Page 1 of 4: The mother
All the recent hype surrounding "cougars" reminds me of the first time I encountered one.
I was 18 years old when my best mate Paul asked me to go with him and his family on a caravanning holiday up the coast. This sounded like great fun as his parents were very laid-back and there were always lots of other holidaymakers at that time of year, particularly young girls and backpackers out in the local pubs.
Paul had always been teased about the fact that he had an attractive mum. He has had to put up with "mum jokes" ever since we all hit puberty, but he took it in good jest most of the time.
I'd always got on very well with his mum (I'll call her Mrs B to save embarrassment). I did have a bit of a crush on her and whenever I was at their house I would find an excuse to chat with her and do everything I could to make her laugh, always trying to impress and pretend I was much more mature than I was.
I'm ashamed to admit it now but I would even tell tales about her son and suggest that he should be much nicer and more grateful to his lovely mum.
I used to love it when I went over to Paul's house on a Friday or Saturday night before going out. I'd be wearing a shirt and Mrs B would say how smart and handsome I looked and how she was sure all the girls would be after me that night.
Looking back now I think she must have realised I was like a little puppy around her and maybe I'm just imagining it but she did seem to encourage me...
So, up the coast we went, arriving on Monday, we had a week. We were having great fun — most of the time was spent on the beach — and I remember Mrs B asking if I had been working out, and made her usual remarks about how the girls in town wouldn't be able to keep their hands off me.
I definitely was the fittest I've ever been; I played rugby, was tall with longish sun-bleached blonde hair and a tan from surfing. (How times change.)
Anyway, it came down to the last Saturday night and we had dinner before Paul and I went off into town. Mr and Mrs B said they might see us out later.
Paul and I had a few drinks with some German backpackers then decided to change pubs. We walked in and saw Mr and Mrs B who had obviously had quite a few more drinks and were seemingly getting a bit fed-up with spending 24 hours a day with each other for a whole week.
Mr B ended up storming off and Mrs B turned to us and asked if we didn't mind an oldie like her hanging around with us. Paul wasn't too bothered as he was more interested in one of the Germans we had met and I, being the little charmer I was, said "of course not" and "you're certainly not an oldie" with a cheeky grin...
Mrs B asked me to dance. Normally I hated dancing but I was tipsy enough to not really care. While we danced, she started saying the usual stuff about how all the girls were looking at me and how I was such a handsome young man (much to my delight), and then she went on to say that if she was younger she wouldn't be able to resist me.
She asked me why I didn't have a girlfriend and said she thought I was wise if I was playing the field. "Do it while you're young," she said, "otherwise you will regret it."
The bar called last orders but Paul had disappeared with the German girl he'd been chatting to all night so Mrs B said we should go down for a quick walk along the beach to see the stars.
When we got to the beach she took my arm and said what a gentleman I was for looking after her when I should be walking some beautiful young girl home. She repeated that "if she was younger" she wouldn't be able to resist me. I just nervously laughed and said something along the lines of her being as good looking as any of the girls in town tonight.
She stopped walking, looked at me, and then began to stroke my arm, smiling directly at me. She asked if I really meant that. I remember suddenly feeling really nervous and incredibly excited. I was now aware, although slightly gob smacked, of what was, or could, be going on here. She pulled me closer to her and told me I was very handsome. Then she kissed me.
It was not like any other sloppy, bumbling, frantic kiss I'd experienced before. This was teasing and controlled. I wanted more but she seemed able to hold me back and remained in complete control. She ran her hands under my shirt and scratched her nails down my chest, which made me physically shudder. My heart was pounding...
I probably didn't do much more than get a sandy back. I wasn't a virgin but this was nothing like the other times. In fact it seemed really simple, not rushed and awkward, this was a controlled, skilfully acted, albeit very surreal encounter.
After what seemed like quite a while we both started to panic. Probably through a mixture of guilt and sobering-up slightly we realised we should be getting back.
When we returned to the caravan Paul was still out and Mr B was asleep. As I got into my bed Paul came home trying to sneak in as quietly as possible.
In the morning I heard all about his German experience and he apologised for sneaking off and leaving me with his mum and promised to be my wingman next time we were out. Mr B didn't appear to have any idea either — he was more worried about packing up and getting home before the traffic.
Mrs B was definitely awkward around me from then on, she seemed to always avoid catching my eye and if I was around her house, she always seemed to be busy doing something or would disappear into the garden.
For my part I never told a soul, she is still with her husband, and I obviously didn't impress her very much that night as no further advances ever came my way.
Nowadays she would be classed as a "cougar" but I don't like the way that the word has a somewhat negative connotation.
For me and my partners since Mrs B, I would say we benefitted greatly from the knowledge happily received that night from a fantastic lady of experience.
In fact, from my point of view, the only negative thing about that night was she seemed always to be too busy to give Paul and me a lift to rugby.
All names have been changed. Picture posed by models.
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