Why Cougars ROCK

DISCLAIMER: The following list does not apply in cases of arrested development, which, contrary to popular media, is not an exclusively masculine attribute. You’re on your own with those perpetually-in-high-school types, bucko. Those women should be pretty easy to spot in the crowd: look for the ones who suck in their cheeks, strike a pose, and are not listening while the other person in their party is talking. If you need assistance, ask for some from any quietly hot, older woman and flash a wicked smile as you do so. She’ll be more than happy to help. I guarantee it.

What You REALLY Want is a Cougar

1. We know things. Lots of things. Sexual things. Hell, yeah.

2. We take our clothes off with the lights ON.

3. We’re not afraid of messing up our sheets. We have a washer and dryer. In our house, even.

4. We fuck with the lights on. And in broad daylight. And outdoors. And in parked cars. And in moving cars. And in alleys. And on buses. And in theaters. And on dance floors. And just about any other place we’re fairly sure we won’t get arrested.

5. We won’t insist that you come shopping with us. Frankly, it’s more fun with the girls.

6. We won’t go to your buddy’s house to watch the game and then whine because you’re not paying attention to us. We know damned well that’s not fair.

7. We can eat a cheeseburger and fries and not go on for hours about how gross and fat we feel afterwards. We’re so over that.

8. We don’t fake-laugh at the end of everything we say. If we laugh, it’s because something’s funny, not because we’re trying to be cute.

9. We don’t use “like” in every sentence. Example: “And she was like, ‘Why don’t you, like, get the Paolos from Macy’s?’ And I was like, ‘The Paolos from Macy’s? Like, you have GOT to be kidding. Those are only a two-inch heel and don’t even, like, GO with the dress.’ I mean, how could she, like, be so STUPID? Can you believe she would, like, even say that? Like, you remember that dress, right, sweetie-ums? The one with, like, the little purple flowers on it? You know, like, the CUTE one? Like, I can’t BELIEVE you don’t know which one I’m talking about! You, like, NEVER pay attention to me. Can you even believe, like, she would tell me that? I mean, like, what kind of friend IS she? Does she, like, want me to look ugly so she looks prettier than me? Is she, like, jealous of me or something?”

10. We won’t go on for two hours like the example in number 9 without pausing to breathe. BONUS: we won’t go on like the example in number 9 AT ALL.

11. We don’t think that new thing you want to try sexually is gross. We’ve already done it at least once. Maybe twice. And maybe we LIKE it.

12. We have a life.

13. We don’t create scenes, indulge in a new drama on an hourly basis, text mere acquaintances 24/7, try to make you jealous, or cheat on you. We’re too damned busy for that sort of nonsense. See number 12.

14. We won’t text you constantly when you’re at work because we’re at work. See number 12.

15. We won’t call you every five minutes for no reason. See number 12.

16. We’ll fuck you in the bathroom and in many other, more exotic places, but rarely within the first five minutes of meeting you. But that also applies to him and him and especially him. In short, we’re cleaner.

17. We don’t primp in the dresser mirror in the midst of fucking. We just DO IT and LOVE IT. That MAKES us fucking beautiful and vice versa. If we do look in the mirror, it’s to see your sweet ass.

18. We can cook and we have food in the fridge. Sometimes, we even have beer.

19. We won’t ask to borrow your money or your credit card. We have our own, thanks. And our credit score is much better and our credit limit is much higher than yours, anyway.

20. We don’t give a shit what kind of car you drive. We have our own car.

21. We don’t care who your friends are. If we don’t like them, we’ll pass on hanging out with them. Simple, huh?

22. We don’t really care what you do for a living as long as you have a job and don’t expect us to pay your bills. It’s only fair: see number 19.

23. We won’t get pregnant to try and trap you into a relationship you don’t want. If you don’t want to be with us, we’d prefer you not waste our time. See number 12.

24. We know our bodies and aren’t shy about telling you how to please us sexually. We know you’re not psychic.

25. We don’t fake orgasms. If it happens, it’s real. And it gets easier as you get older. A LOT easier. 

26. We own sex toys. And we use them on ourselves and with our lovers. It’s FUN to play with toys: that’s why they’re called toys.

27. We won’t come up with excuses for you to spend the whole weekend with us. Frankly, we have a lot to do. See number 12.

28. We’ll make you breakfast sometimes, but we’re much more likely to make you coffee, kiss you, pat your cute little ass and send you on your way. See number 12.

29. We don’t expect you to help us raise our kids. We’re doing just fine, thanks.

30. We know how to have a conversation about things other than hair, clothes, how jealous our friends are of us and how “we” need to work on our relationship. (Femalespeak translation of that last bit for the slower males out there: “how you need to change to suit me.”) Sure, we’ll let you know if we’re unhappy, but we don’t make shit up.

31. We know how to be silent without filling every silence with the question “What are you thinking?” Frankly, we don’t care because you’re probably thinking about sports, video games or pussy, anyway.  Those are three subjects that rarely interest us.

