These past few months, my libido has been put to the test. It was in a desert, thirsty for human blood, but empty-handed.
Stuck in a city where I have few friends, isolated in a house in the suburbs with my parents, outings are few and far between and all too reasonable. No frantic dancing, no making out in the darkness of a bar. Nothing, the hunter is in the closet, dreaming of better days.
Hormones have gone silent, leaving the neurons to work at full throttle. Too disappointed in dating apps, I didn’t even try to find a little snack online. Wise, too wise. I almost felt like a virgin again.
And then there was finally liberation.
Ready for the attack
30 years old, the little redhead of the gang is 30 years old, and he’s gathered all his buddies for a wild night out at a house in the country. I’m ready.
If I’ve been good for the last 4 months, I’m going to rip up all the images tonight and bring out the beast that’s been lurking inside me. A few days before the event, I’m already trying to spot potential prey via their facebook profiles. Hm, some young men seem to me quite attractive.
As soon as I enter the building, I spot two handsome males chatting. This evening is going to be sportive, my fangs are already well sharpened. I go around the room, I greet the new faces, my improv friends, and the star of the day.
I spot yet another handsome, tall and slim man with a very charming face. It will not be my first choice, in his 3 pieces suit, I imagine him, shy and uptight lover.
Only one bachelor…
My friends see through my game, they know me too well. I am on the hunt and they are not fooled. I question our Birthday Boy. Who in this beautiful assembly is single?
And then, like a sledgehammer, I learn that there is only one bachelor, outside of my improv troupe. Only one. This tall, skinny guy who thought he was at the Ritz with his suit.
Granted, he wasn’t my number one choice. But let’s face it, he’s pretty good all the same. Not so much my style, but… Do I really have a style?
A disguise that announces the color
Alcohol gives you the courage to take a beating. So I start to drink slowly, but surely, at least enough not to be afraid of ridicule.
It’s time to dress up, Old VS Young. I’m on the Old team. Exit the dressing gown, the stockings, and the cane, I imagine the future cougar that I would be. Leopard leggings and matching shirt, too short skirt, flashy jewelry, fake nails, and even fake eyelashes. I look like an old bitch, but the message is clear at least.
I love this character, I touch, I laugh, I feel the torsos even of the men caught. After all, cougars give themselves permission.
Tonight’s target is dressed as teletubbies. This costume is not going to be practical.
Under the pretext of winning a bet, I slowly approach the green gnome, I grab his neck, and I french kiss him wildly. He is surprised, but he lets me do it. I make the pleasure last a little longer.
Finally, I was perhaps mistaken on his account… He kisses rather well. I want even more to bring him to taste me more.
Alcohol, ally of the cougar …
The activities follow one another. I’m sailing between the desire to participate in the general atmosphere, to spread my preys, and the growing desire to fool around with my little Dipsy.
It’s crazy how alcohol makes me want to kiss. I kissed my birthday buddy several times and even a girl friend from the improv troupe. It’s certain, tonight I’m on fire. I want nothing to stand in my way.
I spot my big snack in the kitchen, I go for him, I grab him again, I pass my hand on his cheek and kiss him. Far from being inactive, he lets himself go to the kiss, he begins to squeeze my hips. I feel his desire growing.
He suddenly pulls me away, not here, not now, not in public. It will be necessary for me to take several times before convincing him. A more fiery kiss, hips that press on his, and he follows me docilely when I take him outside.
Far from the laughter, far from the zany dance moves, hidden in the darkness, my libido is finally hydrated. Finally, pressed against a stone wall, I feel it inside me. It doesn’t last very long, the situation is too exciting to last for hours.
Oh it’s definitely not the best sex of my life, but it feels so good. It’s amazing that I’ve managed to go without for so long. It immediately makes me want to do it again…
The cougar loses her memory…
The problem with alcohol, and especially with 5 Gin To’s downed in 2 minutes, is that it tends to blur your memory a bit.
What happens next remains rather unclear. There was a second round. I remember without difficulty, that poor Dipsy was harassed throughout the evening by the cougar in heat. He broke down, several times, I know how to be persuasive when it is necessary.
However, the second round, apparently during the opening of the gifts, will have left only a few snatches of images in my memory. Once again victorious in a match against decency, I shouted my prowess loud and clear. The memory of others will serve as a crutch for mine.
If the teletubbies wanted to be discreet, it failed.
Several French kisses later, I convince him one last time to taste my not so forbidden fruit.
3rd and best round
This time, we stay warm. Whereas he leaves to lie down in the other building, I follow him, hungry to enjoy him again. If he had planned to go to bed without taking care of my libido, it is missed for him.
Without even thinking that we could be surprised, I invite him to join me on the sofa. Others are already asleep upstairs, it would not be impossible that someone passes by there during the frolic that is preparing. But in the moment, nothing matters but our bodies ready to devour each other.
To be sure that physically, he can start again, I take care of him. He seems to appreciate it, however it does not take long to take over. It’s both sweet and wild. He comes after a few minutes. If my fingers had already worked to make my pleasure rise, it is too early to feel an orgasm. Too bad.
I remain a little on my hunger. If it were up to me, I would do it again all night until I was satisfied. I still have four months to make up for in this story!
He cuddles me quickly and gets up.
I look at him dumbfounded as he strides off upstairs. Are you really going to sleep alone on your mattress up there? And leave me alone on that cold couch without a blanket?
He must sense that I wouldn’t let him sleep. Despite my protests and one last hug, which doesn’t go as well as I’d like, the teletubby disappears at the first, leaving me alone mixed between satisfaction and frustration.
Sleep does not come. For the first time all night, I realize I may have had too much to drink.
The new thirty-birthday boy enters the room, he sits down opposite me. He smiles at me, he too looks like he has 5 grams of alcohol in each arm. We exchange some words, he approaches, and we kiss. Because after all, it is not the first kiss that we exchange in this evening.
It will not go further. The moment is cuddly and cute, we end up sleeping together in spoon, we warm up as we can. It is silly, but it was exactly the tenderness which I needed to close this evening.
Here I am reinvigorated and ready to repeat as soon as the opportunity arises! Barcelona here I come!