MAKE THE COUGAR PURR - the new novel by Sonja Paris

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This work is registered with the Washington Library of Congress.

This book is based in part on some true events; however, it has been fictionalized and all persons appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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Book Summary: Hannah Bentley is a woman with lots of issues, psychological scars, and a crooked view of men and relationships in general. Starting with a father that wished she was never born, a mother that blamed her for basically wrecking her life by being born, and a husband that had nothing better to do than to cheat on her left and right, Hannah never experienced a relationship based on trust and true love. Middle aged and finally deserted for good by her constantly cheating hubby, she tries to escape the dark abyss inside of her mind by drowning her sorrow in alcohol and stumbling from one meaningless sexual relationship into another, confusing them with matters of the heart.
But the alcoholic and erotic escaped do not free her from the wounds on her soul. When will she realize that she must first love herself before she can expect love to be freely giving to her?

“There is nothing wrong with consensual sex between two adults.”
The skinny guy next to Hannah was not at all a looker, but his confidence took her by surprise, and even made her somewhat interested in him. His voice was not manly enough for Hannah’s taste: rather faint for a guy and way too high-pitched for her liking. Hannah supposed it was because he was so seriously underweight. His clothes showed that either he lacked any sense of style, or money was a serious issue in his life—probably both! She didn’t run into too many people with style in this small local bar, and the ones who had it tried to keep a low profile by trying to blend into the crowd.
Chandlerville had a lot of money; you could see it by the rich houses that were lined up down by the riverbanks. Everybody there just called the river the “Muddy Water,” like the Native Americans had before the white man arrived. It had a yellowish tint to it, even on calm days, as if something from the bottom stirred up its restless waves.
Hannah wondered where all these rich people went to have a good time. Most probably flying out to Vegas on the weekends, she thought. Her husband made good money—in fact, he made exceptionally good money by the standards of this area—but even he couldn’t afford a place with a river view. At least not a newer one! There were still some dingy old cottages left down by the river, occupied by elderly people. But Hannah knew, once they died, some rich fart would buy their properties, tear down the old, modest dwellings that still withstood time, and replace them with huge mansions. She had always hoped that she and her husband might get the chance to buy one of those older properties by the water, but whenever word got out that one of the old places was up for grabs, someone had bought that land already.
She couldn’t envision any of the rich people down by the river finding their way to this bar. The wealthy families enjoyed the quiet atmosphere of Chandlerville as their hometown, but their fun and business were conducted somewhere else, far away from curious neighbors and frank gossips. No, rich people rarely found their way into this cozy neighborhood bar, but the regular patrons of the One-Eyed Dog were friendly and caring. It was a nice place to hang out, get a bit too drunk at times, forget your worries, catch up on the newest gossip, and feel pampered.
Hannah always felt welcomed in this tiny, dark bar. She had never found another bar where the owner and the staff were so warm and welcoming. Maybe that was what drew her the most to this place: it made her feel at home even though she was far away from home. Hannah had been born and raised in Germany, and it reminded her a little bit of the hospitality in her own home country.
He is a young one, Hannah thought, considering the man sitting next to her who had caught her off guard with his blunt, almost rude remark. The bar stool was too high for him; you could see it by the way he lounged over the counter. He had a firm grip on his beer can, as if he feared it could get ripped out of his hands at any moment. She figured he had to be no older than thirty-five, maybe even younger.
He had nothing in common with the men who usually caught her attention. She liked older men, well-groomed men—the sophisticated type who could show you what wine best suited what entrée, or how to crack a lobster correctly without slicing your fingers open on the hard shell. Hannah knew how to enjoy the fine things in life, but they seemed so far away, like a dream that had faded into nothing. Her husband didn’t treat her to fine things anymore, nor did he lavish her with expensive gifts. Once you’re a wife, the pampering stops, Hannah thought. In her case, most of the sexual activities had stopped as well.
She could not help staring at the baseball cap the young man wore like a trophy on his head. A Michigan State hat in a bar in Ohio! He likes to cause trouble. A bad boy, Hannah thought. She had to admit that her interest in him was increasing minute by minute.
She had talked loosely to him a few times before—she remembered that. A while ago, when she went out with friends. But she’d never taken a closer look at him until now. Maybe she was paying attention to him tonight because she was alone and had nobody else to talk to.
It was the first time in quite a while that she had felt like going out. After her last affair with Ron, a married man from the next town south of Chandlerville, she’d avoided the One-Eyed Dog as if it had the plague and cholera combined. This was the place where Ron had chatted her up four months ago. His wife found out about their affair two months in, and Hannah heard that she started running around town with a loaded shotgun, ready to blow Hannah’s head off if she ever dared come near her cheating hubby again.
The One-Eyed Dog used to be Ron’s preferred hangout, so it made sense that Hannah had avoided this place for a long while. But that was then. Ron had been put under house arrest, and now, four months after the breakup, Hannah longed for companionship again. Not particularly in the form of another man, but people in general. She had almost secluded herself from the entire world since Ron deserted her.
She was not ashamed that she had committed adultery with him, and she was not afraid of the threats coming from Ron’s wife, but she was still rather confused. She herself did not understand what had made her go after a married man. Because her husband had cheated on her, she used to despise women that hooked up with married men. Now she was the other woman—but instead of wailing in shame and sorrow, she enjoyed this status tremendously. Almost as if it were payback for all the betrayal she had to endure in her own marriage. Of course, it made no real sense, as the hurt she felt so deeply was simply passed on to another innocent woman, but all that didn’t seem to matter anymore.
She was sure her husband Steven couldn’t have cared less if she was sleeping around now. He was in bliss with his new twenty-two-year-old conquest Wendy. But cheating on Steven made Hannah feel free, daring, and in charge of her own life for a change. She was not the victim this time. She was the perpetrator. Maybe that was why it was so important for her to hook up with another married man. After all, she didn’t really want to kick Steven out of her life. She just wanted to spice her life up a bit.
They say what goes around comes around, and in Hannah’s eyes, it had come around before it went around. Now was her time to stand tall, even if it meant being a slut. In a strange way, this made perfect sense to her. Anything was better than taking the emotional abuse without retaliation. She refused to crawl away like a punished, whimpering dog. Unless she decided to get divorced, the emotional abuse would not stop, but disrespecting her marriage in the same way her husband did made her feel strong.
Was she a slut? Maybe so! She knew people in this town perceived her as one. But she didn’t care much about her tainted reputation. At least a slut chose her fate. A slut was someone in control! And control was what she needed most in her life right now—or at least the illusion of having control. If that meant breaking other women’s hearts, so be it! Hannah had no remorse for her actions and no compassion for betrayed women. Her motto was, “Get in line for the pain! I had to endure it. And what didn’t kill me won’t kill you.”
Brian had kept hitting on her that evening. Not in the sweet way Steven had hit on her when she met her husband for the first time twenty years ago. He was getting his feet wet as a malpractice attorney at that time. Ten years older than Hannah, he was sophisticated. He showed her a world so different from her own modest upbringing in a small suburb of Hamburg. Yet he had the boyish nature of a ten-year-old. Always fun! Always a teaser! She loved that.

