I assume most folks are familiar with the term, MILF. If not, I think Wikipedia says it best…“A common colloquial term generally regarded as vulgar, yet denoting a sexually attractive older female; generally between thirty and fifty years of age.”
Despite its off-color beginnings and the words that comprise the acronym itself, the general consensus is the term MILF has evolved beyond its literal meaning and into a complimentary way of acknowledging the sensuality of a woman in her thirties and beyond. Thanks to television shows like Cougartown and The Real Housewives series, the term has permeated the lexicon of pop culture and helped shape the stereotypes of the beautiful state I call home. That said, one stereotype that definitely holds true is that California is a mecca for beautiful women. Fortunately for me, one such woman is my good friend, Lauren. One of the best things about Lauren is that she’s a forty-year-old mother of three. I’ve long contended a great many women grow more attractive as they age.
Both inside and out.
Several weeks ago, Lauren and I went to a popular restaurant in Los Angeles. It was Ladies Night and the place was overflowing with feminine physical perfection; eighty percent of it under the age of twenty-five. Forget about the standard double take, these young women were dressed-to-kill triple takes who make Kim Kardashian look like the north end of a southbound mule. Unfortunately, as Lauren and I quickly learned after some conversation with several of them at the bar, most of these ladies also matched Miss Kardashian in the intelligence department. The sheer amount of mind-numbing drivel pouring of their mouths was enough to make me want to stick a hot poker in my eye. Present company excluded, I’d be surprised if the combined intelligence quotient of those assembled could power a sixty watt bulb. Yet none of this mattered to the throngs of middle-age men who descended on these young women like packs of ravenous wolves.
Picture this scenario: Balding, middle-aged guys jockeying for the attention of young twenty-somethings, all the while ignoring the older, albeit no less beautiful women assembled at the bar just a few feet away. The scene reminded me of a beehive with all the activity focused on a few queens to the exclusion of everything else. I couldn’t help but chuckle as I observed this half-baked courting ritual in full effect. These guys clearly had their heads up their asses. It was all I could do to stop myself from pulling them aside to say,
“What the hell is wrong with you guys? The crown jewels in this joint are the mature women, my friends…not some barely legal half-wit who thinks the SAT test is something performed on a chair. Now get your asses over here and let’s talk to some real women….”
There’s something about a woman over the age of thirty that sets every fiber of my being ablaze with desire. Like a fine wine, I believe many women only get better with time. As a man who’s had the great privilege to love, appreciate, and adore a variety of women in my lifetime, I can tell you with absolute certainty that an older woman can stimulate both my loins and intellect in ways no college coed could ever dream. Who gives a shit about a few extra stretch marks or breasts that aren’t as perky as they once were? What these women supposedly “lack” according to the standards of our vain and youth-obsessed culture, they more than make up for in confidence, intellect and experience.
This is by no means an affront to the younger generation of women. They are after all, the feminine finery of the future. But most younger women haven’t yet had the opportunity to absorb the wisdom and knowledge learned primarily through years spent in the trenches of life. And it is this experience, my friend, why older women kick ass over their younger counterparts in almost every way imaginable.
It’s her complete and total lack of sexual inhibition as I work her over into a sweaty mess of tangled limbs and tousled hair. It goes without saying that a young, hot body is nice, but it pales in comparison to the self-assured sensuality and confidence of a woman in her sexual prime.
And let’s not forget the depth of her intellect that can stimulate me for hours on end. This is without question the most important factor in my own personal law of attraction. Personally, I’d rather be punched in the testicles than endure even sixty seconds of the mindless yammering typical of the average twenty-something. Unlike the middle-aged cock jockeys in the story above, I can’t fathom for even a moment why some men my age find ditzy younger women so appealing given the alternative. It’s a quintessential example of style over substance. Count me out of your mind-numbing sausage fest, Gentlemen. I’ll take brains before beauty ten times out of ten.
All in all, a mature woman’s quiet self-assurance in who she has become is the ultimate aphrodisiac. Like the cliffs that grace a rocky shoreline, many a woman’s life is shaped by the gale force winds of marriage, children, heartache and loss. Somewhere in the stormy chaos of a life built around serving others, many of these women sadly lose themselves. Fortunately for men like myself, they also find themselves again. The return path they blaze refines and shapes them like a master craftsman honing his finest art. What emerges on the other end is often another woman entirely. A stronger, wiser and deeper woman; borne of the trials and tribulations of modern life.
And that’s something no younger woman can ever hope to rival.
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