I remember reading an article in Vogue about the author liking her Dad, and how she used to fuck him as a girl.  That she’d sit on his knee and be jealous of her mother.  Well, I never had sex with my Dad and yet my Mom is jealous of me.  She said he loves me more than her.  My bisexual professor thinks she is not over her attention-seeking stage and doesn’t want to enter the older group.  I’ll trade places with her then.  I’ll be the older woman, the sexy mysterious sophisticated vixen.  I’d like the power.  I already feel it as a 25 year old when with a 21 year old.  And that’s just crumbs in the cougar world!
    They respect me more.  One boy said, “Watch out for her” to his other classmates, because I looked at him mischieviously.  Sexually.  They think I’m seasoned just because I was a senior and they were freshmen at the time.  HA!  So like I said, “I’ll take my Mom’s position anytime.”  She can be MY inexperienced young self and I’ll be her in my fifties.
    How I wonder how it must be to be fifty-three; That’s how old Scott is.  I mean, at 25, it was a long time to live already.  I feel so tired and like everything is so boring!  Twenty-five more years would be torture isn’t it?  Unless I get to have sex with different women.  If I were Scott, I wouldn’t be afraid to have sex with me – A “vulnerable young woman” in his eyes.  I think if I were married, I would’ve committed adultery already.  But to my husbands it would be OK like it is in France.  They’ll admit my extra lover to our household without a fuss.  Mmm an orgy!  They’ll probably have intellectual discussions while I am making love to any other of them.  Handsome fellows John, Scott…and my coach? 
    OMG!  No, he is too innocent.  No, but I like him.  He’s sweet.  I’d like to dominate him – omg!  That’s so hott!  As he is cornered against the wall (I love shoving men against walls), I’ll rub my hand roughly up and down against his chest near his heart.  I’ll go up to his neck and lick it to his cheek.  I’ll bite his ear and I’ll tug his hair until his head is back with his face facing the ceiling, and I’ll put both my hands up to his hair line and push his hair back while placing pressure around his head. 
    He’s so fragile in my hands.  I don’t even know his last name.  Coach Teoni:  If he finds this then maybe we can try being romantic partners together!  It’s like OMG!  He knew my house phone number!  And CALLED it!  He asked me if I wanted to be on his club team, but then the club dropped me because I sucked at the try outs.  He showed up one day to my volleyball tournament while I was on another team, but I sucked that time too.
    Boy, Teoni.  Don’t you know?  I wanted you romantically – not as a coach – although you throw up volleyballs with such perfect timing.  Ooo!  You must have such good rhythm in bed!  He even works at my old highschool now.  Hmm, maybe I’ll go see him again.  He got fatter the last time I saw him, like five years ago, but I don’t care.  He’s still the innocent, vulnerable, thirty to forty-something year old – the sweet, caring, happy Coach.  He made me nervous when he substitute coached that one time.  I got down extra low for him with my pushups that day.  Teoni Teoni Teoni.  God if you read this and see my picture and who this is – I don’t know WHAT you’d think or do.  Definitely not call my parents’ house again asking for me.  Did you look at my yearbooks at the school’s bookshelf?  Looking for me??  I wish you did.  But these are all fantasies, right?  You wouldn’t…WOULD you?