Cougar: An Erotica Collection. Elizabeth Coldwell

had her warpaint on. She was meeting stares. And returning them. Bradley was the third guy to buy me a drink and the first to pique my interest.

      I say he was the jock from my high school but in fact he couldn’t have gone to high school with me. Because when I was in high school he wasn’t born yet.

      There is something so delicious about the young ones, isn’t there? And boom, just like that, I’m a cougar. Who knew? Not Bradley. He still thinks I’m twenty-six.

      I’ll admit, the lights were low. In the club, all the way home in the cab, back at his little apartment over the tattoo shop, the lighting was thankfully dim. Was it naughty of me to keep up the charade? When he saw the photo of my daughter on my phone and asked if it was my sister, what should I have said? I don’t know now and I didn’t know then, which is why I kept my mouth shut and the lights dim and half my clothes on while I straddled his condom-sheathed cock. He soon forgot.

      Bradley with his thick thatch of dark hair, on top and below, his muscled and tanned young body, his smooth skin almost hairless, his dark eyes that have yet to be jaded by mortgages and early-morning feedings and lay-offs and … disappointment. Oh, he was so good, so trusting, so eager.

      When he first said, ‘Shit, babe. Why are you slowing down?’ I admit I got off on that a tiny bit.

      ‘Shhhh, Bradley, it’s OK’ is what I bent over and whispered in his ear as I stilled my naked body on top of him. ‘You want this to be fun for me too, don’t you? I haven’t come yet.’

      I wonder how many girls Bradley’s fucked in his young life. I’m sure there have been quite a few, handsome as he is. I’m equally sure they were pretty one-sided romps on the pleasure scale, judging from the way he seemed so ready to just blow inside me as I rode him.

      Here’s another secret: I’ve always wanted to know, what’s it like to make a guy wait?

      What’s it like to make a guy want it so bad he’d give you his car, sign over his last penny, curse his mother, sell his soul, just to be allowed release?

      I wanted to experiment early on with the person whose name shall not be mentioned here, but he wasn’t interested. Waiting made him impatient and annoyed. So I’ve only ever explored in my imagination. It’s been my naughty secret for the last twenty-odd years. But now the gates of the playground of my imagination have been broken wide open. I cannot run out fast enough.

      I wanted to make a guy wait. I wanted to feed off his desperation. What would happen if I did? I wanted to know.

      And at that moment I decided Bradley was gonna help me find out.

       November 6

      Had to put you away last night. It was a late night already with my new little friend so by the time I got to you, Dear Diary, I could barely keep my eyes open.

      But before I continue to tell you the tale of Bradley, let’s change your name. I hate Dear Diary. Let’s call you Dear Fuckbook. Because that’s my dream for you.