Steven had swept her off her feet with style when they first met in a wine garden in Ann Arbor. He was there for a legal convention, and she had to get a wisdom tooth removed at the university clinic.
She was supposed to be in Ann Arbor for only a year, as an exchange student, working on her English language skills. Her goal was to become a translator down the line after getting her degree. However, just two months after Hannah started her studies in the USA, the root of her left lower wisdom tooth had gotten terribly infected. Extraction was the only way to stop the infection and the pain; the tooth was cracked from top to bottom.
So, she hadn’t looked her best on that warm summer day in July when she caught Steven’s attention. Her left cheek was swollen to triple its normal size, and her mouth was still numb from the dental procedure. Even though the dentist had told her to stay away from alcohol of any kind after the extraction, she wanted nothing more than to swig down a glass of wine somewhere where cheerful people were gathered.
She hadn’t made any close contacts in America at that time; she’d been too busy checking out where to go shopping, learning how to find her classes, and learning about all the other activities pertaining to life on and around campus. But she felt lonely and miserable that day, and she just didn’t want to be alone.
Steven watched her. Her clumsiness at keeping the wine in her mouth made him laugh, until he found out the reason why more wine landed on her shirt than in her mouth. He wondered if he had difficulty understanding her because of her strong but charming German accent, or because of the dental procedure that still inhibited her from speaking properly. He tried to comfort her and make some meaningful conversation, but she just concentrated on keeping the cotton pack in her mouth in position.
Steven had ordered one glass of wine after another for her that day, trying to cheer her up. Hannah wanted to drink, but couldn’t. She was embarrassed. Drooling a mixture of blood and wine all over her chin and shirt, she was not a pretty sight. But Steven kept on trying to engage her in conversation nonetheless. He patted her chin lovingly with a napkin and looked into her steel-blue eyes, and that was the beginning of it. She aroused the protector instinct in him. Those big, sad blue eyes, the swollen left cheek—all this made him want to hold her, kiss her, and comfort her. He knew that day in the wine garden that he would always watch out for her, that he would always take care of her.
Just three months later, he proposed. Hannah never made it back to Germany, except for short visits. She gave up her studies and lived just for Steven, in a beautiful home, in a nice neighborhood. She was a German gal living the American dream. Steven was all she knew, all she loved, until he rubbed his affairs so obviously and carelessly into her face that she could no longer ignore them. But the beginning years with him had been sweet and intoxicating, like a heavy red wine that numbs your senses in the most pleasurable way. There had been sweetness between them, right from the start. And some of the sweetness was still there, even now, twenty years later—in a strange, unsettling way.

There was no sweetness between Brian and Hannah: she could feel that right away. But she wasn’t worried about it. She just wanted to sit and talk and not to feel lonely anymore. That was all. At least, that was all she desired for this night, and having a young stud like Brian hitting on her was just an extra bonus. The icing on the cake, so to speak.
“Haven’t seen you for a while. What happened?” Brian pried, looking at her with such intensity that Hannah realized he had very pretty dark brown eyes. They seemed almost black and contrasted with the reddish-blond hair that was just visible on the back of his neck, where the baseball cap did not cover his head. His face was pale and freckled, and his dark eyes looked even larger than they really were in that Nordic face.
He was able to look straight into someone’s eyes. Hannah liked that. She hated it when men looked into space or at walls when talking to a woman, or when their eyes were fixed just on her bosom—and Hannah was well equipped in that sector. But Brian actually looked into her eyes when talking to her, and that was definitely the first plus of the evening, besides the boldness he showed with his Michigan baseball cap. He liked being different, and Hannah was drawn to men who stood out, in one way or another.
“You really don’t know?” Hannah asked with great surprise. “I thought everybody here knew.”
“Knew what?” Brian asked with a boyish smile on his face, but his eyes showed that he was getting concerned, as if expecting unpleasant news.
“I had an affair with Ron,” Hannah said, looking straight into Brian’s eyes. “I thought everybody knew about it. After all, it’s a small town. That’s why I stayed away. Didn’t want to run into Ron—or his wife, for that matter!”
She had been called whore, slut, and bitch behind her back, and right to her face, since the affair became public. The word was that she had actually been caught in bed by Ron’s wife, although this was far from the truth. Hannah had been in New York and Ron had been in Atlanta when the shit hit the fan. His wife got suspicious over Thanksgiving, wondering why her husband was on the phone so much. So she checked his voice mail, and voilà, Ron and Hannah got busted.
But the blame for destroying the happy marriage of a man well known and well liked in the community had been placed on her shoulders alone. Talk about a witch hunt—it’s still like Salem, Hannah thought. There were some people out there who definitely would love to see her burn tied to a pole, or drown her in an icy stream with a boulder attached to her neck or feet. In fact, Hannah was sure Ron’s wife would take the greatest pleasure in finishing Hannah off herself.
Why do they treat men like they are not in charge and in control of their own actions when it comes to affairs? After all, men run this country. Men make political decisions. We should give them more credit for their actions, Hannah thought. But Ron didn’t act like a man. When they got busted, he’d pointed his finger at her, calling her a vicious German witch. He convinced his wife that he couldn’t resist—that this German bitch had hexed him. Like a little boy who stole a sucker blaming a girl for putting it in front of his nose. It was as old as the story of Adam and Eve and the forbidden fruit! It hadn’t changed in thousands of years, and Hannah knew it wouldn’t change in her lifetime.
So, instead of owning up to his actions, Ron had put the blame on Hannah and begged his wife for forgiveness. The way he was portraying her, Hannah felt like Xena, Warrior Princess, having to wrestle him to the ground to force herself on him. The world around them perceived him as the victim and Hannah as the perpetrator.
Brian stared at her in silence. The happy smile had been wiped off his face and replaced by a very stern look.
“Ron, the tiny guy from the boat,” Hannah explained, wondering why Brian could not remember Ron. She’d met Brian on a little boat tour about six months ago, and Ron had been part of the group. They were just a bunch of people getting drunk and cruising down the river, nothing more. She remembered Brian hitting on her friend Claudia, but sparing Hannah not even a single look. That was a few days before her short but very steamy affair with Ron had begun.
“I know Ron,” Brian said. “He’s one of my best friends. I also knew of his affair. He told me about it. I even gave him tips on how to go about it and where to go. But I didn’t know he had an affair with you. I thought he was messing around with Claudia. He didn’t want to reveal the woman to me, so I assumed it was Claudia, because he was always flirtatious with her.”
“No, it was me,” Hannah answered, surprised by the aggravation in Brian’s voice. He likes me! He really likes me! she thought, rather astonished by Brian’s reaction to her revelation.
“And I thought we were friends. Now I’m really pissed at him. I have to digest that. You’ll have to excuse me for a moment,” Brian huffed and ran into the bathroom.
