My First Steps as a Cougar

This tale takes place in that, sadly very short, interval between the ready availability of the contraceptive pill and the outbreak of HIV and AIDS. It does not involve anyone underage at any point.

Since we moved to Spain my husband’s passion for golf has gone into overdrive. Unfortunately that’s his only passion, he’s much more interested in the valley on the fourth than the one between my legs and, even if I tempt him with an offer of a blow job, he always has some excuse and resolutely sticks to his monthly quick bonk.

I wouldn’t mind so much if it was a torrid encounter. Maybe with some variation in position, maybe some oral, or tying me up with his pj cord before spanking me and taking me from behind. Oh! I so wish.

But no, it’s fumble, fumble, fumble, get it stiff, stick it in, wiggle it about for a couple of minutes, roll off, “night dear.” And leave me to rub myself until I get some sort of result. Hardly the Kama Sutra.

He comes back from the course and regales me with a blow by blow account of nearly every hole and how he would have won if only that put on the seventeenth had gone in. Sometimes I want to scream. Maybe I should give him a blow by blow account of some fictional sexual conquest, but I doubt he would be interested and worse, much worse, I doubt that he would really, honestly, care.

Actually the thought amuses me. Next time he’s in mid flow about his missed put, I should just say.

“Interesting dear, but you know that cute chap from the end of the road, the one that pushes that pram up and down? Well he called today, on behalf of some charity, and, well to be blunt, I fucked him.” And see if I get any reaction.

I bet he’d just laugh, or worse still, add insult to injury by saying that he’s a bit young for me! Not that I’d even try, as he’s obviously married and I don’t do that, but the fact that he pushes his pram up and down shows that at least his jiz is twenty four carrot gold!

I didn’t actually plan to become a cougar, in fact I don’t think the term even existed at the time, it just sort of happened. We were invited to a friend’s son’s 21^st birthday bash. It was a mixed generation affair with some of the parent’s friends and some of his. It was held in a big, old, rambling house and the cellar had been decked out as a disco. The family were well known for throwing great parties and I was looking forward to a very enjoyable evening.

It was a dressy affair, so I selected a flowing dress that clung a bit to my curves, particularly if I wear a thong rather than knickers. My bum is one of my better features and it makes me feel sexy when men watch it undulate under my dress, a clingy dress only emphasises the effect and the pleasure it gives me. I love the idea that men are looking at my bum and imagining it naked.

Just because hubby isn’t interested it doesn’t mean I can’t do a bit of window dressing. I always try to go without a bra in high summer and, even though I’m the wrong side of forty, my smallish boobs still pass muster and stand up on their own, besides it makes me feel sexy and as the material brushes my nipples it stiffens them and that too usually gets some furtive glances from the men, imagining themselves fondling them.

I never understood men’s fascination with nipples, they have two of their own after all and, in my experience, they often have a direct communication line to their cocks. Be that as it may, I enjoy men ogling me and looking away quickly when I spot them gawping. Harmless fun.

So I’m dressed to party with my sticky out nipples, clingy dress and looking forward to some fun. I had no idea at this stage just how much fun it was going be. Great food, booze flowing freely and a disco, a perfect recipe.

I noticed one chap, obviously the son’s generation rather than mine, who seemed to sit out and generally be on his own. He was a good looking chap, probably early twenties, with a shock of tousled looking blond hair and, I have to say, really quite dishy in his crisp white shirt and tight fitting trousers. Mmmm those trousers, they really showed off his bum.

My mind set off on its own as I casually wondered what it would be like to fuck someone different, I’d only fucked the same person for the last twenty years or so and to say the lust had gone out of it would be an understatement. What would it be like to clasp those firm, young, naked, buttocks as he drove his cock deep into me, just a daydream really, but a hot one!

Would this be cheating? I don’t think so. Cheating is something like deliberately giving someone change of a fiver when they gave you a tenner. You’re depriving them of something that harms them. Hubby still gets what he wants, why not me? So no harm done. Cheating? No. Infidelity? Certainly.

I was several gins into the mission and the music in the cellar was booming, ‘crisp white shirt’ was sitting out again, so I surprised myself by going over and plomping myself down on the sofa next to him, and attempting to start a conversation.

“So what’s the story?” He looked at me quizzically, so I continued.

