The Cougar Book Read online

  I yelled, “Parle-toi l’englaise?’

  He yelled back, “Oui,” which in Quebecois sounds like, “Wah.”

  Then we had our first exchange, after which he gently pushed a leafy branch aside and stared down at me. Long, dark hair, lanky body all scrunched up. A wistful face, as the young so often have, pale, unlined, sharp cheek bones and a soft, sensuous mouth. Big, baby blues, baby.

  I swear. I hadn’t been planning anything beyond the rescue, maybe a little physio, a hamburger platter, and a bus ticket or something, until our eyes met. But as we stared at each other in the twilight, something stirred in the pit of my stomach.

  “I don’t have anywhere to go,’ he said.

  “You can come home with me,” I replied.

  He shimmied down the trunk of the butternut to plop in a bony heap at my feet.

  “You stink,” I said. I leaned low to get his arm around my shoulders and hauled him up. “Pee-yew.”

  He teetered, almost falling. I clutched him tight. “Yeah, but you smell great,” he said, as if one cancelled out the other. He patted the smooth bark of the tree. “She’s old and disease-free. A real beauty,” he whispered. His voice trembled.

  I resisted the urge to say, “Just like me.” Instead I whispered back, “I know, baby. It’s going to be okay.”

  He really did have trouble walking, which I thought was horrible but he found “trippy.” When we got to my place, I helped him into and out of the elevator, into my condo and straight to the main bathroom. I stripped him like a professional, giving no outward sign that the sight of his tight, young flesh made my blood hum and my clit stand at attention. He was too dirty for a bath and too unsteady for a shower so I left him sitting in the tub with the shower pounding down on his head.

  I contemplated throwing his clothes into the washer but in the end I bundled them up and dumped them down the trash chute. I searched his pockets first. They were empty. All his worldly belongings, it seemed, were contained in a filthy jute shoulder bag. I made a quick survey of its contents, copping those phone numbers from the cell, happily taking note of his habit of regularly giving blood (clean!) checking his I.D. for his age, (legal!), and tsking over a couple of chubby reefers (as if there weren’t a few skinny joints of hydroponic tucked away in my lingerie drawer.)

  The story is that when Cher laid eyes on Rob the bagel boy she said, “Have him washed and brought to my tent.” I knew that was what I was doing, but I was still pretending my motives were pure.

  “Straighten your legs,” I ordered when I was back in the bathroom. Yum Yum, sang my body in response to the sight of him stretched out in my tub. Young, young, yum, yum. I averted my eyes.

  “Tub’s too small.”

  “Do your best. Now flex your toes. Can you feel it in your calves?”

  “Sorta.”

  “Do five flex and relax reps. Ready? One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Relax.”

  “You have a beautiful voice.”

  “Merci. Again. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. And relax.”

  “Will I walk again?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will I play the piano?”

  I laughed. “No.”

  “I’m clean now,” he said. “Get in.”

  “You think?” I looked at him. His cock waved a solid, friendly hello. The sight of that majestic hard on struck me dumb.

  We exchanged a long look. Mine said, “I’m almost fifty, chéri,” and his said, “De rien.”

  So I dropped my button-through dress. I was wearing a black satin push-up bra and thong (sixty-year-old men love a thong on any woman’s body, even a perimenopausal one) and lacy stay-ups that were riddled with runs from my trip into the forest.

  “Ooh la la,” said Guy. His cock got bigger; the head got thicker and started turning purple.

  Desire hit my crotch so hard it hurt, like a cramp in my clit.

  “I haven’t even touched you,” I whispered. I was awestruck. Honestly, I hadn’t seen a cock that big and hard and blatantly horny since I quit trolling the gay porn sites. As for the real thing?

  Years, baby.

  “You have a beautiful voice,” he said. “And a bootylicious body.” He licked his lips.

  I stripped off my bra and panties and stepped into the tub, positioning one foot on each side of his slender, boy hips. Then I simply lowered myself onto that magnificent member. I didn’t even spread my labia with my fingers, instead letting the heat-seeking head of his dick shove them aside to find my seriously aching hole.

  “Christ,” I muttered as my opening stretched happily to accommodate him.

  Water hit the back of my head and poured over us both.

  “Oui,” (Wah) he said. He sighed like an old man, long and slow, and closed his eyes.

  I kept mine open, watching the guileless grin that spread across his face as I slipped down another inch onto him, and another, until he was fully inside of me, encased by the wet satin walls of my cunt. My lips and clit nestled in his straight black pubic hair.

  He humped up.

  I gasped like a girl.

  He did it again. Again. Again.

  I started trembling all over. Usually I need a little help to make it all the way to euphoria, by which I mean wine as well as foreplay, but not this time. I was about to start howling, and even the sight of my belly wrinkling between my navel and my pubic hair didn’t faze me.

  “Fuck it,” I hissed. I leaned forward a little, so the head of his cock rubbed my G-spot.

  His eyes opened. “Cool,” he said. He cupped my breasts, thumbing my nipples.

  “How long can you fuck like this?”

  He shrugged. “Forever, if you like.” He humped up again.

  I made a strangled little noise.

  Guy let his right hand trail down between my breasts, over my belly, to my mound. Again, his touch was gentle. He used his thumb to make lazy little circles around and over my clit. “Or we can come now, and then come again later, and then come again later and . . .”

  “Uh huh.” I was nodding in slavish agreement. I shifted to a kneel.

  He guided my head to his. Our mouths met in a sloppy kiss, sloppy because we were eager and the shower made it hard to breathe, not sloppy because he was young or demanding. He pressed my head to his skinny chest and he fucked and fingered me until I really did start howling and shaking and grinding and coming like I hadn’t had an orgasm in years. I was scared I might squeeze him right out of me with the force of my clenching contractions, but he was as solid as ever inside me.

  “Stop!” I tried to wriggle free. “I can’t stand it!”

  “Sure you can, chérie,” he murmured. He just kept on going, fingering and fucking me as if I hadn’t just come, until I did it again, as hard and long as the first time.

  I lay plastered against his chest, half-delirious with delight. “You come!”

  “I did,” he said.

  “So quiet,” I marveled. “And gentle. And patient.”

  “I have to be these things,” he replied.

  I climbed off him and out of the tub with as much grace as I could muster. Then I helped him out of the tub and wrapped him in a bath sheet. We were both a little unsteady.

  “Why?”

  “Hmm?” He leaned on me. He looked exhausted.

  I leaned back. “Why do you have to be quiet and gentle and patient?”

  He looked at me with the sad eyes of a weary warrior. “I think it’s going to take a long time to save the planet.”

  When I woke in the morning he wasn’t in my bed. We hadn’t had sex again but I knew he’d spent the night, because every so often we’d curled into spoons and I’d felt his hard-on pressed against my bum.

  It crossed my mind that he, and possibly my electronics and jewelry, might be gone, but I wasn’t surprised to find him in the kitchen, naked, gazing at the screen on my laptop and stuffing his face. I’d fed him all the non-meat stuff I could come up with before putting him to bed, but now he was back at it with
a vengeance.

  “Morning,” he said. “I made tea.” He gave me a dazzling grin.

  “Great.” Who needs coffee when you’ve got a boy toy in your kitchen? I felt buzzed.

  He held up a bubble wrapped package. “Mind mailing this for me? It’s a solar-powered cell phone. A prototype. I have to return it now that the protest is over.”

  “It’s over?”

  He nodded at the screen. I bent to take a look. My robe slipped open so his face was brushed by soft cotton and even softer skin. He rubbed his cheek against my breast.

  There was Brian in a hardhat, amidst a swarm of chanting young protesters. The only girl, presumably Willow, was being dragged away by a cop. In the background, the bulldozers were busy.

  “That’s my girlfriend,” said Guy. He pointed to the girl.

  I pointed to Brian. “That’s my boyfriend,” I said.

  “No shit. What does that make us?” He gave me an amused look. “Romeo and Juliet?” He shrunk the window with a click of the mouse. Now we were staring at my desktop, icons dotting a vast expanse of beach. “What’s this?”