Wow, he really likes me! Suddenly, the door to Hannah’s heart opened just a smidge for this young fellow who had nothing in common with her or the kind of men that usually attracted her.
It took Brian about ten minutes to make it back to his bar stool. He was still charged up. “Why in the hell Ron? What did you see in Ron?” he asked loudly.
“He’s cute,” answered Hannah coquettishly.
“Yes, he is cute,” admitted Brian, “but I heard he has a small dick.” It looked like Brian had lost all friendly feelings for Ron.
“How do you know?” Hannah asked.
“Boaters,” Brian replied, and looked intently at her.
“What do you guys do? Piss over the rim?”
“You see more than you want to see when guys are on a boat together, believe me. Am I right?”
Hannah didn’t think she owed any loyalty to the ex-lover who had dropped her like a hot potato. “Well, let’s put it this way: it’s well proportioned to the rest of his body,” she answered with a mean giggle. Ron was five foot two, and at just five foot three herself, it was quite something to bump into a man shorter than her. But back then, she’d been enchanted by Ron’s smile and his attentiveness. He was sweet; he just didn’t have any backbone. Simply put, he was not a real man, but Hannah hadn’t been aware of it back then.
“I thought so. That’s all I need to know.” With a satisfied smile on his face, Brian took a big gulp from his beer can. “But then again, they say size doesn’t matter: it’s the way you use it.”
Hannah laughed so hard she almost spit her drink all over her shirt. “Oh, no, it matters,” she said. “You reach the other shore faster in an ocean liner than in a paddle boat. Size matters! We just tell our men it doesn’t matter to make you guys feel better about yourselves. Just like guys lie that a handful of tits is enough for them while they dream of big udders. No, size definitely matters! But it’s not all. I mean, if a guy just relies on his cock, no matter how huge, he is definitely not a hot lover. And Ron had some other good qualities, if you know what I mean.” She paused, then admitted, “Man, I miss the guy. I still have feelings for him.”
“Forget about him. You do not want to mess around with his wife. She’s a real nasty bitch. It’s not safe to mess around with Ron, if you know what I mean.”
“He doesn’t want me anymore, anyhow.”
“Doesn’t matter, even if he wants you back. She’ll never let go of him. You’ll never win against her. And if you can’t win, you can only lose, right? So why do you want to put yourself into that position?”
“Hmm, yeah,” Hannah responded. Her mind was wandering back to Ron, back to the few happy moments they’d enjoyed together. He’d been her first sex partner since her husband Steven hooked up with that skinny bitch from the Cleveland area. That short affair with Ron had meant a lot to Hannah. She felt desired as a woman again—something she hadn’t felt for years in her marriage. When Steven confessed to her that he was in love with a much younger woman, that hadn’t helped her self-esteem, either. Ron had actually made her feel good about herself again, even if it was just for a few hours at a time scattered around eight weeks of pleasure.
“By the way, I’m married too,” said Brian. “I mean, now that I know you prefer married men, I can help you out. As I said before, there’s nothing wrong with consensual sex between two adults.”
“You’re married?” Hannah wondered. She had never seen his wife, he wore no wedding band, and she’d never heard him talk about a wife before.
“Well, I’m not married, no, but my wife still thinks she is,” Brian said, laughing. “So, do you want to go down to the docks with me and watch the sunset? I could get a six-pack. We could have a good time, you and me.”
Hannah thought about the hurt she’d felt when she found out that Steven had betrayed her with this chick half her age. Hannah had been a faithful wife up until Steven admitted that he was really in love with another woman. Another woman had stolen her husband, and Hannah felt no remorse at doing the same to someone else.
“Okay,” Hannah answered with a sweet smile, thinking, And if I have to fuck my way through the whole damn One-Eyed Dog, I will never get hurt again. Sex is what you want? Sex is what you get! But that’s all you get, buddy. Nobody will ever claim my heart again.
“Okay? Great. Drink up.”
They left the bar two minutes apart, so as not to raise suspicion. After all, since her affair with Ron, Hannah was well known for giving herself freely to the opposite sex. “Once a slut, always a slut” was the motto in this small midwestern town. How long a wife had been faithful during her marriage didn’t have any bearing. For Hannah, it had been twenty years. Twenty faithful years! She owed no explanations to anyone: not to her cheating husband, not to her family, and definitely not to the people of Chandlerville!

CONTACT SONJA PARIS FOR AN EXCERPT OF ANOTHER BOOK CHAPTER FOR FREE VIA EMAIL. EMAIL: Sonjavparis@gmail.com

Author Sonja Paris about her book MAKE THE COUGAR PURR: “I didn’t plan to write a cougar book. In fact, I never considered myself a cougar, and still really don’t. Married to a man 24 years my senior, I was not even used to men close to my age. After his passing, an almost new world emerged in front of my eyes. I realized that I was getting a lot older over the cause of 17 years by my husband’s side. Being always the youngster in my most significant relationship, I really hadn’t realized how time went by. And I found myself being mostly the older one once I started to approach the dating games again. I also realized, that being an unattached woman in your forties is so much different from what I had anticipated.”

“I think being a middle-aged woman nowadays is wonderful. I consider myself not old, but a woman in her best years with endless possibilities, also in the sector love and relationship. Men always took the liberty to have much younger partners, if they desired to. Now women have the same rights without being much frowned upon. I extra say MUCH FROWNED UPON, because we still have some miles to go to be totally equal to men in that respect. And no cougar wants to be Mrs. Robinson. I strongly believe a cub has to be able to afford a cougar - not the other way round. Cougars don’t look for gigolos. In fact, cougars are still kind of old fashioned, and often look for young men with old-school etiquette! Being the female equivalent of a sugar daddy is not what it is about, but feeling desired and attractive no matter what age. With that said, Hannah, the main character of my book, is not me, even though I can relate to her. I myself am not really into much younger men. And the men depicted in MAKE THE COUGAR PURR are not actual men I encountered. Yet some aspects in this novel are close to my own life experiences. And I found out one thing, if nothing else: It is not about the destination, it is about the journey. And man, what a journey this has been. Thrilling, exciting and wonderful for most parts, even with the drama involved. I hope that any woman can say that for herself at some point in her life and embrace herself, no matter what age. Because it is fabulous to be a woman in America these days.”

BookCoverPreview.do2
Written by: Sonja Paris
Illustration by: Ute Lahann-Reuter
Edited: by Tahlia Day
Available now!
This work is registered with the Library of Congress.
Registration# : TXu 1-666-784
Copyright© Sonja Paris 2009. All rights reserved!

ISBN-10: 1452824541
ISBN-13: 978-1452824543

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An excerpt of the first chapters

MAKE THE COUGAR PURR by Sonja Paris