel as an integral part of my life? Why am I considering this? After writing this far and being confronted with the complexities and embarrassments that accompany a love affair so late in life, I’ve reconsidered and decided not to get involved with men again. I’ll keep my life simple, with some good friends and a few hours of voluntary work each week to give me a sense of fulfilment. That is enough on top of worrying about the children and if they will do things better than me. How could I have contemplated complicating my life by allowing an intruder into my world—someone who will want to know all about my past? Will I be willing to tell him?

But then he smiles at me and takes my hand, and my heart skips a beat. He is so nice to be with. We walk along the road together. It is so nice to feel a part of the real world again and so easy to match his footsteps and slide my arm into his.

So it’s back to the washing machine phase and all it entails. Thoughts churn in my head during this constant battle to decide if falling in love will make me a happier person or just give me the final push into insanity. Before my next meeting with him, my mind was finally clear and sharp. Common sense won the day.

He listened to my arguments against a relationship for all of two minutes before he took over the conversation. Later, I called it his sales pitch. He was convincing, determined, and relentless. The list of objections I had rehearsed quickly disappeared from my memory. He knew how to make my objections sound ridiculous and even pointless. He was going to win me over, and my fortress would crumble. But if I agreed silently to a relationship, it could only mean he would expect me to make love with him. That was going one step too far. My aged body didn’t possess any of the qualities necessary to make me desirable. I may look passable in my smart dress and stockinged legs, and my hair always made me look younger than my years. But he would cringe in shock or laugh out loud if he saw the state of my arms, not to mention my sagging knees. I concluded I really must do my utmost to put him off. I point out that he could have a woman twenty years younger than me, but he predicted my argument about age and told me he needs my conversation and intellect. Women 20 years younger have no place in his world it seems. At this moment in time, I have accepted that he sees me at my best.

The doubts crept relentlessly into my mind. Even if I kept the lights off, would I know what to do? Would I remember how to stroke and—even more important—how to react to his caresses? If I were to allow things to go that far and if he wasn’t put off by my ageing skin and veteran figure, what would I do? How long ago was the last time? Five years—no, closer to ten—and I wasn’t exactly a fireball then.

The previous relationship had lasted five years but—to be honest—only the first six months were good. After that, I was bored; although he was eighteen years younger than me, I found him unexciting and lifeless. Now someone my own age was supposed to keep me interested and excited? And what did I have to offer him?

Should I have all these questions? Shouldn’t it be easier than this? The answer to my questions has already formed in my mind because in fact, it is easy to say yes to a dinner at his house, a glass of wine, or a nice chat in front of the fire. It’s even easier to listen to him and wait for his next smile. But before I get charmed into submission, I told myself I mustn’t forget that ugly line of fat resting on my hips. Where did that come from? I hadn’t noticed it before this man popped into my life, and now I find myself studying my figure in front of the mirror while dressing for my third date with him. Get a grip before it’s too late! I’ve avoided men’s advances for years, so it’s not as if I haven’t had enough practice at averting disaster. It’s a simple matter of saying no. At my age, no one will hold it against me. Most women will have written off any form of contact with males, and men compare their partners to perfectly airbrushed models. Which takes us to those people who are already in a relationship at this stage of life—are they simply together because it’s too difficult for them to part? Or are there years of thrills and happiness awaiting them?

Is there any hope of falling in love again for the people in marriages held together by convenience? We must consider that the majority of people