Tag Archives: Cougar

Date 27.4: So Am I a MILF or a Cougar?

The exclusive friends with benefits thing? Not real practical. Especially when your “friend” goes MIA for ten days. Maybe it was a cheap move, but I texted Date 31, asking when I was going to see him again because Date 27 (who’s 27) had renewed his texting campaign. Date 31 didn’t make any plans with me, so I got a little pissy and told Date 27 he could come over.

Super tall, super built, and blond (and only 27!), Date 27 is a tasty package. Sex-wise, he’s a little on the vanilla side, but what he lacks in creativity he makes up for in stamina and resilience, so there’s that. Also, Date 27 is a genuinely nice guy. Maybe it’s sex-driven, but he texts me regularly throughout the week, wishing me a good day and such. As you may or may not recall, he’s one of the only guys who remembered both my birthday and Mother’s Day without having to be reminded. Okay–maybe it’s a little creepy that he so handily remembered Mother’s Day, but whatever–the sentiment was appreciated.

Anyway, super horny, I invited Date 27 over to my place for a morning sex date that wound up lasting four hours. Later that day, at book club (have I mentioned the fact that I’m one of the only white girls in an all-black book club? If not, my preacher’s-daughter friend is the leader, for reference), I solicited my girlfriends’ opinions on the situation, since I was feeling a little guilty about “cheating” on Date 31. “Should I tell him?” I asked them outright.

“Hell, no!” came the unanimous response, along with a bevy of stories about how they had kept their guys waiting and wondering in order to keep them interested. Shockingly (to me, anyway), lying seemed to be an accepted practice when it came to the game of love. Now, call me old-fashioned or whatever, but while I get the point (and definitely the motivation), this still didn’t sit well with me. I’d rather be in a relationship with someone with whom I could be totally honest and not feel the need to hide or lie about anything. Yeah, I declared inwardly, I’m going to take the high road. There’s no need for dishonesty.

Approximately four seconds after that thought crossed my mind, my phone rang with a voice call (not a text!) from Date 31. I can’t remember exactly what he said, but I remember very well being mega-nervous as I spoke with him, and feeling mega-guilty. I told him I was still in the middle of book club (even though it was pretty much over and there were only three of us left at that point) so I couldn’t really talk. So much for honesty, because we all know that offering half-truths is just a kinder, gentler means of lying.

As I thought about it, though, I was like, you know what? I’m not going to feel guilty about this! Because here was a guy who was stringing me along, trying to monopolize my sex without really giving me anything in return. And maybe I’m not a supermodel, but I do have a few key things going for me. I like to exercise, so my body is reasonably decent, I’m aging better than most, so people tend to be shocked when I tell them I’m 43, I’m an excellent cook (and an even better baker), I’m a published author, and, last but certainly not least, I’ve come to the conclusion (based on comments by ALL the guys I’ve slept with since dumping my ex) that I have a sexual superpower: when I’m excited, I get unbelievably wet.

Yeah, that last bit was probably TMI, but it’s relevant, since it boosts my self-esteem and makes me think that someday, some guy is going to realize I’m a decent catch. He’ll put a ring on my finger, buy me a Range Rover, and we’ll live happily ever after in the Ranch. Until then, I’ll just keep doing my best trying not to get my heart broken.

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Date 13.1: Out of Order

Sometimes, I have to write. That’s my disclaimer, just in case my agent happens to pop by to check in on how one of her favorite deadline-deliquent writers happens to be doing in the dating world. Yes, I should be working on edits, and I have been (along with copyediting for hire, since the money’s more immediate), but a girl needs a break every once in awhile.

Anyway, all that said, I was on a date the other night (20.2, which I’ll get to another day), and there was Date 13, sitting at the next table! No doubt, the world is way too small, but the situation was somewhat incriminating. Date 20 could tell I was uncomfortable, so I felt led to gloss over why, specifically, having this particular young stud hang out with his man-posse (probably his gym friends) over yonder made me ill at ease.

So here we go, then, with an examination of the half-truths offered in explanation of the situation:

1. I went out with him once.

“Went out with” is a rather generous way to put it. Actually, what happened was that a girlfriend and I went out for drinks one night at a restaurant bar reputed for its (wealthy) over-40 clientele. While there, none of the silver-haired fellows with whom I’d probably be a better match (since their kids are older, like mine) even glanced in our direction. Two young guys walked into the bar, however, and sat at the table right next to ours.

My girlfriend immediately called the one with the gargantuan set of muscles. Fine by me, I nodded in agreement, since the other guy was hot, too, and a little quirkier, which tends to be my type.

Maybe up close they realized we were a lot older than them or maybe they were just shy, but after ten minutes of their sitting right next to us (there were lots of empty tables–they didn’t have to choose that one) and not saying anything, I made an excuse to strike up conversation. Unfortunately, the ploy I used (inquiring about muscle-guy’s physique, saying my teenage son wants to bulk up but I don’t know what he should be eating) kind of backfired on me, since he wound up being a personal trainer who then wanted my business. No matter, though, because it did the job–my excuse of a question got the four of us talking.

