We live together, but my boyfriend doesn't want to marry me

'Finding someone in maturity without a lorryload of baggage and commitments is like striking gold': Mariella Frostrup advises a woman craving marriage. Photograph: Getty

The dilemma My partner and I are approaching our 70s. He moved in with me a year ago – it was what I?wished. He was more reluctant; it took him time to commit. We had been friends for years and developed our relationship further after the death of my husband.

I?always thought love between two people would want to be expressed by a?public commitment – marriage. But my partner does not want to marry. He?does not express his reasons for this. He simply says that our relationship is the?best he has ever experienced. Telling me this, he appears to think, is sufficient. He says he is committed. That moving in demonstrates he is. He is a romantic man and is not against marriage per se, just with me!

I am troubled by my need for this public acknowledgement, as it seems to be tied to how it would be if he died. I?think I?will be overlooked and seen as "less than" emotionally and financially.

Mariella replies Less than what? It would be useful to have an idea of what you are measuring yourself against. These days wives and husbands are 10 a penny, most of us having accrued more than one spouse by your age! Is there a particular matrimonial union that's your benchmark for the success of this new relationship; or is it simply the status quo? Are you most concerned about gaining approval from the outside world, or are your concerns located closer to home? You fear ambivalence on his part, but the man you represent couldn't be more enthusiastic. Yet instead of relishing your good fortune in squeezing in another big love affair, you're preoccupied with nailing down contracts and conforming.

If he never married before or expressed a desire to be wed, why should he change path now? Having nothing against the institution doesn't mean he has to be an active participant. Then again, maybe he's been married before and that's what you've taken umbrage at? I can see how one's psyche could twist their desire not to rock a happily bobbing boat to appear as though you are the less desirable party. It's nonsense, of course, but an entirely predictable (and common) form of masochism. Maybe he's the one who's afraid to rock the boat and?turn this relationship into a copy of less successful ones in the past?

How about judging the man by his actions and his words, both of which indicate conclusively that he is having an extremely good time with you? I'm?moved to quote Einstein, whose words ring all too true: "Men marry women with the hope they will never change; women marry men with the hope they will change. Invariably they are both disappointed." Already you're consumed by desire for something that your partner has clearly never promised, proving that?human beings are never, ever satisfied with their lot!

It takes a brave lover to abdicate independence when closing in on a seventh decade. How much easier to indulge the habits you've nurtured over a lifetime than to start teaching yourself new cohabitational tricks. There's no reason for romance to slip off the menu as we mature, but it's disappointing that it has to be judged by the same criteria and entered into on the same terms as when we were 20. Fifty years ago you'd have chosen a?graveyard plot and be sitting comfortably with a blanket over your knees waiting for the Grim Reaper to pop by. Instead you can count among your peer group the likes of Mick Jagger, playing Glastonbury as he turns septuagenarian. With role?models like Joanna Lumley and Joan Bakewell to look to, why would you aspire to convention?

Experience should have trained you to appreciate your good fortune rather than to want to move on so swiftly to the next hurdle. I'm not saying you should be grateful but if you saw my mailbag you'd realise that you can afford to count yourself lucky. Embarking on a new relationship at your age is not commonplace, and finding someone in maturity without a lorryload of baggage and distracting commitments is like striking gold. Yet you seem more concerned with how it "seems" than how it actually is.

What is this diminished legacy you think you'll be judged on? I've never been good with money, and balancing the scales of love with fiscal potential is a challenge. I don't think money is?the issue here, just your sensitivity to?others' perceptions. We presume that?it's in youth that we should let our hair down. As the hard-pressed younger generation preoccupies itself trying to create a?sustainable future, it is us oldies who need to fly the flag of rebellion against conformity.

You've found a great relationship at a point in life when you can both really appreciate it. My advice is to care less about public approbation and?make?hay while the?sun?shines.

If you have a dilemma, send a brief email to mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk. To have your say on this week's column, go to guardian.co.uk/dearmariella. Follow Mariella on Twitter @mariellaf1

View the original article here

The Moment I Knew We Were Never Going To Be Together

Getty Images

"I emerged from down below and whispered six words in her ear -- words not carefully chosen, but ones that in the moment I thought might compensate for my oral ineptitude." 

There comes a moment in every relationship, however brief, when one of you realizes that things are destined for failure. Sometimes it’s something you do, sometimes it’s something she does and often it’s nobody’s fault. Either way, these moments remain with us, seared into our memories, as testaments to our deeply personal journeys through romantic life. This is one man’s attempt to share some deeply personal moments of his own. Here's the first in a series of five we'll be running for the next five days.

I was a late bloomer. At 17, I had never had sex, had recently broken up with my first "real" girlfriend and somehow managed to get a beautiful, popular and sexually experienced 19-year-old girl named Allison to go on a date with me. Needless to say, I was nervous and unprepared. I was also a bad conversationalist at that point in my life, so dates had the potential to be excruciatingly awkward (I like to think that this is no longer the case). Despite all this, I somehow did well enough to earn a second date with Allison: a movie night in her parents' living room.

So there we were, in her living room. Her large, intimidating Rottweiler panted close beside us at the foot of the couch and, unable to focus on the movie, we began to make out and were on top of one another. We kept kissing until our lips grew numb and it became painfully obvious that we needed to start doing something else. Nervously, I began to descend toward her vagina to do what any “experienced” lover would do. I had never done this before. And as I attempted to make heads and tails of what was going on down there (I didn’t), I was very aware that my obvious lack of expertise was revealing me for what I truly was: a sexual novice.

Anxious about exposing my inadequacies further, I emerged from down below and whispered six words in her ear -- words not carefully chosen, but ones that in the moment I thought might compensate for my oral ineptitude, and triumphantly announce my manly competence and desire to take things to the next level. “I’d love to be f*cking you,” I said, in a strained, awkward, growling whisper. She didn’t respond, and this threw me into a state of total anxiety. While continuing to kiss her, I kept playing the words over in my head, wondering if I had screwed things up, insulted her, given myself away even more or god knows what.

Which ever way you cut it, those words ruptured something in the relationship, as I saw it. They were just too ambitious for me to utter with any hint of authority, and the resulting awkwardness was too intense to bear. We never saw each other again.

Don't miss Part 2 of this five-part series tomorrow.?

View the original article here