The Boy & The Cougar
The morning I fulfilled a fantasy I didn’t know I had
Once in a while, sex is everything but the act itself: The moments leading up to it, followed by the sweet aftermath. Sex is so much more than ‘fucking’, and can start with a look or with seemingly innocent touches, building up until the air is heavy with sex—before anyone’s clothes even come off.
Travel back with me to a balmy morning, two summers ago, and you’ll see what I’m talking about:
Mise-en-scene
The morning sun had already painted the sky pale pink when we made our way out of the club. Avoiding puddles, cigarette buts, and empty mini-vodka-bottles, I sashay into the street and snap my fingers over my head.
—Oooh, I never take taxis he says, not even trying to hide his boyish excitement.
The car glides up in front of us, and I gesture for him to open the door.
Out of the dimly lit sex club, I can really see him, and oh boy! is he but a boy —a strikingly handsome one at that.
I turn towards him and glide a hand through his full head of blonde curls, following his jawline with my index finger, I place it on his bottom lip—all while staring seductively into his deep green eyes.
He looks down, timidly. I follow his gaze, to land on the unmistakable bulge in his pants.
—I take it you’re happy to see me, I joke, attempting to loosen him up a bit.
The reference is clearly lost on him, but he smiles regardless.
—You’re very beautiful, Miss, he stutters.
The boy is goddamn adorable and he’s clearly a bit taken aback by the circumstance.
—Tell me something about yourself. What brings you to the city?
He starts to speak of how he finished school and is taking a couple of years off to work on a boat.
—When you say school, you mean…?
—Highschool.
I clear my throat.
—Oh! So, how old are you exactly?
—21, he responds coyly.
I try to hide the fact that I’m giggling to myself. Jeez, I hadn’t planned on going full-blown catamount. I’d hooked up with younger men before, but this was a new record…not that I keep score.
After a quick calculation, I realize that he’s young enough to have been my son (had I been a very young teen-mom who conceived the year I became a woman.) The thought makes me further giggly—and surprisingly hot.
It occurs to me that I’m about to realize a fantasy I wasn’t even aware that I had.
Prelude
When I’d found him an hour earlier, he was sitting on top of the speakers, looking bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.
The night was slipping into morning, and I was just about to throw in the towel when I saw the boy. Something about him caught my eye; perhaps it was his tall stature and broad shoulders? Or was it his curious, wandering eyes that stopped and followed me as I pranced by?
I’ll gladly admit that I was also kinda horny after a night of dancing half-naked in a sea of other more-or-less naked people.
—Why not? I was still full of energy and in the mood for a small adventure. So I slid up next to him and served him the most classic of pick up lines:
—Do you come here a lot?
—Nope, first time here—and first time in Berlin.
—Cute… Welcome!
My confidence levels were definitely heightened after a few drinks, combined with the fact that, compared to this wide-eyed noob, I owned the place.
—Dancefloor? I suggested.
He followed like a puppy after a bag of treats.
Then, I turned and whispered that I wanted him to lead—to take charge. And though, we both knew who was really topping who, he caught on surprisingly quick, twirling me around, holding me close and pulling me by the ring in my collar.
It didn’t take a lot to convince me that night either; I knew what I was looking for and he crossed my boxes—including the excellent kisser one.
I was ready for a change of scenery.
—My place?
Foreplay
I open my front door, and the boy continues to be in a state of puerile excitement. He’s in awe of my large and grown-up apartment, which, while very nice indeed, isn’t anything out of the ordinary—for someone in their thirties.
To a twentyone-year-old from a tiny German town nonetheless, living in a shared student flat, it’s opulent.
I continue to inhabit the role of sex-goddess, and savor how he looks at me, with admiration and wonder, as I fix us both an Aperol Spritz — with a slice of orange, and a rosemary twig on top.
I relish being the temptress; in charge and almost dominant, while haphazardly sharing stories about myself in exchange for his.
I’m a sultry Marlene Dietrich, lounging on a loveseat (aka my couch), casually flicking a cigarette, and he’s my drooling buzz boy about to be taken on the ride of a lifetime.
The way he looks at me makes me feel like I’m walking sex, and I gobble it all up — as does he.
When he, gingerly leans over to kiss me, I return by pulling him close and nodding towards the bedroom.
Climax
What proceeded was the hottest sex of my life…
…and that’s a big fat lie!
I know; you’re about to get to the climax of this smoldering story, and I wish I could serve you a steamy-hot sex scene to boot. But alas, it did not end that way.
It wasn’t bad by any means, but I’m a spoiled brat in bed, and ever since my bar was raised—way high—anything less-than-exceptional is meh. What followed was lovely. Walks in the park are lovely too.
To be honest, I barely remember the sex part of the sex, that’s how unnoteworthy it was. I did, nonetheless, give the boy a thorough lesson in barehanded spanking, which, for a first-timer, after a night of partying, he aced with a golden star.
He continued to exceed in my cunnilingus class, where he followed instructions to a tee, like the eager beaver (…) he was.
My role as vixen had now morphed to naughty headmistress giving her handsome, young student a private lesson. And though he had it easy, seeing I was more turned on by the set-up than his precise moves, he sent me over the finish line and received a definite B+, with bonus points for effort.
Epilogue
After a short cuddle, I instructed my zealous student back into his garb and followed him to the front door. The boy—I think his name was Sebastian—thanked me for the lovely morning. Without exchanging anything but a last kiss, our ways parted.
As I watched him walk down my stairs and out of my courtyard, I got excited again. The thought of him, arriving back at his Airbnb to meet his group of friends that were all visiting from his hometown, turned me back on:
What did this story sound like from his point of view? How did he describe me, and what had happened, to his friends? I pictured their faces and their reactions as he told them and felt a heat rising from my core.
Like everything about this experience, our roles and the scenario we acted out together ended up being way sexier than the sex itself. In the end, I got to live out a fantasy I didn’t know I had—and cross something off the ol’ bucket list.
And while the act itself might not have been all that memorable, I frequently revisit this memory for inspiration—and when I do, I go everywhere but to the bedroom.
