I thought my date was too young but I was the immature one

Metro

12-07-2025

'Happy belated birthday!' I exclaimed, clinking pint glasses with my date, Taylor*.
He'd just told me that he was a Leo, which I deemed the perfect opportunity to broach the subject of age.
'I'm a Libra.' I started. 'My birthday's coming up in October and I'm freaking out because I'll be turning 30.'
I paused for dramatic effect, but he simply smiled. 'Thirty is no age.' His face radiated warmth and I felt relieved.
For months now I'd been dreading the big 3-0, plagued by thoughts like 'Should I freeze my eggs?' and 'Should I get Botox? '
'Ooh, almost 30!' friends and strangers would yell when I revealed that I was 29, which only fed into my ageing anxiety.
Mostly though, I'd decided it was time to settle down.
I'd enjoyed my fair share of singledom flings, long-term relationships, and heartbreaks scattered throughout my twenties, but now I was ready to get serious.
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And that's how I'd found myself on a date with Taylor.
As someone who had met all their exes in real life, I had been a late bloomer with dating apps.
Luckily, London offers a wealth of choice. I set my criteria – older than me and open to marriage and children – and off I went swiping.
I dedicated as much time and energy to dating as I did with my career, my band, and my social life.
Surely, a 24-year-old wasn't ready to settle down?
I made a point of going on three first dates a week. I fancied some guys who didn't fancy me and became friends with several after we mutually realised romance wasn't our destiny.
Of course, I also gently turned down men I didn't fancy and blocked those who became weird – perhaps the strangest interaction I had was with one who blasted me with photos of his house rabbit and pretended to be said rabbit.
I also hit on people in pubs and at gigs, and I spread the word with my friends asking them to set me up.
That's when my friend, Lily, sent me a photo of her single friend, Taylor. 'You'll really like him; you guys have a weird amount in common. And you both have luscious hair!' She beamed.
I was attracted to his looks and didn't press for more information. I assumed he was our age.
I gave Lily the green light and half an hour later, Taylor messaged me. He dove straight into my availability for a date; there was no idle small talk. And it wasn't long before he took the initiative to arrange a date in Camden for the following night.
His go-getting approach was already very attractive to me and, when I arrived at the bar, and I saw that he was gorgeous in the flesh, I knew we were off to a promising start.
He had thick brown hair, soulful brown eyes, and perfect teeth. But it wasn't just his looks that sucked me in, we really did have a lot in common.
We had both been in bands with record deals as teenagers. We'd learned foreign languages and dabbled in art.
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In fact, there hadn't been a single red flag all night, until our astrology conversation.
Relieved that he wasn't repulsed by my impending new decade status, I naturally asked him how old he was. He confidently replied that he was 24.
My heart sank. Surely, a 24-year-old wasn't ready to settle down?
I'd dated guys who were six years older than me, but never younger. I fancied the pants off Taylor, and he wasn't bothered by the age gap – but it really was a humdinger.
So, assuming it would scare him off, I told him I was ready for a husband. I didn't want to reject him, but my desire to settle down soon was real.
It didn't deter him.
I felt conflicted. I didn't want to cut and run – the conversation flowed effortlessly, and I really liked him.
Despite the age bombshell, there was undeniable chemistry between us. He lined up the second date that night and, despite my reservations, I agreed to it. Why not have a bit of fun and see where it goes?
On the Tube journey to meet him the following Thursday, I had excited butterflies in the pit of my stomach.
That night, Taylor generously treated me to dinner – he wouldn't let me pay, despite my drunken claims of being 'way older' – and then we went on to knock back frozen margaritas at several Soho bars.
During one slurred and drunk diatribe, he interrupted me by passionately kissing me. As our lips parted, he smiled and said: 'You're beautiful.' I immediately felt shy and batted away his compliment.
After that the PDA was hot and heavy. We kissed for what felt like hours as we bounced from bar to bar and by the time we left we were both suitably drunk – though he could definitely hold his alcohol better.
Since we lived in the same area, he suggested we take the Tube back together and offered to walk me home. It was on the ride home that I suddenly felt the urge to vomit.
I caught most of the fluorescent puke in my handbag – these things can always be cleaned or replaced – but Taylor was fraught with worry. We'd only managed one stop before he ordered us off the Tube and more frozen margaritas followed close behind.
When it eventually stopped, he grabbed a water bottle from his rucksack and told me to gently sip from it as he guided me onto the next Tube. I felt comforted by his gallant and non-judgemental attitude.
Back at my flat, he made toast while I fiercely brushed my teeth and then he helped me into bed, instructing me to lie on my side before bidding me goodnight. There was absolutely no funny business.
Taylor was relieved I had a flatmate; I wouldn't be alone when he left. When I woke up the next morning, the hangxiety was overwhelming. Vomiting all over the Tube? I fully expected to never hear from him again.
As my hangover slowly faded, I received several caring, yet still somewhat concerned, messages from Taylor.
Even more amazingly, despite my immature and drunken antics, he was not dissuaded and asked me out on a third date.
We continued to date each other even after my 30th birthday and I didn't bring up our age gap again.
I had a couple of first dates with other guys that autumn, but we didn't click – as fate would have it, though, we both met other people that November.
He was more mature than I'd ever be
Taylor was keen to meet up, as he 'had some news'. My intuition told me he had also met someone else. He was genuinely happy for me. I was equally happy for him.
His handling of the whole situation made me realise that even though Taylor might be six years younger than me, he was more mature than I'd ever be.
Ironically, the other guy I met was older but completely immature. Now I believe age is just a number and have eschewed my age criteria. Looking back on our dates, I regret letting Taylor get away. More Trending
I have bumped into him several times since we dated, but it's not awkward. He still smiles sincerely at me, and I feel nostalgic for the memories and a little regretful.
All I know is that, if a younger guy asks you out, say yes!
*Names have been changed
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This article was originally published July 28, 2025
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