  “Negril Beach. Jamaica. I went after my high school grad, intending to stay for two weeks. I stayed for two years.”

  “Cool. Rastas are okay,” he said. “But I don’t believe in God, or Ja, or whatever. I’m a pantheist. You cool with that?”

  “I’m cool with you,” I said. “I’m sorry about Châteauguay.” I closed the laptop. “How can I make it better?”

  Guy grinned at me and patted his lap. His erection grew under my adoring gaze, like a time lapse photo: no hands, no mouth, no cunt or ass or even whispered compliments, just my gaze, urging it to thicken and lengthen and pulse with power.

  I sat on the table, instead. “Show me you can walk.”

  Guy stood, walked stiffly but quickly to the tea pot, poured me a cup of peppermint tea and brought it to me without spilling a drop.

  “Beautiful,” I cooed. I meant it too. The restorative powers of the young always amaze me. I can get three kids walking in the time it takes me to get an oldster prepped to begin.

  Guy tugged at the belt to my robe as I attempted to drink my tea.

  “Careful.” I tipped up a pinky in a display of daintiness and sipped.

  He nuzzled my ear. I shivered. He took the cup from my hand. “Tea time’s over,” he said.

  “We gotta be quick,” I whispered in his ear, before biting the lobe.

  He parted my knees and stepped between them. As the head of his cock touched me, I shivered again. He slid into me as easily as if we’d been lovers forever. When he was fully inside we kissed. Then he cupped my ass with his hands and started fucking me furiously.

  “Goddammit!” I shouted when I came, which was like three minutes later. My fingers were busy torturing my clit, just above the tunnel Guy was pounding in and out of. Together we were like some kind of pneumatic machine that thrusts and contracts at the same time. “Goddamn good!”

  “Mmm . . . ,” was the only noise he made. He froze, his eyes flew open, and that dynamite grin that announced, “I’m coming,” spread across his face.

  I hugged him tight until he was done.

  “I gotta go,” I said. We shared a long, lovers’ kiss. “Will you still be here when I get back?”

  “Want me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. I’ll cook. We can fuck before supper.”

  Work was a blur. I was capable and considerate but the only bone I really wanted to manipulate wasn’t available. Dumb thoughts like that struck me as hilarious; I kept having to stifle the girlish giggles bubbling in my throat. I wanted to go home, badly. Not because I was afraid he was stealing my stuff or answering my phone (which I’d forwarded to my cell anyway, as always.) Because I wanted more fabulous sex with Guy. My clit twitched at the thought. My groin burned.

  Brian didn’t call, which was par for the course. He was punishing me for not showing up at his place like a good little cocksucker. I didn’t bother plotting how long to make him stew before giving in (I’m always the one who gives in when we get into one of these little contretemps.) He could stew till the flesh dropped right off his osteoarthritic bones, as far as I was concerned.

  When I got home the condo was redolent with yummy smells.

  Guy was lying on my brass bed, still naked.

  “What ’cha doin’?” Suddenly I was shy. Who was this lovely, lanky, blue-eyed boy?

  “Slow cookin’,” he said. “C’mere.”

  I started tearing off my clothes.

  “Slow –w –w . . . ,” he said. “Tonight we take our time.”

  I paused with my pants halfway down my thighs, not because he’d said we’d go slowly but because the difference in our ages suddenly overwhelmed me. He was used to younger, tighter, smoother, more flexible bodies. I had to counter that with my years of experience. Whatever his girlfriends had done to or for him, I was going to do better—and dirtier. A woman my age doing a boy his age was pretty depraved already. So, if I was going to take a dip in the depravity pond, why not dive in deep and wallow in it?

  There were a few things I hadn’t learned until my thirties and a few more that I hadn’t discovered until my forties. I had a repertoire to draw on that’d more than make up for my few wrinkles and no-longer-quite-so-perky breasts.

  Talk was one of them. I stepped out of the pool of my pants. “You have a magnificent cock,” I told him.

  He grinned and waved the member in question at me. “Merci.”

  “Inside me, it feels fantastique.”

  “Is that where you want it? Inside you?”

  I leaned forward and doubled my arms up behind me to unhook my bra. That way, my breasts would be at their best when I exposed them. I said, “Later,” and flung my bra aside. “For now, I want to get to know it better.”

  “Help yourself,” he offered and tucked his hands behind his neck.

  That pose inspired me. Brian liked to play bondage games once in a while, with me the one getting tied up. It’d be a nice change to reverse roles. I went to the dresser and returned with a coil of soft, white cotton cord.

  Guy’s peepers widened.

  “You’ll like it,” I promised.

  He looked a bit uncertain, but he held still while I took a few turns around each of his wrists and looped the cord through a rail of the bed’s head. I took a bottle of strawberry-flavored oil from a nightstand and anointed my palms, and then poured more oil over the head of his cock. “It’s flavored,” I told him. “For my benefit.” I let my fingertips run up the underside of his shaft. “So smooth.” I gripped him and squeezed. “So hard.”

  “How else would it be, considering?”

  I ignored that and continued with a loose-fingered stroke, base to head. “Nice?” I asked as my palm glossed over his knob.

  “Mm.”

  Good. Forming words was becoming harder for him. My strokes alternated, firm, and then loose. “Your cock, being so thick, will press my tongue down and rub against the roof of my mouth. I’ll be able to feel its pulse.”

  “Cool.” The beginning of that beatific grin played across his face. “You’re a lot of fun, Annie.”

  “Merci.”

  I dipped my head a little, as if about to take him in my mouth. Instead I breathed words onto his shaft. “I’m going to make it so good for you, Guy, and when you finally climax, I’m not going to swallow your hot cream.”

  “Huh?” His eyes, which had started to close, flew open.

  I grinned. “Not till I’ve savored it. I’m going to let it sit in my mouth for a little bit. I’m going to suck air, like you do when drinking a fine wine, to release the bouquet.”

  “Jesus, Annie . . .”

  I stroked him slowly, sometimes full-fist, sometimes just one finger and my thumb. “Look at me,” I ordered. My other hand went to my breast. I rolled and teased one nipple to aching hardness. “I like to have my nipples played with.”

  Guy jerked his arms and sh
rugged helplessly.

  I shrugged too. My hand dropped to my thong. Two fingers slid under it. Guy’s eyes followed them. “I like to play with myself too. Do you mind?”

  “Non.”

  “My clit’s buzzing. I’m going to make it ready for you.”

  “And I’m going to make it wait.”

  “Really?”

  “I’m going to make you beg me to fuck you.”

  My pulse quickened. Such a smart boy. Such a fast learner.

  “Good.” Still softly pumping his shaft, I stood up and wriggled out of my thong. Two fingers bracketed my sex and spread to fully expose my hot pink nub.

  Guy licked his lips.

  “You like?”

  He nodded.

  “And I like your cock, your long, thick, hard cock.”

  A dewdrop appeared in its eye. I licked it off.

  He groaned.

  “Nice,” I said, and squeezed another drop out. “Yummy.”

  “Your mouth?” he asked.

  “Not yet.” My fingertips worked inside my cunt and carried a smear of my juices to his lips.

  He tried to follow my hand as it retreated but the cords stopped him. The long muscles in his thighs flexed. “Please?”

  “Please?”

  “Let me come?”

  “Already?”

  “I’ll still be able to fuck you.”

  “I know.” I smiled. “Guy?”

  “Yes?”

  “Wanna try something new?”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as this.” I went to work with my mouth, just lips and tongue at first but gradually taking him deeper and deeper.

  He chuckled. “Silly, I’ve had blow-jobs before.”

  “Mm?” My fingers were still slick with the oil. I rimmed his anus slowly, and then applied pressure.

  “Ah?”

  I slid in to my first joint, and then my second. There it was, that hard, little walnut. As I rubbed it, his rigid cock thickened just a little more inside my mouth. Ready to burst.