“In the Mouth of the Cougar”

I was 23, naive, trying to make ends meet in San Diego by working the door at a grungy little dive bar on University Ave. It wasn’t glamorous...just loud music, spilled drinks, and the ever-so-slight smell of cocaine in the air...but the people were interesting, and on some nights, the unexpected would walk in.

She came in on a Thursday. That kind of night when the bar’s half-dead, and the regulars are either winding down or gearing up for trouble. She was with two girlfriends, stylish in a way that screamed confidence, not trend-chasing. She had this effortless sex appeal, not the loud kind, but the kind that hits you in the gut and makes you forget what you were supposed to be doing.

I checked her ID—she was 47. Didn’t look it. Or maybe she did, and I just found every year on her face and body beautiful in a way I wasn’t used to. She smiled at me like she saw something she liked, and I swear to God, I felt 10 feet tall for a second.

Later that night, after her friends ditched her for home, she sat near the front, close to where I was standing. We talked. Nothing crazy. Small things: music, travel, how many tattoos I had, how she used to sneak into shows at this same bar in the 90s. Then she hit me with it, just like that—“I just got out of a 15-year marriage,” she said, her eyes not flinching. “I’m not looking for anything serious, but I’m not hiding who I am either. I’ve got a few lovers right now… but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious about you.”

I won’t lie...my chest tightened. Some mix of shock, admiration, and the kind of arousal that kicks up from hearing someone speak their truth without shame. I’d never been with a woman who was so unfiltered, so free. Every girl I’d dated around my age talked in circles about feelings and exclusivity before anything even happened. This was… something else.

She gave me the choice. That’s what stuck with me. She didn’t try to seduce me, didn’t sweet-talk me. Just laid it all out and let me decide if I wanted in. I did. God, I did.

What started as a raw, unfiltered attraction turned into a full-blown affair of the body and mind. Our sex was electric—she knew exactly what she wanted, and she loved showing me things. There was no pretending, no guessing. She liked being watched, liked taking control, and liked when I pushed back. We played in every shade of passion—from slow, teasing mornings in her quiet condo to hotel rooms where we pretended we didn’t know each other.

But it wasn’t just about sex. She became one of my closest friends. We'd spend hours talking—about her past, my future, books, politics, the weirdness of getting older. I think we both filled something in each other. She gave me a kind of validation I didn’t know I needed, and I gave her the space to feel wild again.

The age gap—almost 25 years—was never something we ignored. If anything, it made things hotter. Kinkier. Sometimes she’d tease me about being her “young thing,” or how she’d never dated a guy who was so active on social media. But behind the teasing, there was real affection. Real curiosity.

We were never exclusive. That was clear from the start. And when she eventually met a man closer to her age—someone with grown kids, a similar life rhythm—I didn’t feel betrayed. Our time had its season. I was happy for her.

We still talk. Still grab coffee or a drink once in a while. And sometimes we laugh about that first night, how a 23-year-old kid working a dive bar door got swept up by a divorced goddess on the hunt to find herself again.

She taught me more than I can say—about honesty, desire, boundaries, and friendship. Not every love story ends in marriage or heartbreak. Some just burn hot for a while and leave you better than you were before.

And I’ll always be grateful I said yes.