By Lindsay Toler
By Chad Garrison
By Brett Koshkin
By RFT Staff
By Lindsay Toler
By Riverfront Times
By Danny Wicentowski
By Pete Kotz
Time to amble across the plaza to coug heaven: The Trainwreck.
We pay the cover and Jake immediately stops us. "Look: nine o'clock. Forty-nine. Awesome body. She sent me a picture of her tits. Here, check it out," he says, and proceeds to pull up said tits on his Palm.
Every cougar who approaches for a sniff, Jake greets by first name. Many already have been enlisted for the contest and/or — well, you know. For several hours we down cherry vodka with diet Coke, and Bud Light, hot-lapping all the while.
At 11:30 Cynthia, a blonde, grabs hold of Jake near the back bar. "Are you with somebody?" is the first thing out of her mouth. She is 39, with three kids and perky fake boobs that peek out the sides of her white halter top. She's all about the contest: "Yeah, baby! Why not?"
From a few feet away, Unreal and the 47-year-old whom Jake has described as his favorite conquest watch the hunter and Cynthia nuzzle. "She's nice, but she does way too many guys — in one night," the woman mutters.
Jake returns, rubbing his palms together. "Did you see that? I got one. I made my quota for the night," he brags.
"Put her in July!" says the 47-year-old. "I can beat her."
Half an hour later, Cynthia is calling Jake from her car.
He sends it to voicemail.
By midnight Unreal is sufficiently convinced Jake will not spend the night alone. Just then a text from "44, Jaime" pops up on the Palm.
"I was thinking u'd need to 2 be fingerboy 2nite," it reads.
This, Jake is happy to explain, refers to a digit-induced orgasm — Jaime's first in that particular department — in her car a few weeks back.
Seems like as good a note as any on which to bid this cougar-seeker adieu.
Outside the bar we veer right and head for the sound of shrieking, emanating from the plaza's fountain, in which four fortysomething females are, literally, cooling their heels. Two are wearing animal-print shirts.
We can't resist asking: Are you guys cougars?
"Yes!" they yelp.
"Aw, nah, we're just pretending to be cougars," blurts one, a honey-haired coquette.
Is it our imagination, or does she sound a tad wistful when she adds: