The Conference Cougar Connection

So when her professor husband had his mid-life crisis and fell madly in lust with a bubbly blond Grad student, she felt lost and very alone. The divorce had been final for almost two years now. Their daughter Erica was in Medical School, son Jeremy was a senior at Michigan State. An empty house, an AWOL husband, a divorce during a pandemic, and a mostly remote work environment - it all led up to loneliness and a sense of having nothing to hold on to. She was looking forward to this conference more than any other she'd ever attended, maybe out of boredom as much as anything.

She hadn't really dated since the divorce. One brief fling with a blind date her sister had set her up with - just to get it out of the way, she supposed. Something to cleanse the palate after 23 years of marriage, see if any other men found her attractive. It was fun, but not something she wanted to keep going. An older, married colleague who worked out of another office had made a pass on one of the rare work trips since the pandemic started - she turned him down as politely as possible.

The thing is, she really missed sex. She really liked sex. With her husband, sex had always been satisfying, something they could always rely on even when things weren't going so great otherwise. Frank had been a good lover - maybe that's why he was able to bang a 26-year-old Grad student.

As she got out of the shower in her hotel room on the 25^th floor, she stood naked in front of the full-length mirror. Who was this woman staring back at her? The somewhat saggy breasts, the pudgy belly, the butt that was wider than it had ever been in her whole life, the hair going gray. Actually, she didn't mind the hair. Her sister dyed her hair a different shade of blond every few months, and had been haranguing Marissa to do something about the gray. But she thought it looked fine, maybe even a little sexy. If George Clooney could be a heartthrob to millions with salt and pepper hair, why couldn't she? Well, to dozens anyway. And besides, she had earned those gray hairs. The boobs were okay, her face was still mostly unwrinkled, and some men liked big butts, she told herself. The belly though, that bothered her.

But life was a one-way street, and she couldn't go back to being the tight, firm college girl who once entered a wet T-shirt contest in a bar on South Padre Island and was 2^nd runner-up in the Miss Ball State beauty pageant. The thought of her best friend from high school, who had succumbed to Covid early in the pandemic, brought home forcefully the reality that mortality is stalking us all.

She chose a fairly short blue denim skirt, pulled on some tall leather boots that zipped up the side, and buttoned up a sleeveless beige blouse. Sort of a cowgirl or a farmgirl look, she supposed. As she grabbed her purse and headed out the door, she stopped in front of the mirror for a final check. Not too bad for an old broad.

The blouse had 2 buttons unbuttoned at the top. After careful consideration, she undid one more.

*****************************************

The networking mixer was held on the 2^nd floor of the hotel, in a medium-sized ballroom. Sharply dressed hotel employees (white shirt and ties for the men, little black dresses on the women who could pull it off) were serving drinks from a half-dozen little mobile bars; beers on ice in large drums behind the bar and a dozen open bottles of red and white wine and various liquors on the bar. Everyone got 1 free drink ticket with conference registration; Marissa used hers on a glass of Chardonnay.

"Hey Marissa, good job on your presentation," came the voice from behind her. She turned to see her colleague from the Louisville office, the one who had propositioned her earlier in the year.

"Thanks Bob." She kept moving, acting like she had some destination in mind.

When she was safely out of range, she paused to survey the crowd. There were probably 300-400 people in the room, some of the men dressed in sport coats and ties, most in jeans or khakis, the women in slacks or casual skirts and dresses. She was outside of the mainstream of attendees at this type of conference; most were employees of a city or county government or a private company that contracted with city, county, or state governments. As a federal employee, she was on the periphery of this profession.

"I really enjoyed your talk today." The voice was masculine, pleasantly deep, with a southern accent, and sounded vaguely familiar.

She turned to see the young guy who had poured her a cup of coffee in the session this morning, and later - she was pretty sure - had gotten a glimpse of her panties as she sat down. She felt her face flush as she recognized him and simultaneously recalled the moment he looked up from her crotch and their eyes met.

"Thanks."

"I'm a fisherman; like to fly-fish small streams, but I had never really thought about culverts blocking the fish from moving upstream." He extended his hand: "I'm Ryan."