I think I’ve mentioned this girlfriend of mine before. The preacher’s daughter? you might be wondering. Um-hmm. Yeah, that’s her. Anyway, she invited the guys back to her house with us for drinks! They seemed like nice enough guys, but I was still shocked. Because, how did we know they weren’t going to attack, kill, or rob us? We’d never met them before!!! I guess my girlfriend and I were both hammered enough to figure there was safety in numbers, though, because we wound up leaving my car parked near the restaurant, taking off in the quirky guy’s Mercedes for my girlfriend’s hillside custom luxury home.

Once there, we drank, played pool, spilled wine, and started to watch a movie. Muscle-guy kept pulling my girlfriend into the other room to put the moves on her in private, which I guess she rebuffed. In the mean time, I was having a great time playing footsie with the quirky dude (who turned out to be one of the muscle-guy’s personal training clients, as it happened).

His moves thwarted, muscle-guy declared he had to get home, demanding he and the quirky guy immediately leave. “Want to come with us?” the quirky guy asked me.

“Will you be okay if I go?” I asked my girlfriend.

“Please!” she said. “We’re both grown women. Go have some fun.”

So I did.

After we dropped off the petulant muscle-bound guy, Date 13 drove me back to his place. Only 34 years old, he had a head full of gorgeous dark hair, beautiful creamy skin, and that personal trainer he employed? Dude knew his stuff, because Date 13’s bod was rockin’!

I can’t remember if we had sex three or four times, but I do recall how fun it was. Definitely dominant, he kept pinning my hands back, plunging himself into me like he wanted to hurt me. And when he went down on me? Dude was relentless, repeatedly making me cry out with how aggressively he sucked my clit.

Okay–I know I said I wasn’t going to get too graphic here, so I apologize. Basically, I just want to relate the fact that the sex was hot, and I definitely would have been down for more. Date 13 climaxed repeatedly, so I thought he might have shared that opinion, but maybe he had a heart-to-heart with his cat afterward (she was making racket all night, the way my also-Siamese cat does when she wants someone to get lost) and she gave me the thumbs down, since although he accepted my friend request on facebook, he never ended up calling.

2. I’m not sure, but I think he might be on steroids or something.

Here’s where the story gets interesting, in my opinion: the next morning, Date 13 took me out to Starbucks on the way to pick up my car. While in Starbucks, we ran into one of his gym buddies, a majorly hot 50-ish guy of the ilk I wished I were dating (seriously thinking about joining their gym in the future!). The two of them made friendly, casual conversation. I was a little embarrassed, since being with Date 13 so early in the morning was somewhat walk-of-shameish (despite my being dressed in workout clothes, since I’d brought them to my girlfriend’s house and then brought them to Date 13’s when we left together), but whatever. The interaction with this acquaintance made Date 13 seem like a normal, regular, mild-mannered guy.

As we were leaving the Starbucks parking lot, however, a minivan driven by a family approached us going the wrong way according to the shopping center’s signage. The man at the wheel of the Honda Odyssey shrugged an apology, waving for us to pass, clearly indicating he realized he was in the wrong and sorry for any inconvenience. Date 13 rolled down the window of his Mercedes.

“Wrong way, asshole!” he yelled, then sped past the minivan on our way out of the parking lot.

Needless to say, sitting in the front passenger seat, I felt like I wanted to disappear. People make mistakes in parking lots, you know? It’s not that big a deal. The fact that Date 13 had to berate this guy for making a wrong turn seemed like a huge red flag to me. Shocked and befuddled over what had happened that morning, I later asked Date 5 what he thought of Date 13’s parking-lot behavior.

“Maybe he just really needed his coffee,” he said, which made me laugh so hard I think I snorted.

Whatever the case, it was obvious Date 13 probably has some anger issues. Maybe he knows it, and he’s embarrassed over what happened, or maybe he’s just not that into me, so even though he asked me for my number as he was dropping me off, he never had any intention of calling. Hard to say. Whatever the case, I didn’t like the idea of sitting there having a glass of wine, trying to get to know Date 20 while Date 13 lurked in the background with his weight-lifting cronies, so Date 20 and I wound up going inside the restaurant, abandoning the patio to its studmuffin mafia.

Dates 0.1 and 1.1: Places I Shouldn’t Have Gone

You shouldn’t have sex before marriage. You know that, right? I tell my kids this, and, increasingly, I tell myself the same damned thing (for all the good it does me). But why not? the kids inevitably ask. Doesn’t everybody live together before they get married?

That’s beside the point, I generally say, not wanting to cop to the fact that their father and I did, indeed, live together for almost three years before marrying. The point is, I attempt to patiently explain, sex will attach you to someone you may not end up wanting to be attached to, making it harder to leave them, even when you realize they’re not right–or even downright bad–for you.

So there it is, my lecture on abstinence. Unfortunately, I’m not very good at taking my own advice, even when I know it’s right. But that brings me to the subject of Date 0.1.

Date 0.1 (I’ll let you decipher my numbering system as we go, but really, it’s pretty simple) was what I now like to think of as a practice date. One of the aforementioned choice exes who wheedled his way out of the woodwork (admittedly, with some help from yours truly), Date 0 was a guy I’d been in love with for years. He’s a fellow writer (also legit, of the ilk that speaks at Comic Con) I’d known before my ex-husband. Anyway, not going to say anymore about that except that, while married, we never cheated on our spouses with each other (even though they both believed otherwise). We did carry on by email for awhile, however, roundabout a decade ago, until the whole thing blew up and we went our separate ways, since he was ultimately just as stubborn as I was about making a failing marriage work. Afterward, we went without any contact whatsoever for years. That is, until I left my marriage.

So…I have to say–that friendship with the college ex? It got me through some hard, dark times. It also put me through some even harder, darker times, but whatever. With him living over a hundred miles away, our “relationship” seemed a safe space and, really, a moot point. But the question eventually emerged: Do we still have anything in person together or not?

Eventually, the day came to find out.

Without giving away too many telling details, we made plans for him to stop by my place for a brief visit on his way to somewhere else. And he did. While at my place (keep in mind I hadn’t been with anyone since my ex-husband at this point, and my ex had a problem with impotence he blamed on me, leading to our having sex only three times during the last five years of our marriage), all we did was talk. The college ex looked great, as I had suspected from the pictures I’d seen of him, and I was just as attracted to him at age 42 as I was back when we were both 18-year-olds (and 30-year-olds, for that matter). So I sat there, lusting after him, studying his hands and forearms (did I mention I have a thing for piano players?), wanting to climb onto his lap and get busy.

But I didn’t. Instead, I minded my manners and sat across the room from him, painfully aware that he was now married to Wife No. 2. After a couple hours of chit-chat, he left. Here’s the kicker, though–he left without so much as giving me a hug!!! Talked nonstop, couldn’t even look me in the eye without seeming sheepish or guilty, yet he didn’t even use the socially acceptable touch-excuse of a hug to determine whether we still had that mind-blowing sizzle between us??? I was floored.

In subsequent email communication, when I asked why he didn’t even hug me goodbye, he told me he didn’t get a “physical vibe” from me, and he’s not much of a hugger. Sorry, but I call BULLSHIT on that! Guy gave me one of the best hugs of my life back when we were 30, so no way I was buying that excuse. But whatever. Obviously, it wasn’t happening between us. Problem was, I worried maybe my ex-husband was right–maybe it was my fault that he didn’t want to have sex. Maybe I just wasn’t sexually attractive to anyone anymore, so I should just give it up and become a cat-lady spinster. At least I’d already had kids, so it’d be easier to forget about romantic love and just increasingly center my life around my offsprings’ upbringing.

Instead, though, on my 24-year-old half-brother’s advice, I joined a dating website. To my little bro’s horror, however, I immediately got hit up by a bevy of seemingly eligible guys, one of whom was only 25.

Yes, I knew it was wrong. That even if things worked out between us, I’d be using him at best. But there are worse ways to be taken advantage of, right? And he seemed down with it, actively encouraging me to go there with him. Quickly, our website communication led to texting (which can get out of control with these younger guys, but I’ll touch on that in another post), then some actual phone conversations.

In my defense, he had a great sense of humor, and our sexual propensities had some key overlap I was eager to explore. Plus he looked cute in his pictures. So I agreed to meet him, leading to Date 1.1.

Now, even if you totally ignored what I had to say above about how you shouldn’t have sex before marriage, don’t ignore this: Meeting someone you’ve never met before around midnight in an empty mall parking lot is not a good idea.

Duh! you’re probably saying, and that’s a beautiful thing. I’m glad you’re wiser about these sorts of issues than I was. But I was horny, and he was 25, so I went for it. And it turned out badly.

Luckily, I didn’t get attacked or date-raped, but things weren’t exactly smooth sailing, either. First off, he showed up wearing a ratty old concert t-shirt and saggy jeans. Second, he was more overweight than his pictures led me to believe. Third, he had a total baby face–because, do you realize how young 25 actually looks when you’re 42??? Trust me–it’s not good. Made me feel like I belonged in jail, not his arms, which were too pudgy anyway.

So I got out of there as fast as I could. Playing the age card, I told him he reminded me too much of my son (even though he didn’t, as my son is way thinner and more mature looking). That didn’t stop the guy–this stranger I never should have agreed to meet so late at night–from planting a juicy kiss on me and running his meaty hands up my skirt. He grabbed my hand and put it on his junk, too, which turned out to be quite sizable.

But that was where it ended. To his credit, when I said no, this wasn’t going to work for me, he left my car and drove away in his truck. Didn’t stop him from continuing to text me weeks later, but he eventually gave up since I wasn’t responding.

So, yeah–Date 1.1 was probably a HUGE mistake in many different dangerous ways. But it taught me something: Even if my ex-husband and my ex-college guy didn’t find me attractive or sexually alluring, someone else did. I was still sexy, and I still had it. And if a guy 17 years younger than me thought so, there had to be others who shared his opinion.

Now I just needed to find some more appropriate candidates from whom to receive that sort of attention.