INVASION OF THE CRADLE SNATCHERS

**NOTE TO READERS: THIS IS AN OLDER BLOG THAT WAS PULLED SINCE 'TWAS WRITTEN IN VILE HANGOVER MOOD. PLEASE SPARE ME!**

Have come to the conclusion that I am an irresistible sex kitten. Truly. Have always managed to turn heads of select individuals—(most of whose heads I would prefer NOT TO TURN-but never mind), but a new, and rather surprising group has come forth into the cult of cat worship: the 22 year old.

Have suspected it for quite some time, but this new phenomenon has been confirmed by MONTHS of suspicious behavior, and by most recent weekend outing.

It all started a while ago, when I went to visit a friend in Chicago. We had all gone clubbing, and this minx was on the prowl. What can I say—even outrageousminxes have needs. Anyway-I was on the point of desperation and frustration abounded. I needed to get me some, and I had decided to stock up for the lean days ahead, seeing that my parental home was hardly the ideal venue for the shagadelic orgy desired. Even in my most desperate state, however, I have my own standards. (please refer to posting on carwash kisses for further explanation of what would be sub-par). Given that I needed to get down and dirty with a skilled person, I was shit out of luck.

There was your usual assortment of people: computer geeks hanging by the bar, hungrily staring at us and unnerving us to the point of wanting to resort to purdah; drunken business-y types who don’t dance; and the packs of bitchy girls dressed in their skimpiest and whorish best, eyeing us up and down and sneering all the while. My friend had bailed earlier (having partaken a little too liberally of the libations a little too early in the evening), so I was there with unknown friends and cousin of friend. I, like my galpal, had also been hitting the bottle a little bit…but like any girl who like her drink, it was like I had downed miracle potion, Chawanprash or the like—and I was ready to jump buildings (and men!) in a single bound.

My prey of choice ended up being the hottest, young, nubile thing there—he was a ripe, young Paki hottie finishing up college…complete with requisite dreams of med school and horny desires. I hooked him, (where else?), on the dancefloor. My moves have yet to fail me! So, much to the teeth gnashing displeasure of the stick figured desi bitches, he glided up to me and started to dance. This young, nubile thing (YNT) had moves that would make a porn star blush. Man, he could work it on the dance floor (which is always promising) and we danced, grinded and basically worked ourselves into a sweaty mess before even saying a word. Eventually, I decided that I (ahem) needed a “breath of fresh air”—and he so obligingly found us a nice secluded spot outside.

Long story short, he had no idea how old I was. Or WHO he was dealing with, for that matter. We chatted a while, and young, eager puppy that he was, felt like he needed to feed me a line to get me to make out with him. Only when he started up with the, “I’ve never said this to anyone…”(and after I had stopped laughing at him), did he understand that I WASN’T like all the other girls his age.

I told him so, and also told him that I was 27, fabulous, and not wanting him to say that shit to me. He seemed most impressed with himself when I divulged this information and unsure all at the same time. He had no idea how to proceed. Like most guys his age, he was used to having to resort to fuckwit tactics to get some, and he was thrown when the tables had been turned on him. This young 22 year-old kid (and yes- I had picked his pocket and checked ID to make sure he was not going to get me arrested!) had no idea what hit him.

While trying to make small talk with me, I just grabbed him, told him to shut up, and proceeded to make out furiously with him, in between telling him that he should study hard and try his best if he really wanted to be a doctor. Was acting the part of Mrs. robinson type seductress and guidance counselor at same time.

And I retract part of an earlier posting. SOME desis have definite snogging skills…this kid was no amateur. And the body on this kid…yummmmmm. Anyway, I got what I needed, and I threw the tadpole back into the pond. It was a bizarre experience, and it was a satisfactory moment when, at the end of the night, he said to me, “You know, I really LIKE YOU. Could I get your number?” I smiled at him, kissed him, and sent him on his merry way, much to his disappointment. Some trix just AREN'T for kids...

This was incident number one, which set off a steady stream of YNTs trying to hit on me. At every one of the weddings I have been to lately, I have developed a mini fan club of YNTs, all gagging for it. I resisted the urge (and believe me-with one or two of them-I exhibited true monk-like control), and have been good pure girl for months now. Needless to say, I have been in bad shape.

One weekend, I went out with some girls (none I know too well) for a night on the town. I broke out the low-cut top and push-up bra, and set off looking my pornographic best. Now, God has blessed me with quite the pair of breasts, but put them into this bra, with a low cut top and I am totally NC-17. Guys cannot look away…it is like a Jedi mind trick-they are mesmerized and caught. Anyway, I had pulled out the heavy artillery-only to find out it was all a waste. We ended up at some seedy bar, complete with 80’s cover band. No martinis. No dancefloor. No beautiful babies to score with. I felt my boobs deflate with disappointment.

Not one to dwell, I soon started to have my own fun. Me and one other girl started to play pool. The bartender soon became friends with me, and proceeded to feed me complimentary drinks throughout the night. Soon lost track of what the hell was happening, as alcohol induced euphoria had taken over.

A pack of college boys who honed in on us came by to amuse us and chat. Nothing happened with any of them, sorry to report. Well-not so sorry, as I did not want it to…but I did end up getting a whole slew of numbers. Woke up next morning to find a whole pocketful of napkins with numbers scrawled on them. With no idea who the hell any of them were. From what I was told, I was quite the hit…now only if I could be this charming with someone my OWN age.

Don’t know what it is…how come I have, all of a sudden, become such a hot commodity on the college senior meat market? Is it because I don’t want anything from them? Is it because I can’t be fucked with? Is it because they know I eat men like them for brekky? Who knows?

I asked a friend of mine this same question, to which he sagely replied, “I dunno…it is hot to be with an older woman. Besides, you are fun…and all 22-year olds want fun.”. Does this mean that guys my own age are prematurely aging? Do I have to resort to being the gharelu (homebody) type and coo over how many kids I want? Do I have to be Sahara desert dry and act all prim and proper? If so-bring on the 22 year olds!

There is one positive result of all this. Apparently, I had exchanged numbers with my bartender pal, who called me yesterday. He is around my age (slightly younger!) and totally kool and the gang. I am not all that interested…as I am not looking for a bf or anything resembling one, but he has already invited me and the girls to come back soon and hang out. So much being a good girl, huh? Would much rather have fun...