32. We don’t want you to lie to us. Ever.

The Phenomenon

     Young men are now very, very interested in older women.  It’s about fucking time.  They’ve acknowledged we’re hot.  Very hot.  Extremely hot.  Mauna Loa hot.  Surface-of-the-sun hot.   We KNOW things sexual and, finally, they’ve noticed we know.  You bet your sweet, firm, sexy asses, we do.  What the hell took you guys so long? 

     People are always asking me, “Why don’t you stick to guys your own age?”  Well, that’s a fair question and one that has been much on my mind.  In the past, that is, but not at all lately.

     After hanging out in the wilds of Denver, I’ve tested out various hypotheses and come to the conclusion that men about 40 are simply not interested in women over 23.  I inhabit that particular Boolean ellipse.  Ergo, they are not interested in me. 

     If these men come down from on high to approach me, they either: 1) don’t have a job, 2) have a raging alcohol or drug addiction, 3) have serious psychological problems, 4) have live-at-home kids with serious psychological problems, 5) are selling a ponzi scheme, 6) just got out of prison, 7) want to convert me to their particular brand of religion, or 8) ALL of the above.  In short, they are looking for someone with the money to bail them out and take care of them.  Fuck that.  I didn’t earn that post-doctorate degree by being an easily-exploited bimbo.  (Scene: a thin, caramel-colored bleach-blonde in four-inch heels and a leopard-print mini skirt talks to her emaciated friend in the ladies’ room. “I know, he’s got problems.  But everyone does, right?” She smacks her gum and tosses her hair.  “Besides, they’re not his fault.  Everything just sort of happened to him.  All that matters is that I love him.  He’ll change.”  What was I saying before?  Oh, yeah:  fuck that.)

     Even worse are the 40-somethings who hand me their business cards and say, with a wink and a leer at my chest, “Call me sometime, sweetheart.”  Arrogant bastards.  As if I’m supposed to be impressed, desperate, and just aching to have them paw at my breasts.  After all, I AM over 23, right?  Therefore, I must be desperate.  News flash:  I have a whole BOWL of business cards at home, dudes.  I use them for kindling.

     My women friends of a certain age are very uncomfortable with my choices.  “But what about a man who is older than you are?  Wouldn’t that be better than dating much younger men?”  

     This question always makes me want to scream, “Are you fucking kidding me?!  Are you totally and irredeemably insane?!  Get your head out of your ass!“  

     But my polite answer is that most men who are older than I am, like their somewhat younger counterparts, just aren’t interested in women over 29.  Again with the Boolean ellipse.  My theory – and I admit it’s just a theory—is that not one of these geezers owns a mirror and has absolutely no idea how young women see them. (“Like I would ever touch that!  I just threw up a little in my mouth! Oh, shut up!”) 

     Besides the disinterest of older men, well, how should I say this.  .  . I’m just not into little blue pills.  I like sex.  Let me rephrase that:  I LOVE sex.  Lots and lots and lots of sex.  I prefer it more than twice a session and for hours at a time.  I’m talking I’ll-have-to-scrub-up-for-45-minutes-in-a-hot-shower-to-not-smell-like-sexytime sex.  And then there’s the opportunity for sex in the shower while I’m scrubbing, as well.   (I make no apologies, older guys, because you’re not the least bit sorry about fondling the poor young waitress who’s just trying to work her way through the master’s program at the local alma mater.   Turnabout is fair play.  Get used to it.)

     Finally, young men love me.  I believe two of the reasons young men are attracted to me are:  1) I’m easy on the eyes and 2) I have breasts. 

     Don’t laugh. 

     I really do have breasts and the kind of sensual, soft curves that just invite a young man’s hand to slide all over them.  (And “curves” is NOT a euphemism because I’m in excellent shape.)   The Girls are big, beautiful and my wardrobe shows them off stunningly.  Young men can’t get enough of them.  (They sometimes blush a lot when talking to me.  It’s cute as hell.) Young women just don’t have these assets: I suppose they’re too busy starving themselves into a skeletal state until they can’t think or speak with a modicum of intelligence.  (This explains the inane and incredibly annoying conversations I’ve overheard in the women’s bathroom.)  Nor do they have my other stellar qualities:  wisdom, the brutal honesty that springs from self confidence, a large salary, knowing when to keep my brutal honesty to myself, knowing exactly I want, and a sexual repertoire that grows daily.  (Did I say I love sex?  I did?  Well, it’s absolutely true.)

     I think the most important difference between me and most young women is this:  men are a want for me, not a need.  I need a car.  I need a place to live.  I need a job.  I don’t NEED a man.  I want a man, but I can live without one.  I can solve my own problems, pay my own bills, and I have the poise and self esteem of a woman who can do all of these things without male assistance, thank you very much. 

     And I don’t base my own self worth on whether I happen to have a boyfriend at the moment.

     Not needing a man is exactly what terrifies the guys my own age.  They want a woman who is willing to put up with almost anything to keep them.  (Did I say fuck that?  I did? Well, fuck that AGAIN.) 

     My not needing a man is exactly what attracts the younger men.

     And I am NOT complaining. . .