Navigating the urban jungle sometimes means having sex with younger people. Is there anything wrong with that?
I lurk in the shadows at seedy bars, stalking my prey with their dewy faces and high cheekbones. I wait for them to grow distracted by their new iPhones, and then I pounce.
I am puma, hear me . . . hiss?
“Puma.” I hadn’t heard of the classification until a friend gave me the label when I was extolling the virtues of sex with women born when I was in high school. Tired of the whole cult of the cougar, those 40-somethings hunting younger male victims, I was at once insulted and confounded by the reference. Me, at the ripe age of 32, branded as the next generation of acceptable hag?
So I decided to conduct some research. I discovered that while definitions for male predators are as dated as Sugar Daddy and Humbert Humbert (of Lolita infamy), the nomenclature for females who fancy a little age discrepancy is ever growing. Middle-aged men who chase 20-somethings don’t need any new definitions; they just run for Senate. But as the sexual appetites of women grow, we need our labels to make everything seem socially acceptable. If you want to break this down simply, men are dogs and women are cats. But why settle for that boring analogy when a whole lexicon now exists for the evolution of the feisty feline? Though many nuanced definitions exist, here are the basic categories, broken down by age:
Puma: A woman not quite old enough to be a cougar, usually in her late 20s or early 30s, who’s attracted to younger men/women. According to the Urban Dictionary, it’s also an acronym for the experience of one’s underwear disappearing into the crack of one’s buttocks (Pants Up My Arse).
Cougar: While a precise age for this species varies, they’re usually at least in their late 30s to 40s, and favor sexual relations with men in their 20s. “The cougar can be anyone from an overly surgically altered windtunnel victim, to an absolute sad and bloated old hornmeister, to a real hottie,” according to one definition.
Jaguar: Also pronounced “haguar,” a 50-something woman who prefers sex with mates in their 20s. That icon of all things sexual, Madonna, may soon earn jaguar status if she keeps it up.
Sabertooth: An older version of the cougar at 60-plus who hunts for young mates. “A prehistoric, extinct beast,” says one friend, offering Elizabeth Taylor as our most famous living (as of press time) sabertooth.
I began to feel a bit less perverted and more proud of my designation. No longer was I simply that strange woman lingering on the sidelines of high school girls’ softball games. I’m a puma, damn it. I have rights. I belong. I can eat 30 pounds of meat in one feeding. Somewhere out there, others just like me feel the throb and ache for the younger breed.
I began to embrace my label, welcoming “puma” as a term of endearment or excuse for flirtation with younger women who would normally shy away from paramours with stretch marks and underarm jiggle (neither of which I have, by the way). To me, the cougar label brings with it the inherent burden of age and desperation, whereas the puma conveys virility and youth. Sure, one could argue that they’re the same animal. But even the names speak volumes — one associated with a hip, active clothing line, the other a former muscle car that morphed into an automotive eyesore over time. For any woman who sees the cougar definition as a misnomer or isn’t wowed by its sense of empowerment, it is surely an insult.
Recently, as my 30-something friend related her multiorgasmic experience with a 23-year-old boy toy, she slumped a bit when she reached the following conclusion: “I guess I’m a cougar.”
“No you’re not!” I corrected her.
“What am I, then?” she asked.
“You’re a whore,” I said, before informing her of her new puma status.
“Sweet!” she said, high-fiving me and swigging her beer.
But who do I think I’m fooling? While I might be able to cling to a more comforting definition, it doesn’t address the underlying issue that I keep getting older and they stay the same age, as Matthew McConaughey put it. If I use the traditional method of acceptable age disparity in relationships — “half your age plus seven” — I land at a sweet 23. That’s young enough to be my Mormon offspring.
However, despite these cute little labels people have created or embraced to feel comfortable behaving in ways that might otherwise seem abnormal or atypical, I don’t see anything wrong with it. Why can’t we just say we like sex? Sometimes we like it with partners our age. But when they grow bald and hair sprouts from their ears, we like it with more attractive, younger people. Or maybe it’s not strictly about sex. If it was, I guess I’d be dating women my age with inexhaustible sex drives and breast implants. It’s probably part self-affirmation as we grow older and our confidence begins to erode. Or it’s a sign of the times that more women find themselves single, divorced, or childless at older ages, and they’ve still got plenty of life in them. Comparable matches with that kind of vigor are sometimes hard to find in your own age bracket.
Still, admit that you’re dating or sleeping with someone significantly younger than yourself and the typical response is a strange mix of jealousy, caution, and pity. “Have fun,” folks enthuse, before adding, “while it lasts.” That’s exactly what I plan to do. And hopefully one day I’ll be roaming this lusty urban jungle and can finally find something I can sink my teeth into . . . without killing it.
Jeannie Greeley is a freelance writer interested in your thoughts on age disparity and the evolution of the sexual female. She can be reached at jeannieg@comcast.net.
