avatarAnnie Kocher

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THE NARRATIVE ARC

I Dated a Man 18 Years Older Than Me

It forever impacted my view of age gaps in relationships

Photo by Travis Grossen on Unsplash

There are lots of opinions out there about large age differences in romantic relationships. While, of course, every relationship should be judged individually and on its own merit, I am forever skeptical of big age gaps. And it comes from my own experience.

It happened when I was 25. An age when you often think you’re more mature than you are (or at least I did). When you think you’ve fully become an adult, when really, you’re only just starting that journey.

I had just moved back into my childhood home after living abroad for a couple of years. It was a voluntary decision to move back, but it was still a challenging transition. I no longer had the coolness factor of being an expat. I was trying to figure out how to make it as a freelance writer (with middling results). And I had left behind the closest thing I had ever had (and still have ever had) to a healthy romantic relationship.

The guy in question and I lived five hours apart, but we texted every day for months, had the occasional phone call, and had a handful of sweet and sexy weekends together. But, because of our distance, we never really leveled up the relationship, and so when I moved across the ocean, it only felt natural to end it.

And so, when I moved back home, I was happy to be reunited with family and old friends, but was also experiencing an unexpected well of loneliness.

Enter Matt. I met him at a bar just outside my neighborhood. I was meant to meet my best friend there, but she had accidentally fallen asleep and was nearly two hours late. In the meantime, I listened to the rock band playing in the corner and was casually approached by a good-looking, charismatic guy. He was approachable, almost goofy good-looking which made him likable pretty quickly. He wasn’t pushy with his chat, and I didn’t mind talking to him since I was alone anyway.

Eventually, my friend made it to the bar, and when I pointed out the guy, she confirmed that he was cute, and I should give him my number. What the heck did I have to lose? So I asked for some receipt paper from the bar, scribbled my number, and handed it to the guy before my friend and I moved on to our next drinking spot.

Later that night, Matt texted me, and the next week, we agreed to meet for drinks at another nearby bar. He lived in my neighborhood, which made everything feel convenient. I was nervous to meet with this near stranger, but he was just as good-looking and charming as I remembered. Even more so, really. He was incredibly complimentary to me and even seemed a little in awe of me — a reaction I had never gleaned from a man.

Partway through our evening, a woman who was pleasantly tipsy sat next to us. Rather than be annoyed at someone butting in on our date, Matt and I both happily included her. It made me feel closer to him, that we both felt comfortable enough to welcome in a woman who wanted a little company. Somehow, ages came up, and she asked us both how old we were. I volunteered my age, and then, Matt, a little more reluctantly, said he was 43. He was 18 years older than me.

I was shocked. I knew he was a bit older than me, but I thought he was maybe mid-thirties, not almost two decades my senior. He looked good for his age, I’ll give him that, and had a youthful energy that didn’t seem to match the number he claimed. We all were a little uncomfortable after that. Pretty soon, the woman got an Uber, and Matt and I said goodbye.

When I was in bed that night, Matt sent me a text thanking me for the night, and I could tell this was him saying I get that you probably don’t want to carry on now, best wishes.

But I did want to carry on. I was lonely and confused, and he made me feel seen. Not to mention, up to that point, my dating life had been pretty tame, and nothing (apart from my long-distance guy) had gone further than a few dates. I was 25, for crying out loud, wasn’t I supposed to have some reckless dating stories under my belt, get the scandal out of my system, before I settled down with the right guy?

I knew Matt wasn’t my right guy, but he felt right at that moment. He was a charming distraction at the very least.

So I texted him back that I’d like to see him again.

It was tricky, trying out this taboo relationship while living under my parents’ roof. We met up to take our dogs on walks together a couple of times, and we met for drinks, which I would lie to my parents about and tell them I was meeting with my best friend instead. Up to this point, nothing happened between us. Just pleasant conversation.

Then, a gift came. My aunt and uncle went on vacation for a few weeks, and asked me to house sit for them. It was just me and my newly adopted dog — we had a whole house to ourselves.

During one of our bar dates, Matt mentioned the movie Seven being one of his favorites. I had never seen it, so I invited him over to my temporary home to watch with me. He came with a six-pack of High Lifes, and we sat on the couch nursing our beers, slowly inching closer together.

Partway through the movie, we both put our beers down, he took my face in his hands, and we kissed. It was earnest. We had both clearly been holding out for this moment. Matt made one feeble protest that we should slow down, but shortly after that, we were making our way to the bedroom.

I felt a sense of power, that I could be the kind of girl who could attract a sexy older guy. And there were also merits to dating someone more mature. He wasn’t some bravado-masked twenty-something who had to keep his cards close. Matt and I had earnest, vulnerable conversations. We were both creatives and a bit wayward.

