Comely Cougars and Cagey Catches
Okay, in my defense I have never cougar-ed before. And this situation didn’t begin as a tawdry, one-night stand after having met at a bar or some such thing. It all began innocently enough, I swear. Let me explain before you roll your eyes in self-righteous morality and indignation. My very heterosexual and very sexy, lover-to-be heterosexual hairdresser’s name is Ryan (not true at all – I’m obviously not going to print his real name). He has a beautiful common-law wife with big boobs with whom he has purchased a home. They have a pet. They are engaged to be married next year. Already I can feel my female readers sharpening their claws. Listen, I am not at all interested in breaking up their relationship. And Ryan isn’t stupid enough to walk out on his pretty wife for a woman 16 years older than him. Hear me out, would ya?
Ryan is sexy, 33, tall and thin, dark-haired with the sexiest male voice I have ever heard in my life. He is in the business of making beautiful women even more beautiful and he loves every minutes of his work. It all started when I visited the salon for the second time, I believe it was. He was working on a younger woman’s hair. It was long and black. He had styled it with these large, loose curls. He ran his fingers through it from root to tip to arrange it and the whole time he was telling her things like, “you look like Kim Kardashian,” and “your boyfriend won’t be able to stay away from you,” in that sultry voice. I think Ryan was having a hard time staying away from her and keeping his hands in her hair. I have a feeling he walks around with a semi half the day. Sweet Jesus.
While his adorable junior hairstylist, Dennis (of course that’s not his real name), was working on my hair I began flirting with Ryan. I couldn’t take my eyes off of watching him run his hands through that woman’s hair. And that voice. Ryan could make someone as homely as Courtney Love think she’s beautiful. In fact, he could make the fat lady at the circus think she was hot. I believe you get the idea.
My third visit was unexpected. I asked Ryan to do my hair (stop that, you – the drapes are unique – there is no carpet). I liked his technique better than Dennis’, who is still learning how to style hair (although to his credit, he did an awesome purple shade for me and I’ve lost count of how many strangers have told me they love it). But I digress. Ryan gave me this orgasmic, oops, organic massage while he was washing and conditioning my hair. He took his time about it too. So I took his hand and placed it on my breast. Dennis saw that. He was cutting a client’s hair at the time. He grinned and shook his head then said, “I didn’t see anything.” In other words, discretion rules in this salon. Perfect for a woman like me.
That was all I needed, and apparently all Ryan needed too. Since then we have decided to become lovers. Or at least sex buddies. Whichever. I haven’t done him yet. It’s a matter of time. I won’t crowd him because that’s psychotic. And I can’t pay for a hairstyle every day because that’s expensive. The waiting makes the temptation even sweeter – and more agonizing. There’s something to be said for self-discipline. Who knew? I don’t feel at all bad that I am doing a married man and a man who is 16 years my junior. Men have been having sex with younger women since the dawn of time. Why can’t we?
And that, everyone, is the story about how I became a shameless and active cougar. Stay tuned. There will be a follow-up. I can assure you of that. p.s. obviously the bombshells in this blog aren’t me. I merely add them for visual effect. After all, this whole steamy escapade began with a mirror and a magazine.
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