"Every woman needs her Mrs. Robnison moment," Francie said to me.
We were sitting at black wrought iron table for two at one of those big city night clubs, loud music pumping through the place and crazy flashing lights all over. One turned Francie's fance mauve, then green as it pulsed to the music.
Francie wore a sheer, strapless gown in a light gold color that clearly showed her black strapless bra and thong panties underneath. Looking at her, I had to admit that even now she is still a goreous, vivacious, sexy woman.
Me, I wore blue. My dress was also see through, but I was not as bold as Francie, yet. I wore a slip beneath mine.
But I had put on my favorite stockings and garter belt. Both the dress and the slip had slits at the side that clearly showed the bare skin of my legs above the stocking tops. I can't wear heels much anymore, not a night out that's going to involve alcohol! But I wore my favorite silver wedge sandals and painted my toe nails a metallic blue to match the dress.
I felt like Cinderella at the ball, done up so fancy with my hair done and contacts in instead of my usual glasses, and silky naughty underwear we'd ordered me off the internet, you know the kind of stuff you used to have to buy from France! A ball was exactly what I was going to have, too-- or a pair of them at the very least. Francie was set to make sure of it.
I was so nervous, though. I hadn't touched a man since Donald, and never a man so much younger than myself! I wanted it, craved it, burned for it, but I still wasn't sure I could pull it off. So Francie had brought me out to the club to "get you wet," she'd said. Somehow, didn't think she'd meant my feet! And now as we sat there, dressed up and ready to go she gave me one last pep talk to calm my nerves and build my confidence.
I sipped my martini. "I understand, Franice, but it seems to me your "moment" has lasted quite awhile now."
She laughed. "It's a vocation now. By the time I get done with these young bucks they're way ahead of the curve for their age.I'm doing them and all their future girlfriends a favor."
I smiled. She was right. If my husband Donald had known half of what Francie taught these boys...
But Donald is gone now, God rest his soul, and I believe he'd want me happy, so here I was, ready to become the latest in a long line of Mrs. Robinsons!
"Cougars are part of the natural order," Francie continued. "In cultures all over the world older women see it as their duty to help younger men learn the 'art of love.' We're not doing anything criminal or even unnatural. We're not predators, just hunters, merely continuing the species by culling our prey."
She eyed the dance floor. When we'd walked in she'd immediately picked out our targets. The two she'd chosen stood together inthe far corner, one tall thin and blond, the other a bit more solid and a few inches shorter with is black hair in a tight crew cut. The blond was mine. We'd been counting their rounds of drinks, tracking who's turn it was to go to the bar each time. Their drinks were just about empty. In a few minutes it would be the blond's turn to go to the bar again and I would make my move.
The plan was for me to already be at the bar when he walked up and to start a conversation while he waited for the drinks. It looked like it was time. I stood up on slightly wobbly knees (it was nerves but hopefully anyone looking would think it was the booze...) and took a deep breath. This was it. Now or never. Then I panicked! Suddenly I couldn't remember as single one of those sexy, clever
lines I'd been practicing in the mirror all week!
Francie smiled encouragingly. She discretely slid a white business card across the table. I picked it up. In her handwriting it read "girls suck, women swallow. I act my age!" I laughed.
"Put it in front of him and walk away."
Card in hand, I turned and headed for the bar, ready to bring home my buck!
