Series | Age Gap

While the Cat’s Away …

The cougar will play [part 1 of 2]

I don’t feel my age — when I view the world, I see it through the eyes of the young, hot 20-year-old that I used to be. I know I don’t look my age, friends tell me so all the time and I’m aware I draw attention as I go about my daily routine. Men still hold doors open and check me out — some making their glances more obvious than others!

My best feature has always been my legs which is a large part of my blessing as they don’t give away age (like a cleavage can). I favour high heels, boots and eye-catching hosiery. The looks of appreciation I earn are a massive boost to my confidence.

I don’t have a steady boyfriend, I like playing the field. I’ve never been married, though I’ve had my share of proposals. The infatuation always dulls during the engagement, so I call things off. If I want company, there’s a town pub I go to where the landlord and staff make me welcome. I’m friendly with a few regulars and there’s usually ‘fresh meat’ if I want to hook up with someone.

Tonight a young regular, Mason, has shown up with his friend Pete but minus his girlfriend. I’ve had several saucy fantasies about this tasty morsel! Tall and dark haired, Mason has an incredibly neat designer beard. His body’s hard and lean. I notice his slightly damp hair and the bag resting by his feet, so I guess he’s fresh from the gym.

I check my make-up and the smoothness of my straight hair using the camera on my phone, before sauntering over to the guys with an exaggerated swing of my hips.

“Evening lads,” I purr, “been to the gym?”

“Footie training,” Pete shares, sipping his lager.

“Oh, I didn’t realise you played. For a local team?” I raise a sculpted eyebrow and direct my question at Mason.

“Five-a-side for Macro-Electronics.” He smiles.

“Mason’s our star player,” Pete has a mischievous look in his eye.

“I dunno about that.”

I’m delighted. Mason’s blushing. I feel more predatory if they’re shy.

I rest my shoe on the brass foot-rest that runs low around the bar, my leather skirt hikes a little above my knee while my slender ankles and shapely calves are shown to their best advantage in micro-mesh fishnets. I swirl the last of my drink round in the glass ostentatiously and tilt my head back to swallow it down.

“Can we get you a refill Maddie?” Pete steps up to the bar.

“I don’t want to intrude on your lads’ night out.” I make only the faintest move towards the purse in my bag.

“Not at all. We’re having another aren’t we Pete?” Mason backs his friend’s persuasive offer, and I preen inwardly.

“That’d be lovely, if you’re sure? Gin and tonic.” I smile at Martin the barman, who’s approaching. He’ll select the gin I like and the Fever Tree tonic.

The guys order two tall glasses of golden lager, although I note they’ve drunk less than half of their previous pints. Martin sets the glasses up on the bar.

I face the boys directly now, turning the charm up to high-beam. We banter, tease and laugh. I use my full arsenal of hair twirling and lip licking, soon I’m touching Mason’s wrist or hand frequently to emphasise the point of my many anecdotes. My sheer blouse is buttoned low, offering tantalising glimpses of the slope of my breasts.

“Shit! Is that the time?” Pete is suddenly distraught that the evening’s run away with him, dumping his glass on the shiny bar top. “Lovely chatting Maddie. See you tomorrow Mason, gotta go or Claire will have my guts for garters!”

I wave him goodbye. The edges of the surrounding room have got a little blurry now, but I fix Mason with my gaze.

“Do you have to get off too?” I try to sound persuasive rather than wistful.

“Nah — no tea waiting for me tonight, Judy’s staying at her sister’s. I’ll just grab chips on my way home.” Mason shrugs.

Then he gestures ‘do I want a refill’ and I do a happy dance in my head — he’s staying.

“Off to powder my nose — don’t go away.” I smile. Scooping up my bag, I head to the ladies.

In the privacy of a cubicle I pull up my skirt and slip a hand in my knickers to delight in the silky liquid pooling between my pussy lips. I stroke it about, shuddering at the wonderful sensitivity that’s building in the nub of my clitoris. I’ve read that the clitoris gets bigger as women get older — no wonder I’m having better sex in recent years than in my youth. Guys nowadays are more keen to pleasure women than the rough & ready clinches I remembered from my twenties. Back then fellas raced to dip their wick and cum as quickly as possible, the girl’s pleasure was almost incidental.

My head drops back in bliss and I pant as I tease and tickle my little nub of nerve endings. If my climax was a mountain, I’ve already scaled at least halfway up the south face! I lick my finger clean and give a little shake which clears my head, then I slip my knickers off, to pop them into my handbag.

To be continued …

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