“What’s the story? You know, I mean a good looking chap like you sitting out with all this great music.”

I don’t recall the rest of the conversation, or actually I am probably too embarrassed to tell it, but I shamed him in to asking me to dance. He was a good dancer, so I put in a few moves from yesteryear. Holding my hair up, sticking my boobs out and so on. The more we danced the more I fancied him. Could I pull him? I am probably old enough to be his mum! Did I want to? Silly question! Would I dare fuck him? Where? Here? When? Now? More difficult to answer but, let’s face it, I was only going home to Mr Magic Rabbit for another vibrator induced orgasm at best.

We danced a bit, chatted a bit and generally got to know each other. He seemed pretty keen because he kept ogling my tits, which is always a good sign and makes me feel hot, particularly when a younger man eyes me up, so during the next dance I gave him what I remembered was my best ‘come fuck me’ look.

By now the cellar had almost emptied and the slower music was on. I decided that this was make or break time, so I made my excuses and headed for the loo.

Yes or no girl? Are you really going to try to pull him or not? I would like to say that the gin and the music influenced my behaviour, but that would only be an excuse. I was hot for him! I wanted attention in the VJ department and he was available and interested.

If you haven’t already guessed I refer to my vagina as my VJ. It started as Vag, for obvious reasons, and then changed to VJ with the recent trend of Vjazzling, where you get rid of all your pubes and stick rhinestones all over it. I don’t fancy that, and anyway I think even Mr par 4 might notice rhinestones on my VJ. I am not comfortable with the term pussy, for some reason, and beaver sounds even worse, but I really love the word cunt!

Cunt is such a lovely, almost Chaucerian, word when not used derogatorily. I can just imagine the scene in a castle chamber of olde England.

“I trust my cunt makes his majesty happy?”

“Nothing makes me feel more womanly than my master’s cock deep within my cunt!”

And a ‘wench’ would definitely not have had a pussy, she would have had a cunt and have been proud of the fact.

Unfortunately it’s use in day to day conversation has been destroyed by its swear word connotation. Such a shame, so VJ it is, except when I’m in the throws of passion, when I can only think of it as my cunt. Anyway that was just by way of explanation.

I slipped off my thong, balled it up and stuffed it in my hand bag, noticing that it already showed tell tale signs of my arousal. The feeling that the flimsy dress was all I wore only made it even more exciting. Besides I didn’t want any unnecessary barriers getting in the way if there was going to be any action. Ready or not ‘crisp white shirt’, I’ve decided! I’m hot, I’m wet, and I’m coming to get you.

I returned to the cellar with another gin. It didn’t take him long to seek me out and ask me to dance again. It was another slow number so I hung my arms around his neck, pressed my tits up against him and shot him another ‘come fuck me look’. He got the message, and his hands slid down to my bum.

OK, hands on my bum, good start, so I did that thing we girls do when we want to be kissed, but make it look like the boy’s idea. It worked, we snogged and his hands got more adventurous. By this time the cellar really was totally empty and he’s groped my bum and my tits. I know he’s hard, so after a long passionate snog where I could feel his erection pressing up against me, I whispered in his ear.

“I’m not wearing any knickers.” That did the trick!

“Where shall we go?”

“Nowhere!” I replied, ” I want you right here, standing up, against this cellar wall.”

We snogged. He lifted my dress. I felt the cold brickwork on my naked bum. God this was sexy! I felt myself flowing. Somehow he got his trousers down. His cock knew exactly what to do. I wrapped my legs around his waist and felt the wonderful sensation of a different cock penetrate me for the first time in years.

We snogged. He thrusted. I pushed back. I used my legs to pull him deep into my cunt, definitely my cunt now rather than VJ, and surprised myself by actually coming, and coming very quickly.

Was this the novelty value of a new cock or the fear of discovery? Probably both? I think I bit his lip, I hadn’t been that turned on for years. He probably thought he was the world’s best shag, getting that response, but who cares.

When he came, fuck did he cum! I revelled In the sensation of my contractions round his pulsating cock. It was over pretty quickly, but it was unbelievably sexy, and my first knee trembler against a wall for years. Eventually his cock shrank out, so I scurried to the loo to repair the damage and get my thong back on.

First score as a Cougar!

