Ask A Cougar: How to Meet A Younger Man

I’m not crazy about being called a “cougar.” By now, though, I’ve been called it so often, it has grown on me. Given all the questions I get about cougars and cubs, I figure I’m something of an expert now, too. So I’m starting this new series today to answer all those questions and any new ones—please send them along by leaving a comment or emailing me at, Pamela@seasonedsex.com.)

Technically, a cougar is an older woman with some disposable income who preys on a younger man and likes to be in firm control. I don’t have spare cash lying around to entertain the pool boy, say, but I’m definitely an older woman (47) who loves running the show. And I do have younger boyfriend, Michael, who’s 28. We’ve been together for almost two years.

So you may be wondering, how did we meet? First off, let me qualify my answer by saying that while sex is great, I didn’t come all this way in life to be taking my panties on and off and call it a day.  I need a little more than that. Conversation, for starters.

The secret to meeting the kind of cub you can talk to gets down to this: Let it all hang out. Be your self. Think I’m crazy? Read on.

I had just moved into a new house and the bathrooms needed renovating. Mutual friends recommended Michael for the job. He came by one cold November night to give me a quote. With his apple rosy cheeks and a frank open face, he looked about 18 years old.

We sat down together and talked through the job, pricing vanities and lighting fixtures on eBay. I’m shocked to tell you that I felt this sexual vibe right away and I was a little disgusted with myself. He could be my son, but a boyfriend? Ridiculous. Still, there was some pull. He was sipping on the Chrysanthemum tea I had made, pretending to like it. I was trying hard to focus on what he was saying, but all I could think about was sneaking another look at his full red lips getting all hot from the tea. I imagined those lips billowing steam as they worked their way up between my thighs… (Oh geesh, sorry about that. I’m jumping ahead in my story.)  For a second, I wondered if he was a little curious about me, too, but I kept things totally professional.

Michael started work on my house that weekend. He showed up with his crew at 7 A.M. and I’m embarrassed to say, I was in a deep coma-like sleep with my earplugs still in and my eye mask around my neck. He had to bang and bang on the door. So they got a late start and before he left that day, I made sure he had a key. Before long, I got used to having a bunch of young guys in my house.  It was maybe even a little exciting.

One day, I think it was a Sunday, late afternoon, I was making a feta cheese sandwich and one the guys, Ritchie, was touching up the paint job in dining room, which opens to the kitchen. Michael was charging around like he’d forgotten to take Ritalin that day, whipping up dust and dirt wherever he walked. I chewed on my sandwich and watched his mouth as it barked orders at the other guys. I have to admit, I thought he was so sexy the way he drove his crew. I imagined him dominating me and driving his… (Geesh, there I go again. Last time, I promise.)

“Hey, Pam!” Ritchie yelled at me. I guess he could see I was a little distracted. “How old are you?”

Now you might be thinking that was a little cheeky of him but these guys had been virtually living with me for a month and well, they felt like family. I grinned goofily, my mouth full. “How old do you think I am?” I asked.

“I dunno,” he said. “You can never tell with girls. I’d say you’re about 35.” Michael walked into the dining room and crouched down pretending to be fascinated with an electrical socket.

“Add about a decade and you’re in the ballpark,” I said matter-of-factly. Michael looked up quickly. He blinked.

“Holy shit,” blurted Ritchie. “You’re a cougar! You might even be a silverback.”

I gave him a confused look. I had no idea what he was talking about.

“You know, like a M.I.L.F. without the kids,” he explained.

Just in case you’ve been living far from Planet Earth and haven’t heard the term, M.I.L.F., it stands for “Mothers I’d Like to f—.” You know, it’s the hot Mom that every schoolboy lusts after. I was kind of flattered.

“What makes you think I’m into younger guys?” I asked surprised.

“Are you serious?” said Ritchie shocked at why any older woman in her right mind would have sex with someone other than a guy in his twenties.

That’s when it happened. Michael looked at me and our eyes locked. It was romantic in primitive kind of way. Something about the look in his eyes made me a little nervous. There’s only one word for it. Hunger. I finished the rest of my sandwich and swallowed hard.

Neither of us made a move though. Not for a whole year, in fact. By the time I saw him again, it was the peak of Arizona summer and temperatures were routinely hitting the 120’s. I’d called him out of the blue because a client wanted a bid on a remodel job. We walked through the site and then sat in his truck discussing the job. The A/C was blasting and his phone seemed to ring every five seconds.

“You busy?” I said.

“Yup,” he answered. “You?” He wasn’t a big talker.

I spewed forth about this project and that idea, drawing pictures in the air because my ambitions were just too complicated to explain with mere words. Then, I held my arms up as though in surrender and positioned my wet armpits in front of the A/C vents.

“You’re doing jack,” he said yawning.

That ballsy little punk, I thought to myself. How dare he talk to me like that? I opened my mouth but nothing came out except some stuttering that sounded like, “whhhhaaaatttt?”

“Jack. Shit,” he said drawing each word out. “You’re doing jack shit.” He turned and looked at me. “Stop fanning your smelly armpits,” he teased.

I clasped my hands on my lap and looked out the window to hide my smile. I’ll give him credit. He wasn’t afraid to call me on my big shot posturing. I felt exposed, vulnerable, and kind of excited. He was seeing the real me and seemed to be getting a kick out of it. Suddenly, I wanted to screw him in the back cab of his truck.

I didn’t of course. But you can see how the combination of me thinking he’s not even on my eligibility radar freed me up to not care what he thought. I ended up being exactly me and I can safely say, he must have liked it because of what happened next.

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