A Cougar/Cub Relationship

Still grieving from my divorce, and then grieving Big Liar’s passing by myself made me depressed. My concentration was nil, and work required me to put on a happy face, but I couldn’t do it. I spent a lot of time reflecting on everything and took a much-needed trip out of town for a week – alone. Leaving my driveway was emotionally exhausting having to look at his house all the time. Considering alcoholism was the factor for Big Liar’s death, I don’t recall slowing down drinking, but I may have. I recall thinking about it, however. 

During the time of the hurricane, and shortly before Big Liar’s death, some friends and I went to the only open bar in the area for something cold to drink and warm to eat. We were out of power, and everything was closed. A guy walked up, asking about my tattoos. We talked, and he showed me photos on his phone of his artwork, said he just moved here. He was young and really nice, a little strange. I thought nothing of it. 

One evening, my friend and I walked to the same bar where I had a drink with Big Liar for the first time. I needed to get out of the house as much as possible, because I was trying not to think about my problems. The night was busy for people-watching, with loud music, crappy drinks, and drunks. The artist guy I met a few weeks prior during the hurricane was there with another guy I knew. Remembering me, he started a conversation, but this time he was flirting. My friend and I laughed, because he was only 25, and I was over 40. (I’ll call him Picasso.)

Quite the charmer, Picasso was insistent that he likes older women (something a lot of young men say). I had no interest in seriously dating anyone that much younger, but the thought was entertaining. Picasso was a spiritual and interesting person for his age – a free-spirited, naive soul. He spoke about things he read and learned; conversation with him was insightful. He seemed to have a good heart with good intentions. This night, he started following me on social media, so we had a connection. 

A third time, I saw Picasso with the other guy I knew (Curly) at this place my friend and I went. As we watched them playing pool, I noted that Curly was super goofy and could have been one of The Three Stooges. When the four of us played pool, Picasso became flirtier, trying to show me how to play, even though I played since the age of 15. And there I was – drinking vodka/cranberry, getting drunk, weakening my tolerance, and thinking Picasso might be fun to get to know. 

We all had a great time, and when it was time to leave, Picasso asked if I wanted to hang out. My friend looked at me, and we could barely hold our laughs, like two schoolgirls, because we predicted this would happen. Since Picasso mentioned he lived nearby, I said, “So are we going to your place?” 

“I can’t. My dad is sleeping.” 


He smiled, quickly trying to recover, “He’s staying with me right now. It’s my place.” 

Hmmmm. I guess I didn’t think about it too long, because Picasso ended up at my house. He was interesting getting to know for a few minutes more. Then we made out and had sex, and it was great; so we did it again. And again. I think five times. That was the most sex I’ve ever had within a 12 hour period. 

Given his age, I was surprised when Picasso wanted to continue hanging out. It wasn’t something I was used to or expecting from anyone, much less someone nearly half my age. I knew that I enjoyed his company, and we did fun things together. We definitely had more than a sexual connection; spiritual and emotional factors played, as well. He had a playful spirit, which is probably what I needed to lift me out of depression. Unlike a lot of people I met or dated, I could have deep conversations with Picasso. 

It was strange for me to date someone so much younger. But there was no hiding it, and no bullshit like late night booty calls. We went out in public together, holding hands and kissing, spending time like any normal (cougar/cub) couple. This was very unlike me, because I’m a very private person when it comes to PDA. I have to really like someone to show it in public, even if it’s only holding hands. This was an actual relationship that lasted roughly two and a half months.  

Picasso was a smoker, which I hated. That was an issue. Eventually, lots of things became issues. Then everything became an issue. There are some things I haven’t yet mentioned about Picasso. 

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