A "Cougar", according to Urban Dictionary (or at least Your Wench's favorite definition) is: Hot and sexy older woman, usually in her 40s or 50s, single or married, who is sick of her same-age counterparts which are usually hairless, have big guts, who only talk about their insurance premiums and have the TV remote control attached to their hands. Cougars are attractive, in their sexual prime, who know what they want and aren't afraid to go after it. BIG misconception is that they dress cheap, wear hot pink nail polish, animal skin prints and are not-so-attractive old-looking hags with bleached hair (Yeah those women exist, but they are NOT cougars). True cougars are classy, beautiful creatures who have made their successes on their own, have real brains, usually with expensive cars/homes, and are real head turners. Cougars seek younger men, and don't have to sneak up and attack...they know their younger mates are eager to get an experienced woman who won't ask if they'll call them the next day. Being a cougar is a positive thing.
I'll admit this is the politest, and most flattering definition I've seen. Another one reads: A Cougar is a female, usually between thirty and fifty years-old, who enjoys the sexual company of younger men.
Cougars are only usually interested in men under the age of twenty-five. Also, Cougars are non-committal, choosing to move from mate to mate without ever settling down. It is not uncommon for the same Cougar to attack (sleep with) many different men in the same group of friends. Furthermore, Cougars are older and more practiced in the ways of snaring a mate so they will rarely broadcast their intentions to sleep with you until you are already in her Jetta, headed for the condo she just bought. It is this elusive behavior that earns her the name “Cougar.”
Hmmm, Jetta, eh?
Bottom line is this: for centuries older men have been horn dogging on sweet young things, no matter what their own marital status, seeking. . . .what? Validation? Justification? Procreation? A hoo-ha that hasn't been stretched to the breaking point thanks to his own children's existence? We can discuss the little honeys' motivation another time. Whatever. As you well know, Wench is not a fool. Sexual attraction, in all its forms, between men, women, each other and everything in between is, in a word, natural. It's silly to deny it. It's a known fact that the majority of us have engaged in either consummated or merely contemplated sexual fantasies with people we are not married/otherwise socially committed to. There are studies. Look them up.
Anyways, my insight today is not about the random naughtiness we get up to but about how women are perceived when they engage in it. Older dudes gain "dignity" with greying temples, laugh lines and fatter wallets that typically come with age and a lovely, radiant, barely legal girl on his arm. While those of us Of A Certain Age spend countless dollars fighting grey hairs, wrinkles, random hairs popping up on gross parts of the body and the sagging that occurs post-childbearing years. And we get labeled as "cougar" in a not-very-flattering way when we lust after the recent orgy of fit man flesh that was the FIFA World Cup, admire a young man's physique at the gym, or, for my single sisters, dare to reach out touch one. Yeah, yeah, it's all been said. It's not fair, just like we can't seem to earn the same dollar per hour either, cry me a river, get over it.
It's also a known "joke" that those of us on the upside of 50 get, well, randy "all of a sudden" while our greying, wrinkled, somehow still desirable to the sweetie office interns mates are ramping down as it were between the sheets. Not to say that older men can't perform. But the staying power has been drastically reduced as the zillions being made by Big Pharma selling Dick Hardening Pills can attest. ("If you experience an erection that lasts more than four hours. . . . call her friends over and party!"
I have stumbled upon a fascinating study at the University of Texas that does have a bit of a "um, yeah, we knew that" quality but breathes some new life into the limp argument that men and women peaking at completely different times is a colossal cosmic joke--sort of like a duck billed platypus. This study claims that what's causing we ladies of experience to have the vapors and either fantasize constantly, become a regular at the local Lover's Lane "marital aids" section or simply reduce our mates to puddles of spent passion at amazingly regular intervals is our own declining fertility. That's right--they believe that we WANT to impregnate ourselves on the closest penis so bad we start twitching, dampening our panties and jumping the bones of young dudes (not me, of course, merely in my fantasies. . . .) randomly and recklessly.
I'm not sure I buy this. I think it's more psychological. That is, we spend so many formative sexual years being told not to be a "bad girl" and have more than one sexual partner from high school forward --no matter that the local varsity letter earning stud is worshiped by the masses--the more hymens he busts the better. One MUST be "in love" or (heaven forbid) "married" to actually "enjoy" having sex. Truly, it's still out there. I remember getting the subliminal and not so message from my mother, friends, the media--Be a Good Girl, lay there and take it but don't enjoy it too much, unless he has at least given you a diamond FIRST.
Once we are past that stage of life, earning our keep by bearing the spawn and so on, and as said offspring become independent, we can actually (gasp) take a hard look at our flabby asses, bad skin and hairy nether regions and Do Something About It. In the process, I think Women with Experience (Cougars, if you must) gain self-confidence, get some of their early 20-ies (i.e. PRE baby maker status) oomph back and there is nothing more, ah, lubricating than a healthy dose of self confidence.
Here's to the Cougars Boys--may you be so lucky as to find your non-greying, tight skinned, can-go-all-night selves embraced by one. Chalk it up to a Damn Fine Learning Experience!
love and moist, salty kisses Wench (and one last look at recent World Cup Hotness---as we sigh heavily and resign ourselves to the off season! If loving These Boys is Wrong, Your Wench Don't Wanna Be Right. . . )