Looking for MILFs 50+?

Here’s Some Juicy Advice. Forget gentlemanly behaviour. Be like the French. Get la frisson.

I confess. I agreed to be described as a “MILF” in a friend’s story about online dating. You may assume someone brave enough to describe herself that way would be smoking hot.

I’m not. What I am is, an empty nester. MILF is simply not a term I encounter much anymore. I felt a tingle when presented with this juicy moniker as an option for a tiny credit in someone else’s story.

The alternatives, lady/woman/gal, were obviously sub-par. MILF rolled off my tongue and tasted vaguely illicit. Delicious.

I emailed approval right away. It also got me thinking about the premise of his story.

Women like me were not in a rush to find love, my friend asserted. I’m not sure I agree. But how could I weigh in and make a difference for digital daters who have checked ‘heterosexual’? What advice could I give to nice, middle-aged guys flailing about online?

Shortly after his story was published, I found myself in a sea of bumpin’ hips and thighs. Pilates class is Ground Zero for real, honest-to-goodness MILFs: fresh-faced, late twenty-to-thirty-somethings. Every week, I imagine I’m keeping up. I’m not.

It’s exhilarating to be told you’re highly fuckable — if only by a pal. Leonard Cohen may have said it best:

You came to me this morning

And you handled me like meat

You’d have to live alone to know

How good that felt, how sweet.

I’ll seize that feeling, what the French call, la frisson: when the hair on the back of your neck stands up, and you feel alive.

I’ll do a lot for that feeling. I bet a lot of women reading this would, too.

That’s why I’m counselling my friend — and all you lovely men out there — not to be quite so gentlemanly with your dates.

Wow, you might still say. Doesn’t bad boy behaviour make up like, 99% of all online dating stories — not in a good way?

You’re right. I’m not advising the remaining one percent to stage selfies in their bathrooms. I’m speaking to good and decent men, clothing optional.

Forget an overall lack of quality. Imagine for a moment being called “Dude” by a guy who has seen your nipples. (He was quite a respectful project manager, by the way). I looked around and responded, as I would to one of my sons: Who is Dude?

Zero frisson.

Sure, empowered women of a certain age and means often have enough of everything — and little urgency to make any change. We don’t need men. but it’s nice to feel we need them from time to time (like, now, right now!).

I’ve been dating on-and-off for most of my post-divorce years. Like many who online date, I’m part of the 36% who were previously married — to a seemingly good guy.

In my case, and I bet in most others, marriage didn’t turn out all that well. In our courting years, my ex was nice enough. Later, it all fell to shit.

Oh, leave that baggage at the door! you say. I can; women suspend our disbelief all the time. We want to believe.

But when it comes to hard-won double beds — other humans, optional — indulge us.

Just like men, most women yearn for more than simply companionship — what my friend coined in his story, “the unleashing of the regenerative organs”.

What’s needed is not politeness, not timidness, but honesty.

I’ll be honest. I don’t want to go on a coffee date. I have lots of girlfriends who drink coffee.

I also didn’t survive 23 Rubbermaid containers full of legal documents to be nickel and dimed over a latte. Or a pub salad.

While we’re at it, I have a lot to do. Visiting my kids. Lying on my couch and reading a book. Writing poetry. Magical stuff.

Sugar daddy? LMAO. It’s not money that’s precious, it’s time. Since no one reading this is dead, I’ll remind us of something important. We all will be some day, relatively soon.

I want to know, and quickly, if the balding man I’m keeping company with on this rare Saturday afternoon cares about my pleasure.

Does he honestly have the capacity to perform, if you get me?

WHAT? you might ask. Such a thing to say! He’s out there, dating!

Yes, yes, he is. But I invested in several dates — and most of a precious summer — with a lovely, dapper gentleman who had been prescribed more sleep to counter his issues in the bedroom. Not little blue pills. Sleep.

Five years prior. And he still hadn’t solved the real problem.

Oh la frisson, where art thou?

This reminds me of another story. Back when climate change deniers were still a dime a dozen, and I was just starting out with online dating, I cast my luck with the Amish. The ultimate nice guys, I thought.

Boy, do I love organic produce and scratch baking! I’m into low-carbon stuff and looking at farms from my car! Surely, this will be a great match!

But over dinner, my date made no less than three jokes about bundling beds. I’m not into pretending I know stuff, so I asked (over his chuckling), What is that?

Assuming you are not Amish, I’ll tell you: it’s a wooden board placed in a bed, between a man and a woman. It’s (sometimes) removed when time comes to procreate. There’s a hole that can be involved, which means the board could be left in place. I guess it’s to protect the sanctity of all involved.

Very funny stuff! And ranked extremely low in la frisson!

So, I encourage all the lovely men out there who are into the ladies/women/gals/MILFs sitting across their tables: take an honest-to-goodness risk.

In the spirit of la frisson, choose a place out of your comfort zone. If you’d stop there for a quick bite, choose another venue. Get tactile; order something to eat with your hands. Or an unconventional utensil. Halfway through, (maybe ask to) sit next to her, touching. Or make the move.

Dude. You’re Eminem in 8 Mile. This is your one shot.

In the meantime, this MILF is heading for my big, beautiful double bed, solo. I’m getting seduced by Leonard.

Vive la frisson!