Cougars and Foxes: A universe in balance.

Ah, how perfectly we have evolved here in the dating jungle! Sexy women, forty plus, who glow from reigniting the orgasm fire after many years of sexual neglect at the hands (and fingers and tongues) of their recent exes. Silver foxes, fifty plus, who scoop up neglected kittens and nurse them back to emotional health after many years of feeling more like mothers with their exes than lovers.

It's all good.

If you're one of these recently re-energized cougars, embrace your roll (sic) and present no apologies. When you net one of those cubs, you should enjoy:

• A harder body, penis included.
• Repeat performances--hourly as opposed to weekly.
• PDA
• Sex in strange, but wonderful places including cars, kitchens, and tents.
• The secret envy of your friends while they lie and criticize.
• One fewer mass of humanity in the form of a large hairball on the sofa, which is as difficult to remove as lint from Velcro.
• A kitchen aid who will not only help you cook and wash dishes, he'll take you from behind while doing so.
• Someone with a mind vacant enough that he can be trained.
• Something nice to look at while vacationing as opposed to a furry, sunburned belly under a smelly cigar and silly bucket hat.
• Sex at times of the month of little concern to him.
• Someone in briefs who doesn't resemble grilled sausage.
• Home-field advantage as he's probably not going to want you to hang with his three roommates, who will all get drunk, pick on him, and try to have sex with you.

If you're a creeper, out to reminisce about days of firmer skin and natural lubrication, employ all methods necessary to net a kitten. Sure, it will require an investment, but face it, we pay either way--it's simply a matter of how far in advance of services rendered. Silver foxes can use the illusion of wealth, humor, and their fatherly maturity to trap her. Once the kitten is in the den, you should enjoy:

• Nipples that still point northeasterly.
• The subtle scent of lilacs as opposed to buttery chardonnay and cigarettes.
• Oral pleasure graciously provided as it has yet to become a displeasure.
• Waking up in the morning sun next to a princess instead of Nosferatu.
• A woman who comes to your place with one tiny bag instead of a pile of Samsonite.
• Someone prepared and ready to leave for the event, who won't make you late and scream at you for rushing her.
• Meeting other kittens--her friends--who will see you as a wise elder and often seek your guidance as opposed to the cougar's friends who will bombard you with snarkasm.
• A student who is eager to try new positions, locations, and (if you're lucky) inputs.
• A sexual history that won't make you cringe.
• Jealous buddies as you show the topless photos she sent you, which you promised not to show anyone.
• Someone untainted by child rearing.
• Someone who will not only consider, but will enjoy and appreciate being treated to inexpensive delights at lower-class establishments as opposed to wrinkling her nose and complaining about the wine list and lack of gluten-free options.

See? Nature has a mighty fine way of leveling the field, doesn't it?

Band of Mothers vs. Band of Brothers

It was a full moon on a Saturday—a perfect night to put on my drinker’s cap. The scene: a local pub showing MMA fights. In one corner (of the pub) was a band of brothers who traded their weapons for lady-killing devices. They were young and hungry. In another corner was a band of mothers who traded their mundane married lives for a night on the town wearing bull’s-eyes. A confrontation was inevitable with me stuck in the middle.

Ding!

I ask many questions; women like that. I do more pinging than ponging because other people’s lives are more interesting than mine. When a question comes my way, I deflect and redirect. I wasn’t out to sell any books last night, so I played ring announcer as I interviewed the contestants.

“These are my friends Kari, Eve, and Beth.”

“So nice to meet you all. Give me the tale of the tape.”

“Huh?”

“Single, married, divorced; kids; occupation; and what-have-you. Just the facts ma’am.”

“We all have teenage children.”

“Yes?”

“Kari here is divorced and she kind of has a boyfriend.”

“Kind of?”

“Her boyfriend is like twenty years younger, so …”

“’Nuf said.”

“Eve is separated and looking to have fun, if you know what I mean.”

“I do.”

“Beth’s relationship is complicated.”

“Aren’t they all?”

“She’s married, living with her husband, but they don’t sleep together. They’re staying together for the kids and because it would be too expensive to split.”

“I may have heard that story somewhere before. So, these ladies are in the arena for what purpose?”

“To have fun.”

“Which includes?”

“I don’t know, hooking up, I guess. I’m married so I can’t relate. I’m just here as a friend.”

“Really?”

“Must husband travels for work, that’s why he isn’t here.”

