My Boyfriend Banged a Cougar

Whoever says age is just a number clearly didn't have a boyfriend who banged a cougar behind her back.

I once had this boyfriend.  This gorgeous boyfriend.  This smart, funny, witty, incredibly perverted, glorious boyfriend.  He opened me up to new and delightful things, in more than one way.  He was the man who once uttered, "Cori, ass play isn't always a bad thing."  I learned many great things from this man.

We spent many, many hours together talking about music, film, philosophy, food, art, literature, and the funny noises that you make during sex when you use too much lube.  It was an enlightening relationship full of new experiences, tons of laughter, and morning trips to the pharmacy.

This continued on without a single bump in the road for nearly a year.  It was smooth sailing and clear skies.  I had wiped from my consciousness the idea that he was "too good to be true" and accepted that I had finally gotten what I wanted and deserved: A loving, caring man who was fantastic in the sack.

But alas, I was fooled.  Silly Cori.  Nobody told me about the unwritten rule that there's always a catch.

I soon found out from a friend of a friend of this guy who knew this girl who had this neighbor who was best friends with a mutual friend of me and my man that he had stepped out on me with a woman more than twice our age.  We were in our early 20s and she had passed the 50-yard line long ago.  I would've thought that menopause would stop my boyfriend from cheating on me with someone of her advanced age, but some whores know no limits.

And she was a determined little temptress, that one.  She had fucked every man in sight and a few houseplants, too.  She had no boundaries.  No one could stop her from her marathon tournament of Hide the Salami--not her best friend, not her parents, not her husband.

I approached my boyfriend about it right away.  "Matthew?  Did you cheat on me with that 51-year-old ho bag Wendy?" I asked. Instantly, all the dirty details came out.  And I do mean dirty.  They had had every kind of sex known to humankind.  He had literally made love to the inside of her elbows.  But the most devastating part?

"Matthew?  I have one crucial question," I said.

"Yeah?"

"...Did you go up her ass?"  His face fell and there was no hiding the truth.  He had broken the most disgusting of seals and he had done it with a woman who wasn't me.  It was official: I was physically ill.  I was immediately haunted by nightmarish images of the love of my life's balls smacking against her wrinkled ass and all I could think was, "Why would he want to have sex with her crusty, worn-out vagina that's probably housed dozens of wangers in the last month alone when he had someone as gorgeous and tight and clean as me?"  It would be a question that would stump me for years.

I felt betrayed, dirty, used, and filthy from the mere thought that he had stuck his dingle in a woman with a gaping hole of a vagina and had then subsequently stuck it in me.  Do they make Clorox wipes for cooters?  They need to, and the label on the front can say, "Great for use after your boyfriend screws 51-year-old walking chlamydia." 

Or something like that...

The sting of betrayal is a sneaky little bitch.  Just when you think you've gotten over it, something pops up that reminds you, "HA HA!  I'm still here!  Your boyfriend boinked a STD-ridden fossil and you never knew about it!!!!!!!"  Permanent memory loss never sounded so appealing.

The person who inspired this blog wishes to remain anonymous, but we thank her for the hilarious story and we're sorry your boyfriend slept with someone old enough to be his mother.  xoxo