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Sexually confident older women in search of younger men? Nick Santoro explores the scene at a Danville singles party. I, being a younger man, would play the role of forbidden fruit. I simply had to convince my loving wife that it was all in the name of good journalism. She took it surprisingly well, perhaps seeing the occasion for what it really was: a chance to watch me squirm. Even with three weeks to go, I was far more nervous about the party than she was.
The party was scheduled for the second Thursday in January, then a full month away, at an upscale Mediterranean restaurant called Faz β which, conveniently, is located in my hometown of Danville. The opportunity was too good to pass up, or so my colleagues assured me, and I was promptly put on the case. When the night finally arrived, my nerves had yet to subside. Not that he needed much convincing; single, four years older, and seemingly at ease in all social situations, he looked forward to the challenge of attracting an older woman.
Not that I knew what that meant. But competition for whom, I wondered? The words sounded funny coming from my mouth. She gestured toward the adjacent bar area, which was already bustling. In short, cougar bait. We took a collective deep breath, ordered whiskeys, clinked our glasses, and sipped in the scene. At least seventy men and women were eagerly mingling, although attendance would later swell past The men, slightly outnumbered, ranged in age from their late twenties to their mid-fifties, while the women seemed to be concentrated between 40 and At 26, I was probably the youngest person there.
If I only knew. Not more than fifteen minutes after we entered, a woman in her early fifties, but passable for considerably younger, appeared by my side like an old friend. She wore shoulder-length blond hair and a tight-fitting black dress with a conveniently placed keyhole that showcased her ample cleavage. Her nametag read Melanie. She leaned in as she said it, her lips inches from my ear. Evidently she did, leaning in close again and, for a brief moment, pressing her body up against mine.
Her tall stature and intense, communicative eyes became all the more intimidating. I may have looked cool and collected outside, but inside was squirming with all my might. My alter-ego reveled in the accomplishment, as the real me my altar ego? I never did. As much as Melanie fit my preconceived notion of a cougar, the night from that point forward challenged it. The more I watched and interacted with various women at the party, I came to realize that they were generally normal middle-age women who differed from their peers perhaps only in their tolerance for adventure, openness to dating younger men, and willingness to identify β at least for a night β as a cougar.