There comes a time in every woman’s life when she has to ask herself, does it really matter how long after the first date you wait before having sex with a guy? A question that brings me to another question from a reader calling herself, “Jaguar.” Jaguar was annoyed at having been left hanging in the last post and asks, “How long should a cougar wait before having sex with a new cub?”
Good grief, is that really a question? Even when I was a younger woman, I never paid attention to the three-date rule (you know, wait three dates before jumping into bed). In fact, it’s a saintly day if I abide by the three-minute rule. Bill Maher had his “New Rules” and I have my, “SeasonedSex Rules.” Here’s the first one. Regardless of timing, if his dick looks hard and feels hard, it’s probably worth sitting on. I know, I’m bad but you’re allowed to be when people start calling you an “older woman” (that’s SeasonedSex Rule Number Two).
So, I’m joking. I’m not that bad. In fact, I waited over a year before I had sex with my cub, Michael. His youthfulness exuberance initially threw me off my game. But then the sexual chemistry would keep sneaking up on me, pulling me back in like a magnet. Michael eventually became the accidental cub. What I mean by that is I consciously decided to unconsciously have sex with him, which is easier to manage than it seems. A few martinis are all you need.
Now don’t get me wrong here, I’m not an advocate of drunken sex. I’ve only done that about 712 times in my life. But it does open up one’s perspective. And damn if it doesn’t ease the nerves. And, I was nervous.
Michael had asked me out on a dinner date via a text message with some business people he knows. Can you believe it? A text message! It was a first for me and it went something like:
Michael: cum dinner fri?
Pamela: who, where?
Michael: scotts. 8.
Pamela: you and me?
Michael: other people too
Pamela: is this a date?
Pamela: will I be your date?
Pamela: oh. LOL. ok
I don’t know why I put the LOL. I must have just learned what it meant and wanted to seem cool. Can you say, “generation gap?” Anyway, by the time Friday rolled around my anxiety was peaking. As I drove to meet him at the restaurant (another generational thing, this taking your own car), a slew of scenarios ran through my head. What if he wants to have sex later? I’m forty-five. He’s twenty-six. What if he wants to stay over and all I want to do is fart in my sleep because I ate too much and the digestion ain’t what it used to be? What if I get tired and can’t make it past 10 p.m. (it’d been known to happen)?
Now you can understand why I downed a few cocktails the second my rump hit the chair. I remember the appetizer at least. Some crab cake thing. Then I remember riding him like a cowgirl, screaming and laughing like an idiot who’d totally forgotten the big 5-0 was watching me from another room. I vaguely remembering him spanking me, too, but oddly have no recollection of worrying about the cellulite jiggle.
Funny how age can suddenly became so irrelevant.
So here’s my bottom line. If the sexual chemistry is there and you like the guy and feel good with him, why not go for it? I mean, isn’t that the only honest thing to do? Because once the vibe takes over, it doesn’t matter how old he is, how old you are, how fat you feel, it’s just going happen. And it’s going to be great. Trust me, the worst that can happen is he won’t stop calling you.