To Cougar or Not to Cougar...

Susannah Bianchi, in her latest dispatch from Silver in the City, contemplates the virtues of a younger man.

I never thought of myself as a Mrs. Robinson, since younger men have never held my interest. But a girl can surprise herself. After all, my sex life had been dormant for quite some time, as if my libido retired to Miami after years of active service. And who could blame her. I could just see her sitting by the pool sipping a Mai Tai. In one's twilight years, it's a comfort exchanging your Prada push-up bra for a couple of good books, no make-up required. So when I found myself drawn to my own Benjamin Braddock, no one was more surprised than I was.

And the circumstances. Oy, as my late friend Jackie used to say. Are you sitting down?

He was a cook in a pizzeria. The guy who shovels your slice into the oven while asking what you'd like to drink. All of 30, if that, as my 70 year-old libido came back for a command performance. Imagine Maria Callas crooning Carmen one more time. Now here's the other part that's even more mystifying. He was smitten with me too. My friend Camille, who was all set to order monogrammed towels, was delighted by the whole thing.

"He likes older women," she said. "Not only is he cute but smart too."

“Let's not go that far, just because he can knead dough,” I said, no pun intended.

Another thought. Did he think I had money?

---

I've often fantasized what it would be like having someone so much younger in your life. For men it's the norm, attractive outside packaging being the only requirement. But women need more than a pretty face. After all, who has time to explain who Abraham Lincoln was?

I had visions of feeding him in between sex marathons while limping to the fridge. And we mustn't forget an older girl's lubrication issues. What does one do in this case, blast? It's no secret that your shop starts to fold as you're tooling through your late 60s, especially if there's already a CLOSED FOR REPAIRS sign etched on the front. It simply never occurred to me that I'd be facing this dilemma.

I also had to consider my hearing aids that buzz like a smoke alarm if someone ventures too close. Camille gave me a sit-down lecture on seizing the day.

"So take them out. What's the big deal?"

"That I can't hear without them?"

"You wing it, and so what if you miss a few moans. It's not as if you've never had sex before."

"It's been a while."

"Just like riding a bike.”

“So rather than, excuse me while I slip into something more comfortable, I'm supposed to say, let me go slip out of my hearing aids?"

Truth be told I was flattered by his attention, and at first I tried keeping it to a modest flirt, like eating only the frosting off the cake. But how long can one keep a racehorse roped in the barn? Seabiscuit was hot for Susannah.

After a good 25 slices of mushroom and spinach, please make sure it's very hot... – yes, I know, no wonder he was ready to jump the gate – he asked me out for coffee.

Coffee? It sounded innocent enough. What could possibly happen over a cup of Iced Cappuccino?

A lot, that's what.

---

Without his pizza hat I didn't recognize him right away, me being the first to arrive at Starbucks. Red flag number one: He was late.

And he was a little balder than I realized since the rest of him promised hair, which, with the exception of one's back, is something I've always kinda liked. Imagine resting your head on a nice woolie blanket. Every girl has her preferences.

With no apology for being a half hour late, he slid onto a wobbly chair that suddenly tipped over, causing him to fall backwards. Next thing I knew I was brushing off his jacket like it was his first day of school.

Could those red flags be more evident? This one was waving like the Star Spangled Banner in Technicolor.

Rational Susannah, who must have been out of town, sternly asked, do you want to take care of a young man in and out of the bedroom, like a pet? Are you even capable anymore, or at the very least, up for it? Will you be picking up dirty socks off the floor, doing his laundry while he puts in an extra shift at the Pizza Palace?

Dropped-on-her-head Susannah thought, hmm…I could maybe enhance him in some ways, like get him to read and teach him how to use an iron.

Reality then knocked, reminding me how much it takes to stay enticing to a man. The effort, the vigilance, hopping in those heels in case he shows up unannounced. Imagine being made up like a Kardashian, spending a fortune on pink light bulbs that promise to drop ten years. In my case, how about 40? It's a pity you can't get three in a socket.

I thought about all these things as he told me his (short) life story, growing up in the Bronx with 35 cousins, all from Palermo. When he said I should meet them, I saw myself buying service for 35 at Pottery Barn on my AMEX card.

The final flag, and it was bright, bright red, was not asking one single thing about me as he ordered his third Caramel Frappuccino – and never offering to get me a refill, which said it all.

But Mother Nature gave me a final smack, to make sure I was paying attention.

In Connecticut, where I come from, if a man who's asked you out then wants to go Dutch, he better mean a trip to Amsterdam. So to answer the question, to cougar or not to cougar? 

Mrs. Robinson has left town with no forwarding address.    

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Susannah Bianchi has written for More Magazine, On The Avenue and Chicken Soup For The Soul. Follow her adventures at athingirl.com. She lives in New York City. Enjoy her other contributions to Certain Age, including Last Year's Model, and First Date with a Double Standard.

Illustrations:

Pizza shop window by Andania Humaira

Pizza guys by Imhaf Maulana