Dont Mince Words

My affinity for younger men began long before I fell into the “cougar” demographic. I was 30, newly divorced, and in that cruel “sexual prime.” I would try anything (one) once. In my Lewis & Clark-esque discoveries, I found disgruntled married-man sex was the best sex out there. Now, I’d like to revise that finding.

With another decade of experience under my belt, I’m here to tell you, the best sex out there is Divorced Daddy Sex (DDS). Find a man that has spent a week with his kid: painfully slow peewee baseball, why questions, action figures, and the ever-popular I-want-I-want, and I’ll show you a man that’s dying for adult contact one-minute after the drop off at mom’s.

So, for all the 20-something boys who think I’m so cool: I love your energy. It’s been nice trying you. For every married man who thinks I’m so vivacious: Go screw your wife or nut up and divorce her. For all the 30-something guys in general: Get your emotionally unevolved asses to therapy and stop dating until you know what you want.

In addition to a health glow, an ancillary benefit to DDS is weight loss. But, its nice to know with one kiss, I can flip a dad from provider to…. holy crazy batshit sex provider and emotionally evolved partner.

It’s about time. I was worried I’d be in menopause before I figured this out.

I heard Oprah once said that if you want a man in your life, you have to imagine him and create him in some sort of collage and then he will manifest. I got as far as buying magnum condoms. And you know me and condoms, I buy them and they often expire. In fact, my Aunt and I gave my last big batch of expirees away with our drink tips on a cruise a few years ago.

GC has been back in New York for five days. Tonight, in preparation for our reunion tomorrow night, he asked me if I had a condom preference. No guy has ever asked me that. Of course, my preference is a condom without holes, but most of all just having a real, live guy to fill one is preference enough for me.

But, wow, thanks for asking.

I spent the first four years in Los Angeles dating voraciously, trying to make up for my career-first East coast days. I’m now a dog owner, which has kind of changed my outlook on dating. You are going to have to be better than my dog and my vibrator to get me out of the house.

That rule quickly changed on Thursday for the veep debate. I had a gentleman caller (GC) over for drink Palin Bingo. GC and I were re-introduced a few months ago by a mutual friend and have had a great time bitching about dating in LA, getting fit, writing, and everything in between. It was nice to have a man over. I didn’t have to leave my dog.

But Tex quickly established who was top dog when he crawled on to the sofa and pressed his nose up to GC’s hip. I was permitted to sit sideways beside the boys. After a few “mavericks” and “main streets,” Tex realized this guy was ok and he demoted himself down to his day bed on the floor. GC was approved.

Tex is the big brother I never had. He watches my back. Thankfully, he leaves the room when he hears the vibrator.