He was a musician in a band (but also had a respectable day job, notably), and had recently divorced his ex. Her name was Anne, and she was a bit younger than him but not as young as me. I took this factoid as a strange coincidence rather than the red flag it should’ve been.

I was stepping into dangerous territory. This was no longer a fun fling I could mention in the future to bolster my sex clout. I was developing feelings for Matt.

A part of me knew that the relationship couldn’t and wouldn’t last. Of course it wouldn’t — he had two kids from one marriage, was just getting out of a second marriage, and I had never even had a bonafide boyfriend. We were in very different places in life, and yes, our age difference was a major factor in that.

And yet, another part of me kept throwing caution to the wind. We both had creative passions, and liked dogs, and shared similar music tastes. I didn’t want to give up the sex, either.

So we kept seeing each other for a few months. It was tricky once I was no longer housesitting. I was back with my parents, and Matt was still sharing a house with his ex-wife. Actually, it came out that they weren’t technically divorced yet, but they had been separated for a while and were working on the divorce, and staying in separate bedrooms. Being the generous, open-minded person that I am (*cough cough* delusional *cough cough*), I gave him grace on the matter.

So we met up in bars and hooked up in cars.

After four or five months, I got the sense that I needed to reel in my emotions. My head and my heart were on different frequencies, and I had been giving my heart too much attention, to the detriment of my head’s reasoning.

As I was gathering up the courage to put on my big girl pants and establish some boundaries, I noticed Matt taking longer to respond to my messages. Then, the day before I was meant to drive across the state and take care of a friend’s dog, he texted me.

It was a very nice text, one saying that he’ll always be a fan of mine and blah blah blah, but that he and Anne were going to give their marriage one last try. And that he was sorry.

I was dumbfounded by the cliché. I drove the two hours to my friend’s cool loft apartment and spent the weekend eating Domino’s pizza, cuddling her tiny dog, and licking my wounds. I was glad for the timing of this trip, to have the chance to hide away.

Was I heartbroken? I was certainly heart-bruised. But more than that, I felt an overwhelming wave of shame. I was so embarrassed and angry with myself that I could let my heart get swept up so easily. I always thought that I was a good judge of character and that I was completely in control of my emotions, but this whirlwind caught me completely off guard.

If I couldn’t even protect myself from a guy who I knew wasn’t an actual match, what would happen when I met someone who, on paper, was more suitable? If he threw a few compliments my way and was a decent kisser, would all logic go out the window?

When I started my dalliance with Matt, I thought I was in for a fun little confidence boost, and would come out of it with a story I could share with girlfriends while cooly swirling a glass of wine. But I was leaving it feeling raw, stupid, and childish.

I had texted him that I wanted to meet to have one final chat, and he agreed. I wanted closure, and maybe a chance to recollect some of my dignity. But a few weeks passed, and he never made the time for me. I was still ashamed, but some of my anger was inching away from me and towards him.

About a month after things ended between us, Matt texted me a couple of times, trying to start a conversation again. He would ask if I wanted to grab a beer and talk. But he always sent these texts after 9:00 PM. I knew he was sending them out of drunkenness or loneliness. And I finally knew what I was to him. He was dissatisfied in his marriage and came across me: the younger, newer model of his second wife. But when I showed too much attachment, he realized the mistake he made and retreated.

I texted him that I was past wanting to talk, and getting a late-night beer with me probably wasn’t a great idea if he wanted to work on his marriage. That made him go quiet.

Now, I really was angry at him. Why was he making me be the adult in this situation? He was 18 years older than me — the least he could do was respect me by letting me move on. When I first met Matt, I thought that it could be good for me to try dating an older, mature guy. But I realized that the only type of guy who would allow a girl almost two decades his junior to get swept up in such a fantasy wasn’t very mature at all.

In the end, I don’t think Matt is a truly bad guy. He wasn’t an angry or violent person. But he was lost when I met him, and I let him lead me down his uncharted path. And even though it wasn’t for long, the experience left a lasting impression on me.

Now, older and not much wiser, I’m weary of even entertaining the idea of a partner with more than a five-year age gap. Who knows, maybe one day I’ll prove myself wrong, but for now, I don’t trust dating someone a great deal older than me. To me, it feels like a warning sign that there are unresolved issues going on with at least one party, or maybe both.

My experience with Matt did, unfortunately, make me more cynical — both towards men and myself — but it also allowed me to grow. I’d like to believe that now I’m more likely to check in with both my head and my heart when dating, and I’m better at communicating boundaries. And hopefully one day that growth will allow me to be better prepared to enter a relationship with someone who is a good match for me.

Thank you for reading!

The Narrative Arc
Memoir
Relationships
It Happened To Me
Dating
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