I finally managed to drag hubby away from his conversation about Chelsea and some other team and we headed for home. I was still so turned on that I desperately wanted to fuck again, even a quick missionary position shag would do, so I paraded round the bedroom as I got ready.

“So you weren’t wearing a bra then,” he commented. Fuck, I thought, have you only just noticed. If only you knew! Look, that damp patch on my thong is probable ‘crisp white shirt’s’ cum. I slipped them off as sexily as I could, slid into bed beside him and reached for his cock.

“Early tee time tomorrow love, not tonight.” Frustration! I’m lying here, horny as hell, with another man’s cum in my VJ and you’ve got a fucking early tee time.

I relived the evening as I set to work masturbating slowly, my fingers teasing my clit. God, that had been erotic, a knee trembler! At my age! I could still feel the cool of the brickwork against my bum when I had hooked my legs around his waist and that wonderful sensation of a foreign cock entering me, taking me, with pure, animal, lust!

I would be less than honest if I said it ended there. I couldn’t resist the temptation to taste my fingers, did his cum taste different? I fell asleep in a post orgasmic haze.

The routine shag with Mr Par4 continued, but they were as unsatisfactory as ever, except on one memorable occasion. I was giving him a blow job and reliving the ‘crisp white shirt’ adventure when I got a bit carried away remembering his ejaculating cock and missed the warning signs. Hey ho, his cum doesn’t taste too bad and I’m better at brining myself off by hand anyway.

It wasn’t long before reliving the adventure with ‘crisp white shirt’ wasn’t doing it anymore so I started thinking about a new adventure, but who? How? Where?

Parties were few and far between and most men I knew were married, so the obvious place to start looking and plotting was with unmarried acquaintances. I hadn’t got very far with my plan when the occasion just fell into my lap.

I belong to a small private gym, just a few bits of equipment and a vending machine that sold unbelievably awful coffee. Apart from that there were a few tables, a sofa near the TV, and some café chairs.

I liked it because hardly anyone ever used it and it stayed open til late when the owner came by to lock up. Entrance was by a swipe card and I was often alone on a Wednesday evening when I went for a work out.

This particular Wednesday there were only two other people there so I had my choice of equipment. I like to work up a sweat on the exercise bike first and then do some of the machines to keep my bum firm and so on.

It was getting late when I went to the machine for a cup of tea, the coffee was just too awful, and sitting at a table was the bloke I had noticed earlier on the rowing machine.

He looked rather doleful so I took my tea over and started chatting.

“Good work out?” I ventured.

“Yes thanks, and you.”

“Yea, the bikes really get my blood pumping before starting on the other stuff.” The conversation wandered from topic to topic and I realised I quite fancied him. He was no Adonis, probably almost my age, not greying yet at the temples or in the beard, altogether quite fit.

I started flirting and he responded. I even did the old hand on the knee trick and that seemed to work. Eventually he mentioned that the coffee was crap and maybe we should nip next door to the pub, so I gave him my best, ‘your luck might be about to change look’.

“I’ll just go and take a quick shower then.” He said, as he stood up and headed for the changing rooms.

Oh what an opportunity! Dare I? It made me wet just thinking about it. There was no-one else here and the owner wouldn’t be back to lock up for a while. Two grown ups, naked in the same building, just not in the same room! What a waste.

I headed for the ladies changing room with its one big communal shower and about five heads. Was the men’s the same? I suspected so. I grabbed a towel, shed my clothes and waited for the sound of splashing water next door.

Dare I? Am I really going to do this? Fuck this was sexy! Go for it! I waltzed into the mens changing room, hung up my towel and strode into the shower with him. His face was a picture! I don’t know where the confidence or the words came from, it was totally unplanned, but my mouth said.

“The ladies shower is cold, I’m hoping this one’s hotter!” And started to soap myself provocatively. What a trollop! What a tart! But it did the trick, he stopped doing his impression of a fish out of water and smiled as I took stock.

Good looking, uncircumcised, cock, bigger than I was used to, so quite impressive really, considering it was just hanging flaccid between his legs but his balls! Wow! Nice pendulous balls. All his pubic hair was wet so I got a good look at the whole package.

