Cougars, Pumas and Mammoths

Well, I've said it before and I'll say it again; my body is continuing in full-mutiny mode the older I get.  I just turned 56 and I look more and more like a melting, drippy candle than a women in her prime.  Not only is my weight loss causing my skin to sag, but age and gravity are no less forgiving.


I have always been blessed with good skin; my problem now is that there is too much of it.  I actually have jowls;  I resemble my bull dog Teddy.  If I could just pull back that skin I don't think I would look so bad.  Maybe I could staple it behind my ears or wear a special kind of chin strap, you know, one with a bow; just for special occasions that is. 

My arms; that's an entirely different story.  When I wear short sleeves I resemble what Popeye's arms might look like at the age of 100, you know what I mean.  Just above the elbow where it juts out and then drastically juts back in. It's unnatural how the fat flow proceeds down ones arm.  Awful.  If I have on a short-sleeve shirt and get caught in a good wind, I could literally take off.

Lovemaking is another issue entirely.

As Dorothy once said in an episode of The Golden Girls, "ladies, when you make love to a man, always lay on your back, otherwise your face flab hags over"  She was right.  Not only does it make your face look like a Shar-Pei, but its what happens to your breasts that is even worse.  

If you are a large breasted woman in your fifties, you know exactly what I'm talking about. The shape that they take on when you are on top, sensuously leaning over your man, can only be described as what a Italian sausage might look like coming out of a stuffing machine that has suffered a catastrophic malfunction while pushing the meat into the skins. 

And girls, it isn't much better on your back. 

I don't know about you, but when I lay on my back, my breasts completely disappear around the sides of my body and the skin on my face lays back towards my ears. I swear you could tie it in a knot behind my head.  The only good part about this position is that my stomach, although still large, lays flatter. 

I am reminded of Jabba the Hut.

Getting up from this position while with a man can be tricky ladies.  If you move to fast, your skin will reverberate at such a speed as to cause your lover to think your trying to do some sort of erotic dance that unfortunately has gone completely wrong.

Wiggle, jiggle and roll ladies.

I wonder if men distress about their bodies the way women do?  Could it be possible that men are just as self-conscience as we are?  Do men worry about their ever-expanding waistlines? 

I have never heard a man ask if an outfit made his butt look big or if a certain color or style suited him better.  Do they go to the bathroom before lovemaking and dissect what they look like, hoping the their partner won't see their imperfections?

I doubt it.  This is the species that will fart and push your head under the covers or look at you with longing in their eyes while scratching their balls.  I have no doubt that they could give a rats ass about their bodies in bed; which I think, is a good thing. 

If only I could be so confident. 

What am I getting at?  My point to this full-body dissection is this.  What the hell are we at this age and how do women find the confidence to date.

I realize that I am not in the dating circuit, but the thought does frighten me as to what if?

Are we cougars?  I know I'm not if Courtney Cox is the definition.  I can't imagine myself ever being compared to a cat, of any kind.  I have never once been in a bar, or anywhere for that matter, and had a young stud come up to me to confess his unbridled passion and desire for me, even though he doesn't know me at all.

Isn't that what men do when they think you are a cougar?  What's the point of being a hot, older woman if men aren't going to approach you and shower you with compliments before making hot passionate love to you? 

I will say this though, once when I was in my twenties, out and about at a bar with friends, I had an older man (40s), i was in my late 20s, come up to me and tell me I was the second prettiest girl in the bar.  I was so flattered by this second place prize, for a contest I didn't even know I had entered, that I blushed and giggled for the rest of the night. 

I was actually flattered that a random man felt the need to tell me my looks met with his approval, albeit second place.  I really need to set some higher standards for myself.

As stated in a previous blog, I also had a man tell me my lips were the best he had ever seen and wanted to touch them with his finger; after he dipped it ever so seductively in his white wine.  This was also the year a fisherman approached me in the convenience store where I worked and told me exactly what my lips would be good for. 

Lord save me now.......

I draw them in, that's for sure.  Can't I ever just once have a sex God of a man approach me and want me above all else?  I wouldn't go, but it would be nice to be desired by someone who could have anyone he wanted, but chose me, the cougar. 

All aboard for Fantasy Island.....

Puma or Panther? Doubt it; I can't slink, let alone pounce around anything let alone a bedroom and my skin color leans more towards fish-belly white than the beautiful blue-black of a panther. 

No, I think I lean more towards the Woolly Mammoth, especially when I don't shave as often as I should.   

I know, I know, we must all love our bodies at each stage of life.  Blah I say.  I know that's true, but for me, all I can say is thank God I'm not in the dating scene.

First off, what the hell would you talk about?  What pills you take every day?  How long it takes you to walk up-right when standing cause your joints have locked up? How many times you get up in a single night to pee? 

You could always compare what specialists you each go to; how many times and of course, how many procedures you have had. 

What a lovely conversation that would be over drinks. 

Second, I would never take my clothes off,ever.  I don't think that I could drink enough wine for me to be comfortable disrobing in front of someone other than my husband; who has had the pleasure of watching over the years as my body has morphed into the gelatinous mass that it is today.

Can you imagine disrobing in front of your new-found lover only to have him laugh or excuse himself to the bathroom, bolt out the front door never to call you again?  Fate worse than death I tell you.

I realize that men get out of shape as they grow older also; it just doesn't seem to matter as much.  Have you ever seen a fat guy criticizing an overweight woman, or drooling over a beautiful woman he might see in passing, absolutely sure that she would want him if he approached her?

Clueless.


Anyway, all I know is that I would love nothing more than to love my body, as it is and to be proud of the way I have aged.  To be happy even though no one has labeled me as a sex goddess or sensual cat. 

I can only hope.

Until then I'll just have to settle for looking like a human candle.  I could always put a wick on my head and rent myself out during the holidays; plant myself on someones front lawn and light it up. 

Well, maybe not.....