The idea of
dating or at least playing "grab ass" with a younger guy has been
something I have been toying around with for some time. Now, having recently entered my third decade
of life and therefore my (pre) cougar years, the time seems right.
I find my target at the least likely
of events: a Republican debate for the upcoming presidential election. I'm a registered Democrat, but I volunteer to
work the debate because I am curious as to what life is like on the red side of
things. Plus, they're paying me which is
music to my impoverished student ears.
This turns out to be quite fortuitous, as I meet a pretty little young
thing that I immediately decide I am going to corrupt...horribly. After working with my PYT (yes, that is a
Michael Jackson reference) and flirting shamelessly for three days, we exchange
information.
I am pleased to hear from PYT a
couple of weeks later when he invites me to join him and his friends for drinks
later in the week. Being the multitasker
that I am I also agree to attend a launch party for a new liquor company earlier
that night. I figure I will be brimming
with all sorts of liquid confidence by the time I meet PYT and his
buddies. Besides, if I'm already drunk
it will make me feel much less creepy and child molester-ish for pursuing
someone seven years my junior.
That night, I meet my friends Sandy
and Mark for a little pre-gaming. Even
though there will be free booze at the launch party, somehow it still feels
necessary to drink copious amounts of alcohol before we head over. As soon as I hop into Sandy's car, Mark hands
me a half-empty (or half-full, depending on your outlook) bottle of champagne.
"Finish that," he
orders.
I, of course, gladly oblige as we
head to the club where the party is being held.
We arrive at the club and Mark reveals a second bottle of champagne,
which we take turns chugging from as we wait on the line to get inside. Now, I should mention that this is not
Cristal or Dom Perrione we're drinking.
Oh no, no! We are passing around
a bottle of Andre that Sandy bought on sale at CVS for $3.50.
We're such classy broads!
Sandy hiccups and continues gulping
down champagne.
The party is fun and we get some
cool free stuff from the liquor company, but once the open bar is over, we decide
there is no longer any need to hang around.
After a stop at the supermarket for more cheap champagne and forties
(what night would be complete without a little Old-E), we head back to Sandy's
apartment. Somehow, we end up lying
around Sandy's living room watching The Lion King, which is way more
thought-provoking as an intoxicated adult.
Finally, I get a text from PYT
informing me that he and his friends are on their way to a bar. I say goodnight to my friends and head off,
with fantasies of young penis dancing around in my head. Unfortunately, shortly after I arrive, PYT's
friend's girlfriend having overdone it on the pre-gaming has to be taken
home. They invite me to go out with them
again two nights later and we head our separate ways. I am disappointed, but I know with patience
and due diligence I will get my "Mrs. Robinson" on.
I meet up with PYT and his friends
again two nights later at a trendy club where they somehow have a hookup for
free admission. Of course, before we
actually go into the club, we have a few drinks in the parking lot in hopes we
will be buzzed enough that our bar tab is not too ridiculous. This is Vegas after all and drinks are not
cheap. Our group which is comprised of me,
PYT, his roommate Doug, and their friend, Serena happily passes around magnums
of Seagram's 7 and Jack Daniel's. Being
the only two females, Serena and I bond instantly; chatting about shoes and
other inane female topics.
"So what's up with you and
PYT," she whispers, smiling slyly.
"We're friends," I reply,
not really sure of a better explanation.
Plus, it sounds better than admitting I plan to ride his face like
Seabuscuit.
Serena takes a long swig of Jack
Daniel's and leans in closer to me.
"He's hot. So, you should go
after that because if you don't, I will."
This girl and I are definitely going
to be friends!
I take the bottle of whiskey from
her hand and take a few sips.
"That's the plan. And Mr.
Daniels is going to be my wingman."
After drinking ourselves to a
"happy place," we go into the club.
Of course, per usual, the venue is unnecessarily loud and dangerously
overcrowded. The flagrant disregard to
fire-code regulations displayed by these places in nothing short of
remarkable. But, since I have a nice
Tennessee whiskey-induced buzz, this does not annoy me as much as it normally
would. Our group somehow manages to find
space on the dance floor close to the deejay's stage and everyone begins
happily dancing around. And by dancing,
I mean thrashing their arms wildly about with no rhyme, reason, or for that
matter rhythm.
Admittedly, I am not the best
dancer. I have zero sense of rhythm
which is sad considering I am black and the ability to dance is one of my
people's supposed talents. Consider it a
genetic defect. Not that I care. I still get out there and do my thing, which
always looks like I'm having a seizure and a heart attack, while being
electrocuted. In this crowd, however, I
do not think it matters. I'd venture a
guess that about eighty-five percent of those in attendance are either drunk or
hopped up on any number of illicit substances.
Ahh!
Gotta love Vegas.
I spend the majority of the night
dancing with PYT and Serena. Once 3am
rolls around though, we are all a bit tired and far more sober than any of us
want to be. Leaving the club, the group
splits; Serena and Doug head home while PYT and I head back to my
apartment. Not quite ready to call it a
night, PYT and I crack open a bottle of wine and settle in on my couch to watch
some light-night/early morning television.
After a few too many glasses of wine
and infomercials, I decide the time has finally come to lure PYT into my cougar
den. Now, throughout the entire night,
(probably in due to a combination of intoxication and extreme delusions of grandeur)
I have envisioned myself as a sophisticated, sultry older woman seducing the
younger man who is of course powerless to resist my charms. It is odd how different perception and
reality really are.
"Hey, do you want to go to bed
now" I ask, tracing his shirt collar with my finger and smiling. PYT squirms awkwardly. I must really be intimidating him with all of
my sexiness; maybe I should dial it down a notch. Sometimes I do not realize my own power. "Or we can just watch some more television."
"Let's just hang out for a
little while longer," he replies.
"No problem." I pour myself another glass of wine and
settle back into the couch. We watch a
reality show about some restaurant where all of the employees are either fighting
with or sleeping with each other. And
really isn't that every restaurant?
Well, at least in my experience it is.
Finally, I try to move the action (or lack thereof) into the bedroom
again.
"I'm getting tried. We should go to sleep."
"Yeah. That's a good idea," he replies.
Yes! At last! In my head, this is a done deal. It will be as easy as taking candy from a
baby; a very good-looking twenty-three year old baby.
We enter my bedroom and I quickly
slip out of my club gear and hop into bed.
PYT slides in next to me...fully clothed. Hmm, okay, this is interesting. Well, maybe he is just being polite and
waiting for me to take the lead.
"Would you like to borrow a tee shirt to sleep in," I ask,
knowing I have zero intention of giving him a stitch of clothing.
"No, I'm fine like this."
WTF?!
"Don't you think you would be
much more comfortable in a tee shirt, or your boxers, or your birthday
suit?"
PYT shakes his head. "No thanks. Goodnight, Nikki." With that, he rolls
over and settles in to sleep.
Wait, what just happened? Did I miss something? At first, I am confused by this unforeseen
turn of events. Soon, however, I begin
to get angry. I bought him drinks! I have to drive his barely legal ass home
eventually! That definitely warrants at
least a little second-base action.
After stewing for several minutes, I
decide that I should stop pouting and be proactive. I climb out of bed and head back into to living
room, where I turn the thermostat up to ninety degrees. He doesn't want to take off his clothes,
that's fine. I'll sweat him out of
them. I am so smart sometimes. Returning to the bed, I slide in as if
nothing happened and wait for the heat to kick in. After about fifteen minutes, the apartment
has become noticeably warmer. I poke
PYT, who is now asleep, to wake him up.
"Are you hot?"
No response.
So I do what any rational, mature
(and sexually frustrated) person would do.
I shove him off the bed. This
wakes him up. "What happened,"
he asks.
"I thought you were dead,"
I lie. "I just wanted to make sure
you were okay." For some reason he
believes this and climbs back into bed.
"Are you hot," I ask again.
"A little."
"You should take your clothes
off then. You'll feel much
better." He pats me on the head,
smiles and goes back to sleep. What the fuck?! Maybe he's afraid of me. I did growl at him and ask him to refer to me
as a "predatory creature" on the drive to my apartment, but that was
just the booze talking. I decide he must
be intimidated by my age and extreme sophistication. Giving up, I roll over onto my side and close
my eyes. The only person getting lucky
tonight is whoever runs the gas company because my heating bill is going to be
ridiculous!
The next morning I drive PYT
home. He kisses me on the cheek and says
he'll call me to hang out again. I grunt
at him and drive off. A few nights
later, I decide to give PYT another shot.
Or rather, the considerable amounts of Jameson I have been drinking make
the decision. I shoot him a text asking
if he wants "to come over and watch a movie in my vagina." I figure this way there can be no confusion
of my intentions.
PYT responds a few minutes
later. "Hey, I'm going to see Twilight so I can't hang out
tonight." Wait a minute. Did I seriously just get turned down in favor
of "Breaking Dawn?" Vagina should always win out over vampires,
especially sparkly ones. Ugh! Team
Edward-1 Team Nikki-0.
A few days later, the unthinkable
happens. I finally manage to hook up
with PYT. Considering the effort it took
to accomplish this goal, I was slightly disappointed by the experience. It was like preparing to climb Mount Everest
only to find out that Mount Everest is really just a molehill. Either way, mission accomplished.
I'm still patting myself on the back
for my "cougar skills" two weeks later when I run into PYT at a local
nightclub. We chat briefly and go off
with our respective groups. As the night
wears on and my blood alcohol level increases, I decide that PYT should come
home with me. I, of course, decide this
without consulting him. I locate him on
the dance floor with his friends. I
strut up to him, grab him by the necktie he's wearing, and demand that he leave
with me. In my mind, I imagine that I am
quite the femme fatale. Ah, gotta love
Ketel One-induced delusions.
To his credit, PYT politely removes
my hands from his clothing and explains that he is staying at a friend's
house. He gives me a friendly hug which
in my inebriated state, I perceive as an egregious act of disrespect. "Your loss," I sneer and storm
away. I am (unreasonably) furious with
him. How dare he turn me down! The nerve!
Stupid little boy!
As a reach the end of the dance
floor, I turn around. I am not sure why,
but something inside told me to look behind me. When I do, I see PYT still
dancing a few feet away, but then I notice something else. Standing directly in front of him and
grinding his ass into PYT's crotch is another dude. The two of them are having a fabulous time
groping and rubbing each other. My jaw
drops.
Oh my god! He's gay!
A million thoughts swirl around in
my head. Why did he sleep with me if he
likes guys? Was he experimenting like drunken
sorority girls do in college? Was he
pretending I was a man when he was with me? It is all way too much for my brain
to process. I slink back to the table
where my friends are still hanging out and pour myself another drink. Eventually, one of my friends drives me home. As I pour myself into bed, I decide it's time
for this cougar to go into hibernation for a while.
