Cougar, cougar burning bright
In the theme pubs of the night
What great surgeon’s hand or eye
Could frame thy Botoxed symmetry?

So there I was at the Baron on Main with a male friend, scanning the throngs of tanked up, chino-wearing sales managers for cougars. Alas, there were few to be seen in this humming knot of slightly-upper-middle-class white South Africa on steroids. Better luck next time; perhaps I’ll head off to The Corner House on Witkoppen, which I’ve heard offers even better viewing.

We were on the outskirts of Cougar National Park, an area that includes Dainfern, Fourways, Lonehill and Kyalami Estates. Here the fences have been dropped and cougars roam freely; you while find them lurking around watering holes, on the look out for what are known as “cubs”.

Cougars have been around since forever – though of late their numbers have increased markedly - but it’s only recently that they have emerged blinking into the glare of public attention. There are cougar parties, cougar dating websites, cougar cruises. Cougartown is the hottest new show on MNet. Say what you like, but cougars are in.

(For those of you who have been living on the dark side of the moon for the past couple of years, a cougar is an older woman, generally 40 plus, who dates younger men. And by ‘dating’ I mean ‘shagging’. None of this limp-wristed roses and romance nonsense; cougars cut straight to the chase.)

I had assumed that the origins of the term “cougar” were recent, but it turns out that it has been around at least since the mid 90s. It reputedly has its origins in Vancouver bars, where men coined it in response to the startling numbers of older women who were starting to hit on them. A Canadian website called Cougardate.com was established in 1999 and in 2001 a book titled “Cougar: A Guide for Older Women dating Younger Men” appeared.

After 2005, the notion of the “cougar” as a distinct social type took off, and a new stereotype was born. It was around then that I wrote about cougars in the Sunday Times Lifestyle supplement without realizing it. Back then I described the divorced women in their tight jeans and Queenspark bustiers as “slags” who haunted the drinking joints of the northern wastelands, cackling over their glasses of white wine (otherwise known as “slagjuice”) and hunting down anything with three legs. Today, they would be known as cougars, although the slags I had in mind had those weird back-to-front bodies (flat bum, bulging stomach from all the caesars) and cougars are generally required to be hot. Many, many hours in the gym and help from medical professionals are required to maintain the cougar physique.

I have mixed feelings about the notion of cougars, especially since one or two people have suggested, rather rudely, that I might be one of them (for the record, I am too young to be a proper cougar; apparently I am a “puma”). In some ways it’s the usual sexist stereotype, and the usual double standards: the same age difference between an older man and a younger woman wouldn’t result in half as much comment. Somehow the notion of an older woman with a younger man still seems to skate, for many, on the edge of social taboo – my ex-boyfriend did call himself “the toy boy” on the basis that the yawning gulf between us measured six and a half years.

But in other ways, “cougar” is really quite an empowering term, certainly more so than the aggressive, crude “MILF”. Cougars (I’m talking about the animal here) are blonde, beautiful and deadly; they sneak up behind you and by the time you realize they’re there it’s too late. I certainly wouldn’t mind being compared to Puma concolor.

When you think about it, the notion that women might be predatory, that they might pursue men purely for sex, is quite revolutionary. The stereotypical gender roles have been reversed. We’re so used to the wealthier older man and the bit of fluff on his arm; the reverse still induces cognitive dissonance. Cougars usually have money, so there is no question of finding a man to support them. Younger men know that they’re in no danger of being pinned down for a commitment. It’s a win-win situation.

A 27-year-old friend of mine who says he can pass for 25 asked me for tips on picking up cougars. Not that I can offer counsel based on first hand experience, but it would seem that the best way to find them is to go to their favourite haunts. Hang around at the bar, make eye contact, and you’re in. Cougars are not shy, so they will take care of the rest. Just follow their lead.

After all, as Blake himself declared, “Those who restrain their desires, do so because theirs is weak enough to be restrained.”