MILFS & Cougars
Someone always ends up on the floor.
Knees down, and maybe a good time crawling. One thing I learned from the two years of yoloing is that the best sex is a play of passion and power.
Assert or be taken.
There is no right or wrong. Whatever gets you high, your kinks and fetishes, is all good. This is the one time you can release the ropes binding you and be free; or you could have strings attached if that’s your thing.
“Meeting a MILF has always been my dream.” The nice ones would say that. What they really want to do is fuck that older woman and check that box.
There are two types of guys — the subs and the doms.
The submissive want to be led and eaten.
“I eat young men for breakfast,” I’d tell them. That always got them excited. Imaginations running wild. My wet mouth on their hard cocks, sucking and licking with my puppy tongue. Running my fingers up and down their shafts, and then grabbing their balls with my hands and squeezing, their lips puckering up. A low groan escaping their throats.
I am a cougar, and a MILF. A deadly sexy combo adding Asian to it. I’m their dreams come true, Japanese porn alive. Big boobs and ass, an hourglass meant to be grabbed.
Many have never heard of the term — cougar. Neither did I when I first started. MILF, on the other hand, everyone knew.
The first time I heard that MILF was in American Pie — when Finch slept with Stifler’s mom. It was a dumb, sexy movie that resonated with all of us growing up in that era, and though she wasn’t a looker, there was something really naughty and exciting about it.
Sometimes, I slip up, revealing our differences generations apart. I try not to because I didn’t want to be reminded of the years, preferring to match minds and bodies than what society expects.
Initially, when I started dating, my age range was 25-35 years. Hanging out with moms who are thirty-five made me realize I was no different and perhaps even younger in thinking. I got along well with my kids, sharing in their media and way of thought. Because I like reading, social media, and music, I belonged to a generation that was not my own. Adding to the Asian fountain of youth, I could pass off as being in my early thirties.
Ageism is bull crap.
We live in a world where stereotypes need to be abolished. High-speed Wi-Fi and smartphone screens tore down the walls of society, countries, and traditions. Indeed, the old ways are breaking. Thanks to the Internet and social media, the young are now growing older, and the rest of us and our lives before are swept under the rug. It is hard to imagine there was a time when cell phones didn’t exist.
“I don’t know why or when I started liking older, mature women,” L said. He was twenty-three when I first met him on BB. A Korean guy from Busan. His English wasn’t the best, but good enough for sex talks and translators.
His pics were super hot-cute, and his profile was unusual because it targeted older women. It was a bait I couldn’t resist. At that time, I was also chatting with a twenty-three-year-old vet student on Hinge. He, too, was also into MILFs, and loved the sexy stories I told.
The thrill of chatting with them was irresistible. In another time or place, our circles wouldn’t have connected. The chances of us ever meeting were close to zero, but at this time, with dating apps, social norms meant nothing.
It was true. They were below my acceptable range. Anything over twenty years difference should be too much. They were puppies in the world; their lives were barely starting. However, my curiosity about their lives, dreams, and aspirations excited me.
“It is my fantasy to have a FWB with a MILF. I want to be friends with you forever,” L said. “I want to know all about you and find something we have in common.”
“When did you start liking MILFs?” I asked. A survey was in the works, and I was collecting data.
“Don’t know…maybe eighteen, nineteen? One day I like older women,” he said.
“Did you watch a lot of MILF porn?” I asked.
“After I became crazy for MILF, I watched alot…,” he said, “I have many girlfriends. Changing every year, but none of the sex is good. I cannot get hard.”
“Why?” I said.
“I went to see a doctor and he gave me medicine.”
“What medicine?”
“I touched myself six times a day. I cannot have sex with young girls. Only older women like you, it is easy to become hard.”
“Okay…so what did the doctor say?”
“He said I need to control and not touch. He gave me medicine.”
It sounded serious.
L was too young a guy to be suffering from erectile dysfunction. At twenty-three, he should be fucking anything that moved. Strange enough, he wasn’t the only one suffering; another guy, a 24-year-old cherry boy, told me a similar story.
Porn addiction.
Was it a problem? Did it cause sexual issues? When I was growing up, I masturbated and had sex almost every day. I didn’t have a dick. Maybe having one wasn’t as fun as I thought it would be.
“If I were a boy, I’d be playing with my cock every day,” I told H. “Imagine a toy you can hold with your hand anytime you want.”
H, who was sitting on the bed with his iPad as always, shook his head. “Only you would think like that.”
“Yeah. I guess having an erection all the time can be painful…” I pondered. “But I bet when I’m a kid, and I had a dick, I’d be putting it in any hole I see.”
Yes. Curiosity kills the pussy. I got in trouble with the many things I’d put my hands on and poked my nose into something I shouldn’t. And even though I’d often scolded my daughter for touching anything she saw, I knew it was something innate in all of us that couldn’t be helped.
Holes. Glory holes. Another thing my pervert mind loved. A story that I’d tell later because I digress.
L loved stockings. He also loved my vast collection of lingerie and toys, especially leashes. During those three months before we went to Korea, we discussed our plans, and he texted me daily.
“What are you wearing today?” he often asked. He was a barista and worked in shifts. He was also studying the art of coffee making and the beans and aromas. I assumed it was similar to learning about winemaking.
