Electric cougar safari
I met her on the Internet part 3
I just wanted to fuck an older woman.
You see, one of my friends believes that the best sex partners available on this planet are divorced women in their 30s. According to him, divorced women in their 30s meet high standards of sexual experience, libido, and disinterest in long-term relationships. So, naturally, I wanted to give them a whirl.
I met S (her real first initial) on a singles web site. She was 39, blond, attractive, a mother of two (5 and 7), and divorced. Perfect. We exchanged a few flirty, totally innocuous e-mails, and I was just getting ready to offer S my phone number when something really weird happened. Suddenly, and completely out of left field, she sent me this:
I am sorry that it has taken me so long to return your e-mail. I guess I have been a very naughty girl. I like my men naughty, and sometimes they need to be punished.
This is what I would do if you were bad. I would take you to a professional dominatrix and have her tie your hands from the ceiling and leave you standing in the center of the room, totally naked and cold with your throbbing hard cock there, for all to see. I would sit in a corner, dressed in leather from head to toe, while she punished you in whatever way I wanted.
First, a nice hard spanking with a leather strap. Then with her black latex glove, she would grab your cock and your balls, really hard, making you scream. Then I would have her come over to me and strap onto herself a nice perfect cock, like yours.
Then I would whisper in her ear and watch her slink over to you, until she was directly behind you. You, unable to see what she was doing, would start to tremble with fear and anticipation. Suddenly you would feel hot oil trickling down your back, filling the crack of your ass. Something hard would be rubbing between each of your beautiful ass cheeks and then, her hard cock, slipping up into your sweet tight ass. Fucking you slowly at first and then as you start to thrust your hips backwards towards her, she fucks you harder and faster.
Now, if I am the girl for you, you must now prove it by telling me what you would do to me if I were a naughty, naughty girl.
Yow. I cannot emphasise enough that this e-mail came out of nowhere. I think it was about then I realised I was dealing with a kook.
But what the hell. She was still old, and that was what really mattered. Besides, it has long been my experience that crazy women are better in bed.
However, although it soon became clear from her e-mails that S was terrifyingly promiscuous, I quickly realised that fornicating with her would be more difficult than I expected.
S had a boyfriend, you see. Their relationship operated on a three-week cycle. For two weeks they would be perfectly happy and faithful, and she would send me e-mails declaring that he was absolutely perfect for her in every way. In week three they would have a huge fight, and they would both run off and fuck other people for a couple of days to hurt each other’s feelings. Then they would reconcile, and the cycle would begin anew.
The difficulty was that I was never available during the brief periods when she was available. She would often get in touch with me when she and her boyfriend fought, but she would inevitably fuck some other random guy from the Internet and reconcile with her boyfriend before we could get together. Damn!
A lesser man might have been discouraged by such a situation. But not me. For I am a man of principle. A man of honour. A man who stands up for what he believes in. And believe me, I believed in fucking this woman. Perhaps it would take months, or even years. Perhaps she’d shag a thousand others before my time would come. But my time would come. I was sure of it.
Finally, a few months after we first met online, S e-mailed me a gracious invitation to come over, have dinner, and videotape her and her boyfriend having sex. I accepted. After all, it’s not like I hadn’t videotaped people having sex before.
She picked me up, and soon after I sat down to a lovely salmon dinner with S and her boyfriend. The situation was uncomfortable, in a sort of unpleasant way. Apparently her boyfriend, a reasonably attractive but not very successful fellow in his early 30s, felt threatened by me, the cute young guy his nympho girlfriend met on the Internet. I think he somehow knew I wanted to fuck his girlfriend, and his paranoid discomfort poisoned what would otherwise have been a wonderful meal.
We finished the salmon and muttered the usual mutterings about how great the food was. There was an unpleasantly uncomfortable silence. S gave her boyfriend a pleading look.
He scowled. “I don’t feel like making a movie tonight,” he said.
They left the room. Raised voices could be heard. They were having a fight. I checked my watch. Yes, this was their scheduled breakup time. They were going into week three, and there I was, sitting on their couch. Available. I knew then that my quest would soon be at an end.
A few minutes later S drove me home. I graciously invited her to come up and do me. She accepted.
And do you know what? It was terrible. Not because she wasn’t attractive, because she was. And not because she didn’t know what she was doing, because she did. To be perfectly frank, the sex was terrible because I hadn’t seen a butt so poorly wiped since my babysitting days. And I didn’t know her well enough to say something about it.
The sex lasted maybe 11 minutes, after which she got up and left so fast I might have mistaken her for a gay man. She got home to find her boyfriend crying on the sofa. He accused her of fucking me. She denied these allegations as vociferously as she had fucked me a few minutes before.
Meanwhile, back at my place I was having retroactive second thoughts about the whole adventure. Somehow, the sight of that poorly wiped ass really hit home for me. What had I done? Sweet Mary mother of Baby Jesus up in Heaven, what had I done?! To be on the safe side, I spent an hour in the shower scrubbing my crotch with chemical soap.
I never saw S again. All’s well that ends uninfected, as I always say.
So ends the uplifting tale of how the magic of the Internet made it possible for me to have shitty sex with an unstable, 39-year-old nymphomaniac. My verdict on older women? I’m afraid the jury is still out on this one. Perhaps someday I’ll have a more representative sexual encounter with an older woman who isn’t insane—and when I do, you’ll be the first to know. I promise.
Next week: Nothing is as it appears in the shocking conclusion to I met her on the Internet. Be there! •
Originally published in The Peak, March 5 2001.
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