Between 1985 and 1989, I dated a man named Paul. I was in my late thirties at the time, and Paul was eleven years younger than I was. Without planning it, I was a "Cougar" before anyone really knew what the term meant. It happened by accident, and as I look back, was the best time, from a sexual stand point, of my life.
Paul and I were very different people. I owned a real estate agency at the time, owned my own house, and drove a sports car. Paul worked for his dad in the family owned jewelry store, he lived at home, and drove a seven year old Buick. Being a business woman, I was always dressed up, where he was a jeans and sweatshirt kind of guy. I like classical music, love stories, and golf. Paul was into hard rock, liked action films, and was a huge pro football fan. I am a small woman, and at that time, had shoulderd length auburn hair, 36D breasts, and a little bit of baby fat. I was soft and curvy, and very submissive. Paul stood just under six feet tall. Had an athletic body with a tan, and his hair was almost down to his shoulders too. You couldn't find two more different people. For some reason, I found him to be cute.
I lived a very quiet life. My nights at home were basically watching movies. On weekends, I enjoyed going to flea markets, or playing golf with friends. Paul was a bit wild, kind of an action junkie. He always wanted to do things that I found to be crazy, yet exciting at the same time. I remember that, at that time, I was constantly horny. I was dating a man who was eight years my senior, who I found very boring, both in bed, and out. Because I owned my own business, I was always on the go, and didn't have time for a steady relationship. I was looking for a steady lover at the time however, and wasn't having any luck. That's when, by chance, I met him.
I had been in his dad's store before, and he and I had chatted. He was always a bit flirtatious with me, and being an older woman, I found it flattering. Our conversations were always of a business nature. One day I came in to pick up a bracelet that I had repaired, we chatted for a bit, and then he asked me out on a date. I politely declined, stating that I was too busy, but in reality, it was the age difference.
A part of me wanted to go out with him. I spent a week trying to justify it but that age difference always loomed in the back ground. Finally, after about ten days, I decided to give it a try. I needed more jewelry repaired, so I went back to the store. Paul waited on me, and was very polite. We chatted for fifteen minutes or so when I noticed that he didn't ask me out again. I found that very attractive. I never liked pushy men who wouldn't take no for an answer.
As I was ready to leave, I decided to take the initiative.
"So, do you still want to take me out?"
"Sure," he replied, with a stunned look on his face, "My treat."
"No, no, we'll go Dutch." I said.
I asked him to call me on the following Saturday night, which was a few days away. During that time, I had very mixed feeling about it still. I was tired of my boring, lonely life. I was ready for some excitement in my life, and figured that a younger man could provide that. In no way was I planning it to be a sexual thing, that hadn't crossed my mind. I just wanted some fun.
On date night, Paul arrived ten minutes early, which impressed me. I didn't even invite him in, I asked him to wait on the porch, and told him that I'd just be a minute. When I came out, he said that I could drive if I wanted too. I had a 1985 Mazda RX7, and I think he was impressed by it. I agreed, I started the car, opened the sun roof, and off we went.
We had decided to go to a beach front restaurant that I liked. It was a good thirty minute drive, just enough time for us to chat on the way. I really don't remember what we talked about, except that he was impressed that I was a woman who drove a car with a standard shift. It was a hot night in June 1985, so how I dressed was important. I wanted classy, yet comfortable. I certainly wasn't going to dress in a provocative manor, though a little cleavage is always acceptable.
I noticed two things about him that I found appealing. The first was, at a time when a man wearing an earing was acceptable, he didn't. He also wasn't wearing cologne or after shave of any type, which I really liked. I don't want a man who smells like a woman. He appeared to be a bit shy, even a bit nervous. When I mentioned it to him, he told me that his father told him the I was a bit out of his league, too sophisticated for him. His father was wrong.
Though I was brought up in an affluent family, and dressed that way, there was always a tigress trying to get out. I had spent most of my adult life with boring, wealthy older men who didn't like fun. They were all about image, and in some cases, I was their trophy girlfriend. Now I had this younger guy, who was far from wealthy. He was wild, fun, and honest. He wasn't afraid of a woman with class
Where the restaurant is there used to be an amusement park. At this time it had just recently closed, and most of the rides were gone. There was still the old carousel, boardwalk arcades, and a miniature golf course. Knowing that I play, he suggested mini golf. I kicked his ass, but he didn't seem to mind. After that, we went for ride on carousel, and hit boardwalk shops. He bought me cotton candy and flowers.
At eleven o'clock, everything closed, so we decided to drive home. Again, we talked on way back. I remember thinking about how much fun I had. When we finally arrived at my house, I invited him in. I asked him if he wanted anything, and he said a cup of coffee, so I made some. I asked him to wait while I changed my clothes. I put on my pajama bottoms and an old shirt. I remember him stating that I looked tired, and he'd leave if I wanted him too. I told him that I would be up for a while, and he could stay if he wanted.
I abhor bad language in conversation, or when it's used gratuitively in movies. I think it's used way to much now, and I have now idea why. I also believe that there are certain times, like writing here, or in sexual situations, when that kind of language is fine. In this forum, because we're all adults, I will use that language.
In all of my life to that point, I rarely fucked on the first date. I was brought up that women shouldn't do that. The times that I had, were when I was in college, and were basically one night stands. I was never a prude when it came to sex, but did have certain beliefs. I had also been dating the same man for close to five years. A man that, though I liked, I found to be boring. Now I have this wild, long haired twenty five year old young man drinking coffee in my kitchen. I found him attractive, and was very aroused. After a while, he saw that it was getting late and stated that we was going to go home, and thanked me for a wonderful evening. As I walked him to the door I gave him a big kiss.
"You're welcome to stay awhile." I said to him.
"Okay." he replied.
I think he knew why I had asked because of the look on his face.