Coffee and cafes were big businesses in Korea and East Asia, and cafe hopping, Instagram, and dating spots were weekend hangouts.
I liked guys who worked hard. Hearing them pursue their work and passions was a sexy plus. As someone said, “The brain is the new sexy.” And women, being more sapiens, loved a good brain.
“I want to have sex on the bench or somewhere people cannot see or near people walking. I want you wearing a long coat on an outfit and put 2 dildos in pussy and anal.”
“Omg. Using a small vibrator with an app?” I asked.
“When the guys near by you I want to turn dildo with remote control,” he said.
“What if the guys see and become horny?” I asked.
“Or make you masturbate hard at guys’ toilet” he said.
“In the toilet stall when I’m moaning and cumming and they are hearing. They can see our legs, and hear the sounds of you fucking me,” I said.
“Really wanna make you mine more and more. Really want to molest you in the train. After you make squirting on the floor. Or trying vibrator and make wet chair's seat.”
The words were addicting, and my pussy grew wet. The temptation of a pervert’s mind was hard to resist.
“I think my head will be full of you during work,” he said.
These were badges of honor, words of each guy who couldn’t stop thinking of ways to fuck, to play, to ravage me, and me, the MILF cougar who could please them till their minds grew blank.
I wanted that, too. The dumbness of sex. Where nature took over, and the human receded.
We will mate like animals. We wanted to shout, scream, and be ultimately free.
“Maybe I think I can cumming 3 times continuously,” he said. “Really want to rub my face on your boobs and panty. And want to feel your panty getting wet and lick it. Wanna kiss you and licking, sucking all night long.”
“I want to feel your hand on my back spine down and up my ass and in between my legs,” I said.
“I want to start in the elevator with deep kissing,” he said. “And my one arm will hug your waist, and the other will hold your ass. Jesus, Now I’m hard when I take your message.”
“U can own me for one night,” I said.
“Want to make you forget your H,” he said.
“You can dress me and take my clothes off. Tie me up. Rub oil, gel, on your body on mine. I will bring my beautiful lingerie,” I said.
“Make you creampie until you get pregnant. Fill your holes with mine.”
“Please be gentle with me,” I said.
“Oh. Yeah sure. Just licking will be first. If you feel really hurt and want to stop… we need a rule for the stopping word…”
“Safe word. Yes. We need one,” I said.
“If you say that word, I'll stop. But just say stop, I'll keep going and more hard,” he said.
“Okay…” I replied. He always enjoyed the vid calls. Though I didn’t see much of his face, because he flipped it fast to his hard cock and wanted to see my naked body, I thought I knew him well.
Many times we cummed like this. He loved watching me cum and especially loved my big ass. Spanking it made him go crazy, pumping hard, and when I heard him moan, I knew I pleased him well.
He wanted to chat with me every day. Always asking what I was wearing and to take pictures of my outfits. We chatted about other people and the stories I gained. He was envious of H and jealous at times at the vids we filmed, and yet always asking for more so he could jerk himself off.
Heart-melting grins all around. I was new to this too. Dating and word games. Flirts and one-nighters. I might be a cougar, but I was a baby compared to these guys who, with the new-gen attitudes, had more variety of sex than I had. I, who had been locked in a bubble for over twenty years, and a dating and sex experience of two, was as newb as I could be.
Baby cougar had much to learn. Sweet talk like that was cheap. Plus, Koreans were known to be smooth and had lots of promises, dreams, and charms.
The Internet echoed countless painful lessons, ghosted women of the world. Voices of thousands raised in the air — in numbers, ones, and zeros, digitalized stories of these romantic gestures — the truth hurts.
“You are the one I’m looking for. Cute, sexy and hot. You are making me so hard. I want to know about your personality. If we want to last, I want to know you more than just sex. So I’m worried about you leave me when you tired of me,” he said. “I like your personality now. I love your smiles.”
“i think u will leave me first,” I said. They all do. Post-nut clarity. It was inevitable. But at least, we should have a brief fling, a time of fun and cherished memories. This was what I hoped for with all my FWBs.
“I will always be here,” I told some of them. I was the loyal one. The friend who would be there. When the sex ran out, I would be here to listen. The ear of a stranger to calm their anxieties, sadness, and anger when life took them wrong. Or a happiness to share, which I would share in return.
“Hahah, no,” he said.
“I'm a happy person,” I replied. I had bucketsful to share, but even I had my down times. Still, perhaps it was my calling. If I could, I would share a little piece of happiness, a star, a plate of food, and a smile.
“I said many times I have a hot, mature woman fetish. You are the dream girl I really imagined.” His words touched me. Because of the months we shared, despite the shards buried in my heart from the many who left without a word of goodbye, I wanted to believe.
A friend who would respect me. Who cherished what I had given and would give back what was offered.
Our plans were made; he would take the day off, and we would go around Busan and have dates, food, and lots of sex.
One day, just a month or so before our scheduled meeting, he disappeared halfway through a conversation.
The more the sugar lips pile, the higher the fall. And I fell for it. Plunging head first. Thought I was dead. But, I got back up again, dusted my knees, a new lesson learned.
I went to Korea as I planned. Got to see my Disneyland, and played with the mice. A scar buried in my chest as I glanced at Busan and saw him in every nook and cranny. Tears running down my cheeks.
And on the last day before I was to fly and leave Korea, I got a special message.
It was L. He was back.