“Would you mind awfully if I seduced you?” asked the attractive older woman sitting next to me on the bus, placing one hand meaningfully on my bare, suntanned thigh.
“Er, no,” I replied.
And I didn’t. Not one bit. I was 19; she – it later transpired – was 36, a lecturer at London University. And if there’s one thing you want above all else when you’re 19, it’s uncomplicated, deliciously meaningless sex with a good-looking woman who is totally up for it, knows what she’s doing, and isn’t secretly wishing that you were a bit older and more experienced because that’s not what she’s after. What she wants is your youth.
The woman – I’ve forgotten her name, unfortunately, but then we didn’t waste too much time exchanging CVs – was what I suppose would now be called a “Cougar”. These are the Mrs Robinson types, celebrated in the new Courteney Cox sitcom Cougar Town, who like to prey on the tender flesh of young men half their age.
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