It was a beautiful summer evening as I sat chatting to Fred in the garden of a chic Surrey restaurant.

The wine we were sipping did little to calm my nerves. I was so terrified he wouldn’t find me attractive that I had spent all day getting ready.

You see, at 34, Fred was a good 22 years younger than me. How on earth could he fancy me – and what was I doing giggling and flirting with him?

I needn’t have worried. He held my gaze, laughed at my jokes and put his arm around me as we left the restaurant.

While my fling with Fred only lasted a few months, it was truly eye-opening. Now 63, I’ve dated plenty of younger men in the years since.

Judge me all you like. But for years, men have dated women young enough to be their daughters and nobody turned a hair. And a recent study proves that us cougars are not in the minority: regardless of gender we all fancy those younger than us, and no matter a woman’s age, the ideal age for her partner cuts off at just 38.

And who can blame us?

Men of my vintage sport sagging bellies, thinning hair and a waning appetite for romance, putting them in sharp opposition to modern older women like me, who look after ourselves with regular appointments for blow-dries, tweakments and personal training, and still have high expectations for life well into our so-called twilight years.

Men in their 20s and 30s still brim with youthful virility – and yes, they fancy me, too.

When I went on that date with Fred – having been chatted up by him on a dating app – I had just emerged from a toxic five-year relationship with a man a couple of years older than me.

I plunged back into the dating pool with the cruel realisation that men my own age were not looking at me ‘in that way’ any more, despite not exactly being lookers themselves. It was clear they were bitter they couldn’t pull the young girls they ogled as we sat at dinner.

I recall one miserable divorcé who told me I was ‘hardly a spring chicken’ as he waddled off. No date two there.

Hesitantly, I joined a dating agency, thinking that men who had paid for membership would be much more committed to love than those on the apps. I imagined dates with handsome sixty-somethings in cashmere polo-necks, silver fox lawyers with kind eyes and a love of old films.

Instead, I was startled when my inbox was flooded with handsome men who wanted to wine and dine me. . . all in their late 20s and early 30s.

I can’t speak for why so many younger men are attracted to older women. Frankly, I don’t care. All I can tell you is that you might look in the mirror and see an ageing hag, but they see an experienced seductress.

You may think I’m deluded. But my attitude to life puts me far closer to younger men than those in my own age bracket.

When men divorce later in life, instead of taking stock, they seem unable to cope with the rejection and give up. Men my age or older come with emotional baggage and are often in the throes of their own crises.

And let’s not forget the double standards at play; while older women are expected to look as good as ever as we head into our seventh decade, men just let themselves go without a care for how their sagging figures and untrimmed body hair make them appear to women.

In contrast, younger men are out to impress. Unencumbered by the weekly shop and school pick-up, these relationships are playful and carefree. Who cares if I’m not their soulmate?

Dating someone younger is a fail-safe way of taking a holiday from your own life, with all it’s midlife anxieties. That doesn’t mean the emotions aren’t real – they are simply less pressured and, therefore, more fun.

As for sex, young men will reignite your long-lost libido in a way a middle-aged lover never could. The mere sight of his toned physique and come hither smile is a hit of pleasure in itself. Perhaps the ageing husbands complaining that their menopausal wives no longer want to sleep with them should think about that.

Since my fling with Fred, I’ve dated a 36-year-old doctor, a 33-year-old art student and spent a year with Sam, a 41-year-old lawyer I met at a party. We only broke up when he took a job in New York.

Understandably, my friends have misgivings, telling me I need to find someone to keep me company in my dotage.

So back in April, I accepted a dinner date with a retired lawyer in his early 70s. We’d got on really well on the dating app we matched on. But in person he was shockingly nervous, with no idea how to behave around a woman.

By the time the main courses arrived, he had practically finished a bottle of Sancerre by himself. He was arrogant and huffy, and with his wrinkled skin, baggy stained jumper and wispy grey hair, Pierce Brosnan he was not. When he lunged at me outside the restaurant, I wanted to run away screaming.

So last weekend I went to a party and danced with a much younger man. The fun, fuzzy feeling I came home with lasted a week. In fact, I’ve just seen a message in my dating inbox. He looks articulate and intelligent. Oh, and he’s only 39. I’m already getting butterflies…