I’d been seeing Tim for four years, but his
shift work as a doctor meant that it was rare that we’d get to spend the
night together. When I pulled into the drive of his pretty three-bedroom detached
cottage, the door opened and my 53-year-old tall, dark and handsome
boyfriend greeted me with open arms.
We walked towards his huge, warm kitchen, arm-in-arm — yet the moment I
passed over the threshold I froze at the sight of an attractive
20-something woman sitting brazenly at Tim’s kitchen table.
Calmly, I
sat down and tried to make polite conversation while they finished a
bottle of wine. I tried not to react when the young woman, Lucy, brushed
her hand up and down his arm.Why didn’t I react? The honest truth is
that as a woman in my late 50s, I no longer feel I can.
Desperate
not to be alone, I have to accept a relationship on any terms offered
to me. At my age, the brutal truth is that I feel I can’t afford to be
choosy. It’s sad, but true.
At 2am, Lucy announced she was tired, and I watched, flabbergasted, as
she walked up the stairs. I looked at Tim, my heart breaking into a
million little pieces.
He urged me to go upstairs, too, casually adding: ‘We’ll go upstairs,
we’ll go to bed and we’ll invite her to join us.’This was too much, so,
managing to control my tears, I haltingly explained that I, a then
55-year-old woman, wasn’t available for such tawdry threesomes and left
with a heavy heart.Two years on, we’re still together. For six years now
I have been in the most significant, loving relationship of my life
with Tim. We’re a couple, but in order for us to exist as such, I must
allow him to sleep with whoever he likes whenever he likes.
You may wonder why I, a successful career woman (I was a sales executive
for most of my life) who owns a detached, mortgage-free £250,000
cottage, would put up with such disgusting behaviour from a man who
claims to love me. But the truth is today, at 57, my chances of finding
anyone else are so remote that I’ve no choice but to accept it.
After all, as I revealed in the Mail five months ago, I was a virgin
until I was 51: even though I was married twice before I met Tim, both
my husbands had refused to have s*x with me. Then, two years into our
relationship, Tim made it crystal clear to me that fidelity was out of
the question. Since we’ve been seeing each other, to my knowledge, he
has slept with three other women.
When I returned home that evening, I burst into tears. I didn’t know
what to do. Create a scene? I knew I’d lose him. Challenge him? I wasn’t
in a position of power to lay down the law. Have him followed? What
would that achieve?
As a woman over 50, I just didn’t feel I could make a fuss.By now, I was
menopausal and staring down my sixth decade. At 48, he was a handsome
man in his prime. I genuinely believed if I pulled him up over his
behaviour he’d dump me. So I held my tongue. Then, in January 2009,
almost a year after we began seeing each other, I pressed him about
‘our’ future. His divorce was under way, as was mine, the paperwork
being processed was just a formality. We were free to be together, so
surely that would put an end to his wandering eye?
So I raised the subject of fidelity and how important it was to me. Oh, how I wish I hadn’t.
According to Tim, he had the ‘right’ to have s*x with who he liked.
Hiding my shock, I explained that, for me, s*x is the closest two people
can possibly be, and that making love was an expression of my feelings
for him. He merely replied it was better for me that I knew this was how
it was going to be. Defeated, I said I’d accept it, as long as he was
discreet. What other choice did I have? After that conversation in
2009, life was, on the surface, wonderful. We’d enjoy long nights
together, cooking wonderful meals and listening to jazz. If he slept
with other women, well, at my time in life, what could I do but turn a
blind eye?
Of course, that’s not to say it was easy. There were those moments when
we were making love when I’d compare myself unfavourably with the other
women he was inevitably seducing at the same time.
But I forced my anxieties to the back of my mind and quietly started to
make plans for our future. With my divorce finally through in 2010, I
sold the marital home and hired an architect to build a family home for
us. Tim has two children by his ex-wife, a 20-year-old daughter and a
14-year-old son, and I wanted them to be a part of our future, too.That
night when he tried to make me sleep with him and another woman,
however, threatened to destroy everything.
It forced me to take stock of the stark realities of my partner’s
infidelity. I took an STD and HIV test, a sobering, not to mention
humiliating, ordeal to put yourself through at 55.For months I tried not
to call him, but after a while I just couldn’t help myself, but he
wouldn’t take my calls and refused to see me.
The showdown came in February last year at his home. I told him I loved
him and pleaded that I wanted him to reconsider his attitude towards
fidelity.
He replied that it was out of the question: s*x, according to Tim, is
akin to browsing at the supermarket: one week he might fancy a rump
steak, the next roast chicken. The choice was his to make.In floods of
tears, I walked out. While continuing to oversee the house I’d planned
for our future, I’d cry myself to sleep. I was lonely and acutely aware
that as each day slipped by I was getting closer to 60. Friends tried
to pull me out of my gloom, reassuring me I was better off without him,
that there were plenty of other men for an attractive woman such as
myself. But the truth is that there aren’t. This January, I turned 57. I was desperately lonely and in May I
couldn’t take it any more. I called and begged him to take me back.
While friends are genuinely concerned that I’ve resumed our
relationship, I’ve simply forced myself to accept that Tim will sow his
oats when and with whom he wants to. Today he’s 55 and I reassure
myself he can’t go on doing it for ever. Granted, he’s handsome now, but
sooner or later, women won’t want to sleep with him any more.
Things are back to normal between us and we’re a proper couple now,
albeit one harbouring a rather tawdry secret.I cherish having someone to
hold my hand and tell me he loves me. What he does when he’s not with
me I would rather not know.
Instead, I focus on our future: sitting on the terrace of our new home
that I built for us, growing old together. After all — what other choice
do I have?
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