I keep my pubes short and well trimmed at the sides, to prevent escapees when wearing a bikini, which meant that once my knickers are off it’s all on view including the neatly trimmed, lips of my VJ.

“Do my back please.” So he took a handful of shower gel and started gently on my back, then my bum. He reached round from behind to soap my breasts while I felt his cock stiffening against my bum.

This was not a hurried lust filled fumble, but a slow, deliberate, dance of two mature people who know there is only one possible ending and that there is no rush to get there. I played with his cock, pulling back his foreskin and stroking the sensitive bit just under the tip, while he expertly explored my inner VJ.

I even tried a bit of oral while he stood in the gushing water. If his cock was impressive flaccid, it was a thing of beauty erect, and now it certainly was erect. I sucked and lapped as I played with his pendulous balls until there was that tell tale movement of a man about to cum.

I stood as he worked me up to screaming pitch from behind, fingering my clit, rubbing the lips of my VJ between his thumb and forefinger. The dance was coming to its conclusion.

He pushed my head forwards, so I bent at the waist offering myself to him in the most wanton fashion. I felt the tip of his cock find my entrance and he eased himself slowly into me inch by glorious inch. His hands stroked my hanging breasts and toyed with my nipples as he gently fucked me.

I so love an assertive man. He had simply possessed me from that moment he pushed my head forwards. I stood, bent over, hands on knees, presenting him with my wet and willing VJ, while he owns me.

I feel his balls slap into me with every thrust and now my nipples are sparking off signals to my cunt.

Stars!

Contractions!

I’m coming!

He thrusts on.

I feel my first wave of orgasm.

He cums.

I go with the wave, feeling his pulses.

I feel so beautifully full.

Another magical orgasm! So it’s probably not the danger of discovery but rather that I get off easily on a new cock.

A few more random encounters had added more scalps to my metaphorical bed post and, to be frank, it was all getting just a bit too easy. Find a thirty something who’s not getting enough, flash him a smile, get him chatting, let it get a bit risqué, and he’ll drop his trousers before you can spell out

e r e c t I o n.

So I decided to give myself a bit more of a challenge. I set my eyes on the boy next door; quite literally next door. He’d just turned nineteen and was between school and university.

This was going to be a longer game. Forget your four hours on the golf course, this would probably take several weeks.

He was a tallish lad with a mop of curly brown hair and was still at that delightfully thin stage boys go through before developing a stomach. So we are talking just under six feet and built like a racing snake. I can’t even imagine what his tight little buttocks feel like, but I am on a mission to find out.

Could he be a virgin? He’s been away at a boys’ boarding school so hasn’t had much opportunity to loose it. Would it be fun with a virgin? Probably not: way too quick, but what a scalp to possess! Yes! I’m on a mission to do him and what young man doesn’t fantasise about being introduced to the joys of sex by an older woman?

Just imagining that young, stiff, eager, virgin, cock penetrating my equally eager VJ would frequently send me scurrying to my room for Mr Magic Rabbit.

Will he get an erection easily? Silly question! What will it feel like? Is it thick or thin? Long or short? Does it matter? Will he cum very quickly? You bet! How many strokes? Three? Four? But what a compliment to my body if I can make him cum in just a few strokes. Then another Rabbit orgasm strikes! Masturbating while plotting is hugely underrated.

The plan almost invented itself, so no marks for cunning here, but hey it should work. Actually I know damn well it’ll work. Our houses are exactly the same design, only handed, what’s on the left in there’s is on the right in ours. That means there are two bathroom windows in each house that face each other and his also overlooks our pool. Godsend!

As our bathroom windows were directly opposite each other, he could see what I could see. Several times I put on as much light as possible, stepped into the shower, naked obviously, and stood as near the frosted glass window as possible to give him the best possible view. After a few attempts he got the message. Bathroom light on, close up silhouette of naked lady taking a shower!

I had also noticed sometimes, when I was sunbathing by the pool, and I looked up, a shadow in his bathroom moved suddenly. Was he leching? I do hope so! I decided to put it to the test, so I made a habit of going to the pool when hubby left for golf. Car departs, bikini on, out to the pool. This routine soon produced results. Pavlov eat your heart out.

My body is still in pretty good shape and I do take care of myself. I’ve mentioned my boobs before and my bum is still pert and firm and I curve in and out in all the right places.