I’m at a friends wedding; drinking, socializing, and over all having a great time. As my friends and I are dancing in a completely homo-erotic fashion, we noticed a crowd forming around us. Some of those in the crowd cheering us on are 50+ years old women. Praising our daring and stylish dance moves. It would be flattering if these women were within a twenty year radius of our age, but these women are beyond cougars, they are sabertooth tigers.
I’m a dashing mo-fo. I’ve been blessed with being tall, dark, and handsome. I’m 6’2″, 205lbs, and I have always kept an athletic body. I have broad shoulders, strong arms, flat stomach, and a good sized chest. Not to mention that my thick, black Latino hair defies the laws of physics. I have a small crack in between my front teeth (a feature that runs in my family) that I think gives my smile a cute, unique character. I’m a rock solid eight when it comes to looks. Some girls have given me a seven but that’s because they are idiots. Pretty much, I am the balls.
Since I am such a fine specimen of a man, I find myself the target of these sabertooths when they are on the prowl. They’ll see me walking by and I will spark memories of that Latino bartender they banged in Cabo San Lucas during Spring Break 71′. Maybe of their schoolgirl crush of Ritchie Valens or their mid 30’s love affair with 80’s Latin sensation, Erik Estrada. In their mind, if they can corner me, the young unsuspecting cub, I can help them relive their younger, less boob sagging selves fantasy.
While none of the sabertooths made a move on me at the wedding and stayed content with their dirty fantasies about me, I’ve had my share of incidents with overly aggressive ones. One such incident occurred at a bar called Foxfire in Anaheim Hills, CA. I was sitting alone at my table, drinking my beer, and seeing what was going on on the dance floor. A sabertooth aged about 60 years sits down right next to me. She was blond, drenched in make-up, her breasts were heavily exposed, and she was wearing a white corset looking outfit. She looked like a salty ol’ time stripper who was looking for a place to die.
Stripper Sabertooth: “Hey, big boy, you’re mighty hot young stud aren’t you?”
Raul: “Uh… yeah, thank you.”
She moves in closer and presses her breasts on my shoulder.
Stripper Sabertooth: “I like Latin men. How about you and I have some fun on the dance floor?”
I reexamine her breasts and for as old as she was, they were actually in pretty good shape. Then I take a better look at the cosmetic explosion that is her face and look away to not make eye contact.
Raul: “No, thanks. I’m good. Just enjoying my beer.”
I say with an awkward smile. I’m doing my best not to say anything mean or hurt her in any way. She presses on.
Stripper Sabertooth: “What? Do I make you nervous honey? I’m sure a lady with my sort of experience can make good use out of a young stud like you.”
Raul: “I’m sure you could. But I have a girlfriend.”
Stripper Sabertooth: “She’s not here and I’ll never tell. Come on handsome, let me show you a good time.”
She says into my ear and then brings up her breasts about an inch away from my face.
Raul: “I’m sorry. I just can’t…”
A drunk Raul would have been more aggressive with his rejection, but I was barely on my first beer and thus a decent human being with morals and boundaries. She looks at me, squints her eyes, adjusts her breast in an effort to show me the glory I was missing out on, and storms off.
As I watch her walk away, I begin to giggle to myself and shake my head. Just thinking about how this only happens to me with either: extremely older women or fat chicks, hardly ever with decent looking girls. I guess I am not as great looking of a guy as my overinflated ego makes me believe.