Cougar Milfs

I enjoy the attention of cougars, especially cougar milfs.  I'm lucky that I look younger than I am.  I seem to be on their radar.  And I like it.  It's something forbidden and naughty.  It's like a fantasy being played out in real life.  It's a great porn story without the porn.  The best is that nothing ever happens.  It's just ego validation.  But why don't I want more?  I don't know.  So, humor me while I tell a few stories as an excuse to understand myself.

When I worked as a server, I would get repeat customers of older women who would want me to serve them.  It was a whole chick-flick scene we played.  "Hi there <insert cougar's name>, it's so good to see you."  "I had to wait for your section to open up, I wouldn't want you to think I was cheating on you <insert toothy smile>.  What do you think I should get today?  You order for me, I trust you <insert wink and hand gesture>."  And so on.  Now I know women use their feminine wiles to get anything, including good restaurant service, so who knows if any of these were genuine cougars. 

As a teacher, I have had many, many parent teacher conferences with the mothers of my students.  Sometimes, the mothers were quite friendly in a cougarish sort of way.  Low cut blouses, perfumed necks, the slight touch of the hand reaching out to my shoulder, warm smile, leaning in as if hanging on to my words, and affirmations of how wonderful I am.  Whether it was a ploy to get me to be more lenient with their child or they were women who had a fetish for high school teachers, I don't know.  But, it continues to be fascinating for me.  Specifically, what I ponder is my reaction to these so-called approaches or come-ons by mothers of my students.  I'm terrified. 

There is a divorced mother whose son and daughter I tutor.  I've known them for over a year.  I was asked to go to the son's back-to-school night and I obliged.  The mother, I'll call her Sarah, put me in charge of leading the way, navigating through the campus (which seemed lame since she is in the Army and could have done better), and speaking to the teachers.  Now, that doesn't sound unusual at all.  Hardly merits writing about.  However, when she introduced herself to the first two teachers, Sarah referred to me as her husband.  What?  I stared blankly and shook their hands while my mind fluttered as my neurons frantically fired.  I shakily awaited a grip of her hand.  It never came.  She didn't make physical contact with me, so maybe it was the medication she was on after her hysterectomy. 

After that, she made dry humorous comments, bordering on flirting.  I was always caught off guard and could not respond except to giggle in the most emasculating manner.  She even asked me advice about her current boyfriend.  "Do you think he's too old for me?"  She has many male friends and is use to being around guys, so maybe that's her modus operandi.  As a divorced mother, she sometimes spends holidays alone while her children alternate visits with their father.  One evening, she was laying a guilt trip on the kids about being alone for Christmas.  I tried being genuine in saying that she has a lot of friends, so she'll have company and won't be lonely.  However, instead of just saying "friends," I inserted "guy"  in front of "friends" and it didn't have the desired effect I intended.  It was noticeably quiet after I said that.  My foot was so far into my throat, I almost chocked, and her eyes told me that she hoped I would. 

So, who knows what she thinks of me, certainly less after that comment.  I could have misunderstood her and, while she may be a cougar, she won't be stalking me anymore.  My uncomfortableness of being flirted with has been replaced by my awkwardness of insinuating that she is a slut.  It's ok though, she wasn't a milf.

More recently, I experienced something that leaves me wondering.  I tutor a student whose parents are divorced.  I met the student's mother, I'll say Jackie, and she was very warm and hospitable.  Sometimes, the student, who played football, would be late getting back home and I would talk with Jackie while I waited.  I asked her about her work.  We talked politics.  One time, as we talked, she let down her hair and shook it out a little.  She explained her travels her Africa and her ability to speak four languages as she ran her fingers through her hair.  I began to sweat.  I laughed at myself how paranoid I was.  Sheesh.  As Jackie's arm her up, it drew her blouse taught, revealing she wasn't wearing a bra.  Avoiding looking at her blouse, I spoke to the table in front of me.  Now I was nervous.  Was she coming on to me?  She is a hippie at heart and hippies don't wear bras, right?  Nothing to worry about, I'm sure.  However, her eye contact was cat-like in its stare.  Was I prey? 

Her son finally showed up, much to my relief, and yet she continued a subtle, coy discourse.  So, she mentioned how she had to work out every day otherwise she would get fat.  She went on about how out of shape she is because it was a week since she worked out due to travelling.  Women use self-deprecation as a way to getting male attention.  I know this.  So, I responded that she seems to be in great shape and I trailed off awkwardly as my student sat and listened.  I cleared my throat and began looking through the student's text book, quietly.  Jackie went on about how much she weighs and how her body has changed since she was younger.  I nodded, unable to articulate coherent sentences while my mind was a bowl of mushy confusion.

The next week I was there, there was no flirting and I discovered that she had a new beau in her life.  Had I missed an opportunity to be ensnared by this cougar who is a milf?  Who knows.  But would I have followed through if she advanced again?  Probably not.

In closing, I think some of the women I've encountered have been bored housewives, horny single mothers, lonely divorcees, curious girls at heart, and women just using their looks to get what they want.  Some were milfs, and most were probably cougars.  Why do they scare me?  Perhaps I'm used to being the predator and the realization that I'm being hunted, is surprising to me.  Maybe I don't have any strategies for their plays in my game book.  Maybe I'm intimidated.  Maybe I'm a scared little boy who is terrified of a real woman.  Maybe I'm the wolf.  Regardless, I love cougar milfs and I'm glad they like me.

Almost Mid-Life Crisis

I'm nearing the end of my 30's which is extremely alarming.  I have no true career, though I have been teaching for a while.  I consider that my day job until I can accomplish greatness.  I don't own my car (two more years), a house (I have an overpriced apartment blocks from Hollywood Blvd), or a decent couch (I have a hand-me-down that has passed from my uncle to my aunt and then to me.  Sofa cover.)  At least three months out of the year I live below the poverty line, counting up change in my jar to make gas money, and the other months I enjoy living pay check to pay check above the poverty line.  I haven't been on a real vacation since 1997, though surgery in 2008 did seem like a break from my routine.  I have no health insurance and I can't remember the last time I went to the dentist (when the year still ended in ninety something). 

Dismal.  I've tried mapping escape routes out of my bleak quality of life.  I stopped praying years ago and I want to punch anyone who mentions "The Secret."  In truth, my life could be much worse and I am seriously grateful for what I do have.  It scares me to see homeless people because it reminds me of when I was at one time several years ago.  That fear of returning to near rock bottom keeps me up at night.  It's as if indigency is contagious and I shudder to think about the symptoms.  Just a few mistakes or lapses in judgement and voila, you're sleeping in your car.

I'm an educated, thoughtful, intelligent person.  Average human being.  I have two jobs at the moment.  How is it possible that I could struggle so much? 

I ask myself this over and over.  Let me know if you have any answers.

So, as I approach my 40's (I can't believe I just said that), I am filled with terror of having to live out the rest of my life in the same manner.  I don't have the energy to do that.  Every path I've tried to take to elevate myself has been a dead end.  I keep trying, but I'm worried that I'm cursed or doomed or something.

My birthday is approaching in a month and I dread to think about it.  I'm too embarrassed and depressed to celebrate it.  And because of my hermit mentality, I have relinquished friendships.  So, I would be alone, once again.  Not too much to celebrate.

Swarthy

So, I was out with some friends and we took pics of ourselves during the evening.  When reviewing them, my friend laughed and said I looked "swarthy."  I can, sometimes, if I'm not careful of my color selections and leather attire, look guido-esque.  Overall, I suppose I had a rather ambiguous Mediterranean look in the pictures.  All of us enjoyed a good laugh at my expense.  Now, the tone seemed to be of a jocular one, seeing the comment (or rather the loud guffaw) came from my friend who is black.


Later, after the snickers died off (weeks later), I thought about what my friend that said.  I interviewed for many restaurants for part time work in the area: vegan, vegetarian, French, Mexican, and Americana.  I was hired by a Mediterranean restaurant.  Didn't think much of it.  Until I noticed I fit in rather well with the clientele.  The other servers are fair, much more, uh hum, Nordic looking (insert Master Race).  Except me.  Was I part of affirmative action?  Do I have the hairiest arms of all the servers?


I went home and looked up the word "swarthy."  It just means someone of a darker complexion with darker features.  Seems unoffensive.  But, thinking back, what did my friend imply when she said "swarthy?"  I am part Italian, German, and a piddle of other European crap.  When I was young, I was mistaken as Latino, or more precisely, and rather unaffectionately called, Mexican.  During summers when I lifeguarded, I tanned several shades darker until my eyes and teeth glowed white in contrast.  I went to school with very white and very Asian people.  There was little diversity.  As I have gotten older, I have been assumed to be Persian or Armenian.  It could be the beard.  I grew a patchy growth three years ago and stopped getting hit on my gay men and high school girls.  My beard attracts specific types of girls.....more to come on that one.


I've attracted girls who like the darker features of guys, but now I sense I'm heading into a politically sensitive area with my swarthiness.  When I dry my hair in the morning, I wrap my hair up in a towel while I brush my teeth.  Let's just say that I look more than just Mediterranean, I look Middle Eastern.  So much so, that it calls into question whether my giggling friend, pointing at me and calling me "swarthy" because of my greasy, guido look or because of my similarity to people who live near the Arabian Sea and not the Mediterranean Sea.  Was swarthiness a euphemism for Arab?  Or was guido a euphemism for greasy WOP?  Hmm. 


Either way, I'm learning that I can blend in, in Beverly Hills, Glendale, East LA, Silverlake, and Venice.  I like the mystery ethnicity can give a person.  So, I'll enjoy serving up Muhammara and Koefte while I take notes on how much jewelery is appropriate to wear for a swarthy man.