Date: April 28, 2008 10:31:11 AM EDT
To: inyc@timeoutny.com
Subject: Where to dance on Sundays in Manhattan?

Any suggestions? My girlfriends and I often go to Manhattan on Sundays, to see an early show, get a facial or just get away from the husbands and kids. We spend the day but can’t find anywhere to go for an early evening of drink and dance. We are in our forties and fifties. What are cougars to do?

Barb Coen
Bayside, Queens

We’re so over Sex and the City, but apparently it’s still hot in Bayside.

Coen, 51, who is married and owns her own business, describes herself as “a Miranda.” It was through her two sons that she met gal pals and coconspirators Tracey Rathaus (45, British, married, a doctor’s receptionist and “a proper Charlotte”), Karen Eisner (49, also married, “trendy like Carrie”), and Carmela Hutton (54, a single mom, and Samantha-esque in that she “likes to date the younger ones”). The ladies usually hit LIC’s Water Taxi Beach, so it was TONY’s mission—with picks from Clubs editor Bruce Tantum—to introduce them to a few new parties. (We encouraged ’em to check out the Yard in Red Hook, but the cougs “don’t do Brooklyn.”)

Our first stop: Porch Sundays at the Porch (115 Ave C between 7th and 8th Sts, 212-475-1515), a warm-up spot with a relaxed crowd and music played low enough that we could all get acquainted. It wasn’t long before Karen was itchin’ for something more intense, though.We headed to Tribeca to check out the 718 Sessions at Santos’ Party House (100 Lafayette St at Walker St, 212-714-4646). It appeared dead from the outside, but once we passed through the heavy black curtains, we were enveloped by a throbbing crowd. Staffers sprayed shaving cream in wide figure eights all over the floor, while partygoers blasted whistles that hung around their necks in tune to the techno. “This is a flaming-gay party!” Barb noted matter-of-factly before she and the crew swept the floor with hip-shaking, raise-the-roof moves.

Next, I suggested we swing by Babeland (94 Rivington St between Ludlow and Orchard Sts, 212-375-1701) for an impromptu tour of whips, anal beads and the infamous Rabbit. Tracey picked up a fat, pink vibrator as if it were a dirty sock, while Karen showed off a finger-clinger vibe and proclaimed, “If you need one of these, someone isn’t doing things right!”

After crashing (and promptly ditching) a wedding party at the Skinny, we cabbed it to Le Souk(47 Ave B between 3rd and 4th Sts, 212-777-5454), notorious for its long-running Sunday-night shindigs. The gals were pleased to find bartenders waving sparklers in the air, a drummer attacking bongos and a DJ spinning Top 100 hits. But before they could bust any moves, the drummer accidentally dropped his drum onto Karen, cutting her leg. “I’m bleeding!” she cried. “I’m really, really bleeding!” (The gash was nothing a round of beers and a few Band-Aids couldn’t fix. We even ordered an apple-flavored hookah, which Barb dismissed: “This is a complete waste of time—it doesn’t even do anything to you!”)

By midnight, two of the cougars had fallen asleep in the banquettes and the others were exhausted by our marathon dance sessions. We called it quits—much to the relief of our aching calves (and possibly the cougars’ kids).

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