Venice Beach, California. The eccentric west coast freak show where residents are either wealthy or homeless with little in between.
I had never been to Venice despite visiting Southern California every summer growing up. In my spring ‘16 vacation to the Golden State, I decided to check off a few places I had never set foot in. Venice was at the top of the list.
I arrived on a Wednesday afternoon with a healthy pipeline of Tinder matches and in classic Venice fashion, decided to go with the kinkier choice of a 41 year old artist. I think most men in their mid-twenties go through some sort of a cougar phase. I believe the plowing of an older woman to be a temporary but natural yearning for the young buck. A desire brought upon us by some experience of having a hot teacher at an age when the hormones start flooding in. The forbidden fruit that we never got to taste as an adolescent or college student. I was intent on satisfying that urge in Venice Beach.
I had a few hours to kill before date time.
Once settled in my AirBnb, I walked outside and found myself just a few steps from the boardwalk. I started walking with no destination in mind. I passed by muscle beach where Arnie used to pump iron, checked out the famous skatepark, and carefully avoided makeshift camps of destitute homeless people.
I probably saw 1 attractive girl for every 75 people walking on the boardwalk. But with the thousands coming and going, the number of cute girls did add up over time. I noticed a lot of hot girl sightings followed a pattern, involving the girl and a friend (usually a hapless male) taking their picture for The ‘Gram as they made peace signs while rollerblading or making a goofy Zoolander stare next to some street art. I took a wild guess that most of the girls I saw probably didn’t live in Venice but somewhere nearby and came beachside for their daily dose of likes and follows.
I’m sucker for a good view so I scoped out a suitable rooftop bar for cougar seduction later in the evening. I decided the bar at the top of Hotel Erwin would be my date spot for the night. I love a good rooftop.
Not knowing if the place would be crowded, I arrived a little early to pick out the best available seating and ordered a drink, settling into a plush couch overlooking the Pacific. It was mostly dead that particular Wednesday night.
When the cougar arrived I knew I had made a huge mistake. Once again I had not done a proper job of vetting my date’s social media. I was satisfied with the pictures she supplied me with and did not probe further. Most of the time, I have a solid idea of what the girl (or in this case middle-aged woman) exactly looks like thanks to Instagram and Snapchat. But these mobile apps of the millennial generation escaped the 41 year old woman that just walked in (although we did meet on Tinder). An investigative failure on my part had come back to bite me yet again.
..is the first thing she says to me upon walking up to the couch I was sitting at. I wanted to act confused and pretend that I wasn’t who she was looking for.
I stood to greet her and saw that she towered over me by at least 4 inches. She was very tall, pale skinned, long pitch black hair, black trench coat, black pants, and military-style black lace up boots.
Basically how you might envision a mass shooter to dress right before they mow down a sidewalk of innocent bystanders. Not quite how her dating profile pictures represented her.
It wasn’t so bad that I had to leave. She wasn’t terribly unattractive, it was just her Goth style and lack of femininity that made me want to jump off the rooftop onto the hard concrete boardwalk below.
This was also one of those dates where you know the bang is all but guaranteed because of prior sexting.
I knew what I had to do.
I proceeded to get wildly drunk. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the first time I’ve had to inebriate myself on a date.
I let the alcohol work its magic and within a hour or two I was loose enough to entertain her bullshit astrology talk and listen faux-empathetically to complaints of how she couldn’t get dates with men her own age and only scored with twenty-somethings like me.
At this point, I felt my cougar phase coming to an end. It was just kind of sad really.
The bar closed early at 10 P.M. and kicked us out onto to the street. We started walking back to my AirBnb a block away. It was a studio apartment with only a bed and no couch or chairs. She sat on the floor by the bed in front of the TV.
I wanted to hurry up and get it all over with before sobriety reared its ugly head.
We started making out on the floor and she ended up on top of me in bed not long after. I looked up at this tall 41 year old woman straddling me and it was at this point I saw she bore resemblance to a ghastly vampire. I considered just turning off the nightstand lamp but then imagined a scary vision of her cackling hysterically as she takes out a sharp dagger and plunges it deep into my chest cavity as soon as I’m not paying attention. I left the lights on.
She took off her top and her large breasts looked about as good as they could for that age I suppose. They looked worn, tired, and beaten from many random sex meetups.
I grabbed her left tit and stuck it right into my mouth. I was so drunk that I accidentally scraped her nipple hard with my teeth.
She screeched out a loud, “OWWWWW”
“Sorry, sorry!” I said, hoping she wouldn’t make my end-of-sex murder extra painful because of the sloppy foreplay.
I took the rest of my clothes off as she proceeded to go down on me. Definitely one of the better blowjobs I’ve had. I guess that’s what several decades of experience will do. I closed my eyes and after a few minutes blasted a 3 day orgasm into her mouth while groaning loudly.
Post-blow, I looked at her and felt absolutely no desire to have actual sex or continue the interaction in any way.
We talked for awhile and then I passed the fuck out without actually meaning to.
I woke up at 3 in the morning drenched in sweat. I was scared because I’ve never had night sweats that intense before. My first thought was, “What the fuck did she do to me?!”
I opened my eyes and the vampire was nowhere to be found. I saw that I had only neglected to turn off the gas fireplace before falling asleep. The thermostat reported that the room had heated up to a toasty 91 degrees.
I cut off the fireplace, laid back into a sweat-soaked bed, and accepted that my cougar phase had ended as abruptly as it started.
Stories like these weren’t possible before I learned game. In the 21st century you no longer have to be a king or a rockstar to live like one.
If you’re interested in getting your dating life together so you can have more experiences like this too, then I recommend you check out the following resources: