As with so much in life, I came to these two expressions late – and, until two years or so ago, had no idea what either of them meant. This all changed when a woman my age referred to me as a Cougar Woman (though on what grounds, I am unable to say!) and, worse, a year eight boy I taught wrote ‘MILF’ on the board, when I turned my back for five seconds. I went ballistic!
My understanding now – and do feel free to correct me if I am wrong – is that both terms refer to older women who have a proclivity for, if you’ll pardon the coarseness, fucking younger men!*
Well, I certainly qualify for one half of the definition, being what could kindly be described as an older female (or a withered old hag, as I call myself in jesting moments); but, the second part baffles me somewhat because I have not, as yet, felt the lure of the Younger Man in the sexual sense. Oh, I can admire their beauty in an aesthetic way and imagine that they would be a bit bloody handy in the sack (as it were); but, truth be told, they do not stir me to frothing cauldrons of unbridled lust.
I have always gone for older men – and, on the occasions when I fell in love with my own sex, women – or those who are/were roughly contemporaneous. But, now that I am racing towards Bus Pass Age (Yay! Can barely contain myself for sheer excitement…NOT!), a certain ‘Oh my God!’ element is creeping in to the equation.
Why? Because, let me be blunt, older men are now segueing into – and, in some cases, indistinguishable from – Decrepit Old Gits and, for all that there are many exceptions, most I come across have all the sex appeal of month-old road-kill. As, I dare say, do I in their cataract-blurred eyes!
I would sooner bonk a goat, quite frankly!
Now, post-divorce, I am taking a break from below the belt activity – but, when I do get back into the saddle, I do not intend to trawl through the local OAP homes in order to find a ride which/who is not already spavined beyond repair! Call me fussy if you will, but my preference is for a sexual partner who does not need Viagra/a hoist and crane to keep Percy perpendicular in a Hide the Salami Scenario, and – really pushing the boat out here – one who has sufficient brain cells left to know what he is doing beneath the duvet/in the dovecote/on a beach/in a forest!
This is all, as I am sure the discerning amongst you will have realised, tongue in cheek and not meant to be taken as a serious comment upon vast swathes of the male population. There are some eminently fanciable men of around my age, though statistically, by the time they reach sixty, most are either married (several times as often as not) or gay. I also know that tupping in the twilight years is by no means uncommon, with veritable wall-rippling orgies taking place in retirement homes up and down the land!
I know that sex appeal goes far deeper than mere physical looks – though I would, I suspect, draw the line at a man with a merkin! – and that a bloke with an effective Sat Nav of Lust (as it were) is worth his weight in Lindt Chocolate whatever his chronological age!
It would, I feel sure, be a damn sight easier if my erogenous zones were zinged by the sight of a toned twenty-year-old – but they aren’t. And, in any case, I have a son of roughly that age – and consider I am quite embarrassing enough as a mother without turning into a ferocious Cougar Woman!
Now, I am not a bloke. Obviously! But I often wonder what younger guys see in crones like me whose bits are going south at a rate of knots and, in many cases, whose skin looks as if a good iron wouldn’t go amiss! Is it the aura of experience (often with more than a hint of the jaded about it!) that grabs them by the balls? Is it unreconciled early sexual feelings for the actual Mother in their lives? Is it, perhaps, the need to mount an old mare in order to practise the trot, the canter and the gallop for future fillies?
I also wonder, from time to time, what the attraction, for the young stud, is in what one could euphemistically call the Fuller Figure! Or, to put it another way, women, like me, whose waists have long ago become Equatorial Regions and who require a large rope, several Sherpas and a day or two in order to circumnavigate said body part!
Who knows? Who cares?! Look, I am not condemning it at all! Get your leg over who the hell you want, as far as I am concerned, as long as said ‘horse’ is legal and the act does not involve abuse. If your bag is humping hags, be my guest! If a knee-trembler with a Nonagenarian is what fires up your Engine of Lurve, go for it – providing it is consensual and does not slip into necrophilia…
Frankly, I doubt that this post will see the light of day. The Censors will be on it like flies on a corpse. Ah well! Shame really!
MILF? Nope, ‘fraid not!
No thanks! Bugger off!
*I stand corrected on the MILF front. It does not mean the same as Cougar. Many thanks to the reader who pointed this out to me!