A common reaction I get from my friends when I tell them how young I date is, "I could never date a guy in his twenties - they're so immature."
Like it's a bad thing.
I like guys who play video games and wear hoodies. Guys who know apps I've never heard of and the slang young people are using. Guys who maybe drink a little too much with their friends on Saturday nights. Guys who carry backpacks and have to study for their economics exam on Monday. Guys who know how to work the equipment because they watch video demonstrations. Guys who are eager to please.
I don't want men who invest in stock and watch CNN. Men who wear suits and dress shoes to work. Men who want to discuss politics. Men who ask to see the wine list and want to hang out with other couples. Men who aren't taking risks or learning anything new. Men who are looking for a wife. Men for whom being with me isn't an awe-inspiring experience.
I've slowly lost interest in men.
I want to be with a guy. Specifically, a guy in his twenties.
To put it another way, I'm not looking for a mature man: I'm looking for a manchild.
If you told me I was looking to "play mom," you wouldn't be wrong. But it's complicated and nuanced.
The idea of "mothering" a guy is horrific to many women. They don't want to date a guy they have to take care of.
I'm not saying I want to do his dishes or his laundry - far from it! But I do want to take care of him, and have him take care of me, in innocent and not-so-innocent ways.
I admit it: I do want to play mom, if "playing mom" involves making him a sandwich and playing with his hair and asking him how his classes are going. I want to encourage him and even give him some sage advice, based on my additional years of life experience.
The whole thing of the "bad mom" or "naughty mom" elicits a knee-jerk reaction - the assumption is that it's purely a sexual thing. But it isn't. And I want to talk about the sandwich-and-how-was-school side of being an older woman intimately involved with a younger man.
I hate cooking. Well, I don't hate cooking. I dislike cooking.
But there are certain things I like making. A good salad and a nice sandwich, for example.
I don't know why - I didn't ask for this affliction - but it gives me great pleasure to make a guy in his twenties a sandwich. (In your thirties? You're on your own.)
It's kind of dumb, or weird. But arguably this blog is dumb and weird, so here we are.
But I love making the sandwich. I love giving it to the guy. I love watching and listening to him eat it, cuddled against him while we're watching a movie. I love hearing him say he likes it. (And I love what happens later in the evening.)
It's just a very satisfying part of the experience, to put it mildly. It isn't foreplay, but it lives next door to foreplay. There, I said it.
It's not that men my age don't have nice hair. But there's something about a young man's hair that just makes me feel a certain kind of way.
There's the floppy, time-for-a-haircut hair, the kind that falls in his eyes and he brushes away absentmindedly with his hands.
There's also the freshly cut hair, buzzed at the neck and behind the ears, which is very satisfying to run the fingers over.
And then there's the hair of this one guy I was with that's sort of in a category of its own: long dark curly hair that cascaded past his shoulders. I never thought I'd find that sexually attractive on a guy. Perhaps I found it so attractive on him because almost everything about him was attractive. (He was also the youngest guy I've ever been with.)
But I've already said too much. So let's just move on from his sexy hair.
I admit that sometimes I leverage the topic of school in order to have a little fun with cubs who are still in college or university. It's just too much fun to watch them recoil and cringe when I tease them by asking "Have you finished your homework?"
It's kind of like beating them at their own game, or beating them to the punchline. They're with me because they want to be with an older women. And the difference between a woman who wants to be with younger men and a woman with a bit of a mom kink is - let's face it - negligible. And I like letting the guy know that I'm in on the joke and savvy to the undercurrent of naughtiness running below the already-naughty ocean.
I have issues.
Commitment issues. A Peter Pan complex. The whole Oedipus thing.
But so what. Sexuality is complicated. It's also largely outside of our control.
The heart wants what the heart wants. (And hormones have something to do with it.)
Technically, I don't think being a cougar counts as a sexual orientation. If anything, it's a kink, I suppose. (Hard to argue that the mom bit isn't.)
But being attracted to young men is also simply a reflection of feeling young myself. I'm a woman who would rather play video games than watch CNN. I'd rather wear a hoodie than business casual. I have no interest in the wine list and almost exclusively enjoy the company of people younger than me. I'm not looking for a husband. I'm looking for the ultimate manchild.
If you find him, send him my way. I'm at 1 Big Cougar Lane.