I know a little sumthin' sumthin' about
COUGARS.
Shoot, I knew about
COUGARS before the term was coined, before it became chic and fabulous.
My Mama is a cougar. That's her thing, she can do her thing, but I wish she would get younger guys who don't ruin her credit. A young man ain't worth THAT much sacrifice.
But she's not the ultimate cougar. Not in the least.
So let me tell you about a
COUGAR that was down for hers.
Let me tell you about an Oldgirl that put the "Cou" in "Cougar".
Many years ago, when I was in graduate school working on my doctorate degree, I lived in a nice little duplex. The neighborhood was very quiet, and mostly occupied by elderly citizens. I was the young kid on the block, only 24 years old. And you know how old people watch out like a hawk. So, even though I heard gunshots off in the distance at night (yeah, it's considered a shady part of town), I could leave the house all day, and leave the door unlocked, windows open, all that. The old folks were spys always looking out. I think that had to be the BEST place I'd ever lived. It was a one bedroom place with no central heating and air (I had the tall wall heaters in the living room and bedroom), and I was paying $390 a month for rent. My school stipend was about $1040 a month. After bills and all, I had about $300 dollars left over for the month.
Man, you couldn't tell me I wasn't RICH. $300 dollars strethed far and wide back in 1994.
(If I tried to live off that stipend now, I'd be in hella trouble.)
Anyway, a couple lived in the aparment on the left hand side of the duplex. They were an interracial couple (white man/black woman). They were elderly. I believe the white man was about 80 years old, and the black woman was in her early to mid-seventies.
Now, the old white man was nice. His name was Mr. James. I met him when I moved in. My boyfriend at the time talked to him a lot. Mr. James saw me sitting on the front
steps of the porch smoking a cigarette (well, it was really a joint), and drinking a quart of malt liquor. He didn't say anything to me (I know that weed had to be smelling REAL good.) But he started giving me money to buy his liquor when I bought my own. He was fond of the Southern Comfort and Christian Brothers brands of liquor, you see.
I never saw the old black woman much. When I did, I would say hello, and she would look at me like I was crazy. And forget about speaking. She NEVER did that. Oh well, whatever. And anyone who knows me, if you act like that, I don't speak to you anymore.
Don't bother me none. For all I know, she could've been retarded.
Well, in those days, my life was pretty routine. Walk to school, go to class, work in the lab for about 10-12 hours, then walk home. I had a boyfriend (and a man on the side, who stopped by, uh... when I needed him to stop by. We'll leave it at that).
Well, one day, I came home, and there was an ambulance and policeman in front of my duplex.
I walked up on the front porch, where my landlord's brother Lance was standing and asked him what happened.
He said that Mr. James had died.
I looked past Lance through the open screen door. Mr. James was lying on the floor, in the area between the kitchen and the living room, face down and not moving. I dropped my bookbag on the porch and walked into their place. The old woman was sitting on the couch. I don't remember her name, but I'll call her Ms. Mary.
I asked Ms. Mary if she needed any help, or needed me to call someone for her. She just sat there on the couch. I think she was drunk, I'm not sure. Or she was just lost and in shock over the death of Mr. James. Lance told me to leave her alone, and he'd take care of it, since she was out of it.
I'm not sure what happened after that. I met some of Mr. James' kids, who basically came to collect his stuff. There was no funeral procession, no announcement or anything. I don't know if this family got along with his wife or not. I think they got his stuff and took him back to Alabama and buried him.
I didn't see the old woman much after that. Mind you, this woman NEVER spoke to me. She'd just look at me like I was crazy. I didn't give a flip.
Didn't think much about it after that. I was sweating through grad school, man!
Then some craziness started happening.
She started speaking to
my man.
"I think she's flirting with me, Lee," he said one day.
We both looked at each other, and just bust out laughing.
"Boy, you better watch your back," I'd say. "That Old lady'll put a hurting on you."
It became a running joke between the two of us.
So, over time, Ms. Mary figured out my man's schedule. He worked at night, and had a key to my place and would come over and sleep during the day, waiting for me to get home so that we could go out or whatever.
My man "Harvey" said she would be outside sweeping the porch. I had a screen door, and I'd leave the front door open so that we could have some air (no central air conditioning). Apparently he did this during the day also. She started peering through the front screen door and speaking to him.
After that, Harvey would leave the front door closed. He said he'd just have to be hot.
Things got worse. Harvey would sit on the couch at night and watch television while I slept (remember, he worked at night, so when he was off, he'd be up most of the night.)
This old
bitch woman would knock on the door, and call his name. I remember him coming back into the bedroom and jumping under the covers with me one night. His eyes were all wide, like something had scared the crap out of him. He was even shaking.
"Move over, Lee," I remembered him saying.
I didn't understand why. I had a king size water bed and there was plenty of room. But I moved over, and he climbed into bed, and held me tight.
"What's your problem." I asked.
"That old woman from next door," he said, "that old lady was trying to get in the house."
I remembered looking at the clock, and it was like, three o'clock in the morning.
"You lying," I said.
"I aint' lying, girl. She was standing outside, knocking on the door. I looked through the blinds to see who was knocking. She had on a skimpy nightgown and a house coat and makeup. Her wig was crooked on her head. She was saying, 'Open up, it's meeeee! Harvey, it's meeee! I know you're there. Open the dooooorr!"
Why did he tell me that?I joned my man for a looooong time behind that one. Anytime he talked trash to me (jokingly), I'd come back with. . .
"Boy, you better shut up or I'll send you on over to that old lady."
LOL LOL!!!
That shut him up REAL quick.
Needless to say, after that, Harvey convinced me to spend more time out at his place, waaaay the hell out in Vinings, a suburb on the Atlanta's West side, some 20 miles away. This was the "good" seditty side of town, mostly inhabitated by upper middle class white folks. I HATED THAT. Harvey was "Thug love"- a braided up, earringed brothat, but he didn't like living around black people. I always thought he had a little "klan" running through his blood.
"I don't like having to watch my sh**. You know how n***** is, Lee," he always said.
So, I spent more time out at his nice apartment deep in the suburbs. He wouldn't admit it, but he was afraid. I understood. I would've been shaking too if some old person was trying to run on me like that.
And anyway, I would've
hated to have had to bust that old broad in the head for forcing herself on MY man. I was taught to respect my elders, but sometimes you might have to beat a broad down for the sake of principle.
So I would make the long 20 mile drive out to his home and spend time with him. He would come my way, only during daylight hours or if I was there or if we were going out. THAT'S IT.
Needless to say, the old woman would see me, and not speak. Would even get up and slam her door.
I didn't give her no trouble. I had a "man on the side", who creeped in and out from time to time. She caught us sitting out on the steps, holding hands and drinking one evening. I was SO afraid she was going to tell Harvey. But she gave me that look that said...
"I was a young girl once. I ain't saying a doggone thing."
And she never did. For that, she got a pass.
LOL.
About 6 months later, I started seeing this young black dude around. He'd be outside sweeping the driveway or walkway. He would sit out on the front porch. Sometimes he would cut the grass and trim up bushes. (I was perturbed by this, because I liked to sit on the porch and smoke and drank or work on my chemistry homework. He was messing with my routines.)
He was about my height, about 5'7", pencil thin, and dark-skinned. He had hollow cheeks, and eyes that weren't too clear. The most we'd say was hello and talk about the weather. He had a southern accent like myself. His lips were crusty and black.
My best friend LadyTee came over one day and saw him and talked to him. I told her
that I believed that dude was a "J" (that's what we called folk who were on the crack pipe). LadyTee agreed with me.
"Yeah," LadyTee said. "He probably is a geek monster [another one of our junkie terms]."
But it's good that she got someone around here helping her. He probably her grandson or something like that," I said. "Maybe she can get him off that pipe."
I told Harvey that the old woman's grandson was staying with her. We both thought that was good.
Didn't think much about it after that.
Then there was some craziness...
Me and my man were in bed, laying there talking. We'd just gotten finished doing the dirty deed. I was smoking a joint and drinking some Boone's Farm, straight from the bottle. (Shut UP! I TOLD ya'll I use to drank and smoke. NOW you see why I don't anymore. I had to shut that all down, man!!).
Our bedroom and the old woman's bedroom shared a wall. A cement wall to be exact. I never heard much commotion from over there. I use to play my music real loud, and I asked the "grandson" if it was a problem. He said no, that he couldn't even hear it. That was cool.
So, we were laying in bed, me and my man, talking. I'm very talkative and vunerable after good sex, so I suspect I was talking up a storm, lol.
Then...
We heard. . .
sounds.
You know those. . . sounds.
You know.
YOU KNOW.
*LadyLee raising an eyebrow at YOU, you coy and innocent reader*The sounds you make when the loving is GOOOOOOOD.REAL GOOOOOOOOOD.
I sat straight up in bed. "What the f*** is that?"
My man quickly put his hand over my mouth. We sat there and listened for a few seconds. There was the sound of crickets chirping away in the back yard. . .
and those love sounds.
"Awwww Daaaayum," my man whispered. His chin was on my shoulder. I can still feel his breath on my ear.
I looked down at the joint in my hand. It was some good stuff I'd bought off the street from some young boy. "I must be high as hell," I whispered, "because I KNOW I don't hear what I think I hear."
Those sounds... they got louder and louder and LOUDER.
Uh, somebody was about to uh. . . reach some type of point, I suppose.
My man climbed over me, and went over to the wall and cupped his ear to the wall.
"Cut that out," I whispered loudly.
"Lee, they screwing!!!"
We were still as possible. We heard her screaming. We heard the dude making grunt noises.
We were STUNNED. We looked at each other, then scrambled out of bed and ran into the living room in the front of the duplex, where we laughed a bit TOO hard. I think I even dialed up LadyTee and told her about it. That made our day.
That dude wasn't her grandson...
He was her
BOY TOY!Now THAT'S what I call a COUGAR!
In the
truest sense of the word.
LOL!!
Me and my man had this running joke after that day, saying...
She put the "Original" in "Original Player!"
LOL!!!
If
that wasn't bad enough.
The old lady had the
nerve to get territorial.
Mind you, she was already not speaking to me.
But she got some jacked up idea in her head that I was looking at her man.
What the world?
*LadyLee dry heaving and passing out*Look here, let me tell you something: I respect the elderly... but it got to the point where I thought I was gonna have to pick up a brick and bust her upside the head!
And I was VERY verbal about that.
VERY!!
To be continued.
and went and sat at the empty computer next to Hen-Dog. His cubicle mate was out of town for the week on training.
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