“Hm.”

“We’re fine. I mean, he is away most of the time—like three weeks a month.”

“Strange.”

“Sure, I wish he were around more, but …”

“Sounds to me like you could be joining this band of mothers soon.”

“Maybe.”

Kari was flirting heavily with the brothers as her teammates giggled. Then, I spoiled the fun by pointing out the flagrant foul.

“She’s into these young boys because there’s no way she’d fall in love with one. It’s safe sex, so to speak.”

Eve was the most aggressive of the bunch, but she was also the most critical. I expected that when I noticed her designer outfit, hair extensions, and various enhancements.

“What are you looking for, Eve?”

“There are only like two attractive guys in this whole place.”

“None taken.”

“How do you know you’re not one of the two?”

“Just a hunch, sugar.”

Beth was the rookie. Her smirks and shy smiles told me she wanted some quick naughtiness without complications. A toy to kiss, touch, and leave without her number would suit her just fine.

“Beth, you have a mischievous look.”

“I’m feeling kind of frisky, I admit. You seem cool enough, so I can tell you.”

When a woman calls me “cool enough” she means I’m not a mating option, so she can tell me sexy, slutty stories without defending herself. Works for me.

“Do tell.”

“I had my first ever one-night stand last weekend.”

“You naughty girl.”

“I know! It was so bad. I felt dirty, in a good way. It was my birthday party and I was a little tipsy. God, it was awesome sex.”

“Sorry I missed it.”

The mothers and brothers flirted and teased. An hour of the game is all I could stand. I excused myself, paid my tab, and headed for the showers. I hope both teams scored.

Cold

If you bring home a puppy, it’s probably going to require more attention than you expect, it will leave behind some messes, and it’s going to whimper when you walk away. You can tell the puppy ahead of time that it’s a temporary thing. It won’t matter. You can ask the puppy to avoid becoming too attached. He’ll just yap and rub on your ankles. Still, if you like puppies, you must selfishly lose any guilt they toss your way.

An exceptionally fit woman, freshly divorced with two children, thumbed her iPhone while rolling her eyes in disgust.

“What’s up, buttercup?”

“Ugh. I’m so tired of babysitting. I guess I should know better than to hook up with boys twenty years younger.”

“Twenty years? Really?”

“Yep. I know—I’m kind of giving away my age.”

“… and your pussy.”

“WHAT?”

“Let me finish … and you’re possibly the hottest sixty-year-old I’ve ever seen.”

“I’m forty five, goofball.”

“Ah. Sorry. I didn’t get a proper reading on your elbows.”

*ding*

“Jesus. He’s been texting me all night. He wants to meet up.”

“You’d be similarly frustrated if he didn’t text you at all, right?”

“No. I want him when I want him. He’s just a toy to me. Now, he’s starting to develop feelings and becoming needy.”

“Isn’t that natural?”

“Not when I told him upfront this was just going to be a fling and he’ll never meet my children.”

*ding*

“Wow. Why don’t you give the poor fella a break and invite him over?”

“Nope. Tonight I’m out with the girls. Maybe later, if I get the urge, I’ll hook up with him.”

“Damn. You’re cold.”

“I was married for fifteen years. This is my time.”

*ding*

 “Brrr.”

Her married friend enjoys the escapades. It’s vicarious joy when good and another reason to stay married when bad.

“So, what do you think of your friend’s little pet?”

“He’s hot.”

“How about from the neck up?”

“A bit needy.”

“What’s your advice to Miss Cooler?”

“She should have fun with him until he gets too needy, and then move on.”

*ding*

“Four texts in five minutes must be crossing the needy line, approaching psychosis.”

“Yep. He would have been done after the second one if it were me.”

“You do realize what’s going to happen here, right?”

“What?”

“She’s going to meet an age-appropriate man who won’t play the please-love-me game, she’ll wonder why he won’t chase her, and then she’ll become the puppy.”

“Hm.”

*ding*

“In the meantime, I guess puppy love is better than no love.”

This dating-out-of-your-decade thing is a recent phenomenon for women. They’re not very good at it. Men have been doing it since Adam. Perhaps I’ll offer a course in puppy care. They’ll call me The Lovepuppy Whisperer. Puppy owners will leash their pets and come to Dr. Phil’s office for training. I’ve got my rolled up newspaper and spray bottle ready. If the puppies are too difficult, I’ll euthanize those fuckers and offer my services at a steep discount.