Welcome to cougar town, population me

You know you’re reaching new lows when you fuck the security guard at a wedding. He was cute and just 23 with a nose ring and a hard body such like I haven’t felt beneath me in years. But he was still the security guard at the wedding, a fancy place overlooking the water.

He was a student in his final year studying civil engineering. We made small talk about why a small wedding needed a security guard and laughed at the very drunk relative wearing a questionable outfit. When he mentioned he wanted to do geotechnical engineering, we bonded over work.

Later, after the happy bride and groom had left and only three friends and I remained in the bar, he offered to drive us back to our motel. He was a nice guy with nothing to do on a Saturday night and it was raining heavily.

One of my friends had a hankering for Maccas and he obliged us with a midnight drive-through. Back in our motel, we invited him in and while I was surprised he accepted, I wasn’t disappointed. I had told the girls before the first dance that I was going to fuck the security guard that night. We’d laughed and joked and they’d called me outrageous. I even told the photographer, who fortunately was a friend of ours too.

When security guard revealed he had a girlfriend (because I asked), I had actually backed off. I kept the chit chat friendly and above board and saw to it only that he wasn’t bored shitless watching the bride’s uncle call someone a cunt across the tables.

So, when he offered us the ride and then came in, I wondered if he did indeed have a girlfriend or if it was just the ruse that most hospitality staff deploy while at work surrounded by drunks.

We ate nuggets and drank wine in our heated apartment but by 1am the girls headed to bed. He told me he wanted to go home and get changed but he’d be back. I said goodbye never expecting to see him again but only a few minutes later, a text. I’d forgotten that I had given him my number at the wedding. I have some work contacts I thought he may like to connect with and had punched my number into his phone somewhere between mains and dessert. He asked me about the code to the elevator and said he was on his way.

Minutes later, expecting a knock at the door, there was instead a knock on the glass balustrade on the balcony. Apparently, the car park automatic door had closed and he couldn’t drive back in to access the lift. He scaled the garden and climbed in and we retreated back inside where it was warm.

He had brought vodka and mixers and we finished the wine too. He had a passion for maths and physics which are hands-down my two least favourite subjects in the world but we spoke about them for the next three hours. We argued about religion and God, gravity and energy. He reintroduced me to set theory and I took wild stabs at sounding knowledgeable while resting my feet on his thighs.

He told me about his girlfriend, who was real, but he didn’t see it going anywhere. They had been dating a few months. He told me about being an egg donor baby and a twin, how he had half siblings and a biological mother who was his mum’s best friend. I told him about my infertility and my marriage and then my divorce.

About 4.30am, he suggested we go lay down on my bed but under the covers, he seemed torn.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he said.

“We don’t have to do anything,” I replied genuinely. “It’s really late. Let’s just sleep.”

“I want to but …”

“I know, it’s OK.”

We cuddled together and some words must have been said but I can’t remember them. Then he started to kiss me.

He kissed me as if drawing life from my body and rolled me onto my back. With much haste he pulled down my underwear (I had been wearing nothing but an oversized hoodie and undies after we got back from the wedding) and dived into me.

The man knew how to eat. He feasted with tongue and fingers driving into me, creating arcs of pleasure that leapt through my spine. I gripped the pillow and pulled it down over my head to moan. My friends were likely dead asleep but there was no sense in waking them. I squirmed and writhed on the bed while he held my cunt firmly to his mouth.

I wanted more, so much more, and pulled him up by the hair and demanded he fuck me. He pulled down his pants and undies and I got to see what I had only felt with my feet sitting in the living area earlier.

It was a beautiful cock, thick and long and delightfully hard. He said he needed to put a condom on and I was surprised and for some reason proud that the younger generation took safe sex so seriously. Men my age and older seem never to worry about condoms anymore. Everyone you fuck is too old, too infertile, had a vasectomy, or hasn’t been laid since 2004.

He rolled it on and I sat astride him, inching down onto what was really a piece of art. Part of me wanted to applaud. But the ovation was short-lived. I began to ride him and within a minute it was clear he was wracked with guilt. His cock was in it but his heart was not.

“Are you OK?” I asked.

“No, I think we should stop.”

I retreated from the Adonis respectfully and lay beside him but almost immediately he jumped up. Pulling the condom off as he went, he made for the bathroom where I heard the toilet flush (now that’s not good for the environment). Back in my room, he pulled on his clothing hastily.

“I’m sorry,” I said, though it wasn’t clear to me why I was apologising. He had initiated the kissing, the sex, had brought the condom.

“No, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have,” he said.

Shoes on and he walked out without looking back and I heard the apartment door bang. Well, that will wake the girls, I thought. And with that, I rolled over and passed into the drunk and tired sleep wondering if I was officially in cougar territory now or if I might still find my way back to the land of old men with aged dicks.

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