"Marissa," she said, shaking his hand. "What kind of work do you do?"

As he explained his job, doing a little bit of everything related to engineering on state parks, she took stock: blond hair, blue eyes, about six feet tall and medium build. Not a bodybuilder but firm and lean. He had on faded jeans and a dark blue shirt that matched his eyes, with the long sleeves rolled up. Forearms, he had nice forearms. No ring on his finger, although that didn't always mean much these days. She guessed he was late twenties. If I was 20 years younger...

"So you think there are some potential culvert replacement projects to do in your parks?" she asked.

"Probably so, I'm going to do some checking when I get back."

Small talk: about the conference, the city of Denver, friends they had in south Florida who were cleaning up after hurricane Ian...

"Would you like another drink?" he asked, looking at her empty wineglass.

"Sure, that would be nice."

"Red or White?"

"You know what, I think I'd rather have a beer this time," she said, noticing the nearly empty beer bottle in his hand.

"Be right back."

She watched him walk to the nearest bar, as she took in the broad shoulders, the firm butt, the confident walk. He could be dating my daughter, don't get any big ideas.

She glanced around the room and realized how full the place was getting, and how loud; the din of hundreds of conversations, all rising in volume and intensity to compete with the collective cacophony of a crowd. She looked back toward the bar, suddenly feeling alone and abandoned. Maybe he'd found a young hottie to chase, and wasn't coming back at all. But there he was, standing in a line 8-10 people deep.

He looked at her with an exasperated shrug; she returned the gesture - what you gonna do?

Abruptly, he gave up on the line and walked back toward her. "I've got an idea. There's a brewpub next door that I've been wanting to try out - why don't we go sample some local beers instead of standing in line for a bottle of supermarket light beer?"

"That sounds good," she replied.

She walked side by side with him down the mezzanine steps and through the hotel lobby, out the side door and across the alley. The sign said The Musty Mushroom Restaurant and Brewery.

It too was getting pretty busy, with a mix of locals and convention guests, many with nametags still stuck to shirt pockets and lapels. They found a small round table close to the bar with two tall chairs and looked at the draft menu written on a chalkboard while waiting for someone to take their order.

"What kind of beer do you like?" he asked.

"I'm not too picky. Ales, mostly, I guess. I like trying new things though."

They were halfway down the lengthy list of beers on tap when the waitress stepped up. "What can I get you folks?" she asked, putting a couple of napkins on the table. She was a blonde dressed in Daisy Duke cutoff shorts and a flannel shirt unbuttoned halfway down some very impressive cleavage.

"We're still trying to figure that out. Quite a list of brews you have," he said. "Any recommendations?"

"Our featured beer this month is an Oatmeal Stout, but it's really dark and heavy - I'm not a fan. Of course, we have several beers brewed with mushrooms - that's our specialty."

"Seriously, the beer is actually made with mushrooms?" Marissa had never heard of that.

"Yep, it's kind of neat, not too many breweries are doing it. I can get you a sampler flight of 5 different beers if you want to try several."

"How's that sound?" Ryan asked, looking at Marissa.

"Sure."

"What would you like?" asked the buxom waitress, turning to Marissa.

She picked out an IPA, a Pilsner, a light-sounding ale, one of the mushroom brews, and decided to try the Stout as well. She noticed that Ryan was discreetly getting an eyeful down the open shirt of the waitress.

"And for you sir?"

Ryan chose three different IPA's, a lager that supposedly had three kinds of powdered mushrooms in the mix, and also picked the Oatmeal Stout.

"Okay, I'll need to see some ID's."

Ryan dutifully pulled out his wallet and flashed his driver's license.

"And you, Ma'am?" she said, turning to Marissa.

Seriously? She hadn't been carded in years.

"Is there any doubt that I'm over 21?" She reached in her purse for her license.

"I'm sorry Ma'am, but it's the law - I have to check," she said as she glanced at her license. "I'll be right back with your beers."

Some would say that being carded was a compliment, but she was long past the point where there was any doubt about being legal, and it was just an absurd annoyance. Being called "Ma'am," that stung more than anything. It sounded like "granny" to her self-esteem.

"Whew, that's a relief!" Ryan said.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm just glad to know I'm not going to get in trouble for providing alcohol to an underage girl."

She laughed out loud, in spite of herself. "You southern boys certainly have the gift of bullshit flattery."

The waitress brought the two flights, in little 4-ounce glasses with a mushroom engraved on the side.

They both started with the Stout, which was dark as molasses and seemed almost as thick.

"What do you think?" he asked.

"Pretty tasty, but almost seems like food instead of a drink."

"Tell me about yourself," he said, "what's your story?"

As they went through the beer samples, they swapped the Cliffs notes version of life stories. She told him about her college experiences and her work with the agency. Proud parent of two great kids. Divorced for two years, but she didn't go into any details. She found out he had never been married, was thinking of going back to Grad school, and in addition to being an avid fly-fisher, liked to dabble in homebrewing.

"So, have you ever put mushrooms in your beer?"

"Nope, never tried that. I made a batch once with some wild elderberries growing in my yard."

He was a good listener, and he was easy to talk to. A few times she caught his eyes drifting to where the 3^rd button on her blouse was hanging out far away from the buttonhole. Not enough to be creepy, but enough to know that he was interested in what was underneath the blouse. It was kinda nice.

By the time they were finishing up the last of the samplers, she was feeling quite relaxed and comfortable. And proud that she had kept up with him glass for glass on the beers.

Just in time, Daisy Duke showed up. "Well, how did you like the samples? Find anything that you really like?"

"I think I'll have the Blue Aster IPA," Ryan said.

"Regular size or the 20-oz?"

"Might as well go large."

"And for you Ma'am?"

"I kind of like the mushroom beer I tried - I'll have one of those."

"Big one?"

"Sure, why not?" She was at ease and feeling a slight buzz, and wanted to keep it going.

After the waitress left to get their orders, there was a lull in the conversation, and Ryan was looking at her intently like he had something important on his mind. She let the moment hang there, just giving him a peaceful smile.

"Your hair is beautiful!" He blurted it out suddenly, like a suspect under interrogation who just decided to confess to the murder.

"Thank you." It was obvious now - she was being pursued. This young guy found her attractive: he wanted her. She realized there was a moist, pleasant feeling between her legs that had been building ever since he said hello at the mixer.

But, but - the elephant in the room...

"You realize I'm old enough to be your mother, don't you?" She could have just left it unsaid, unexplored - of course they both knew there was a big age difference. But something inside her wanted it acknowledged - verbally, explicitly. He was probably a couple of decades younger, and he wanted her. She couldn't let that fact be glossed over by a few beers and the convenience of a chance conference connection.

"Well, if you're going to pull out the classic Cliché, then here's another one: but you're not my mother."

He said it with a smile, with confidence, with lustful blue eyes that met her gaze and never wavered, not even to glance at her cleavage. "I saw you from a distance on the first day of the meeting; I knew I had to meet you. You are so beautiful."

Her pussy did flip flops and somersaults, and might have crawled out of her panties and attacked him, had not Daisy showed up just then with their drinks.

"So how are old you?" she asked, after taking a long sip from her frosty mug.

"I'm 30. And since you started it, I'll ask the same of you."

"I'm 49." She didn't bother to add that her 50^th birthday was coming up in less than a month.

His eyes darted briefly to her cleavage.

"So, you must be a breast man."

"Pardon?"

"You like breasts. Mine and our waitress'. I noticed."

He looked a little sheepish. "Who doesn't like breasts? But actually, I'm a butt man."

Her heart sank just a little. "Too bad, I've got a big butt."

"A big, beautiful, sexy butt."

"Really, you think it's sexy?"

"Yes. I'm an ass connoisseur. And yours is perfect."

She giggled... an ass connoisseur, he said it like he was a sommelier: she has a round succulent bubble butt, with undertones of sass and amplitude, and a nice jiggly finish.

"What about you...what do you like in a man?"

She thought for a moment. She liked broad shoulders, and a firm butt, and white teeth, a good sense of humor, and a cock that wasn't too big or too small.

But she decided to have some fun with him: "I like forearms."

"Forearms? You're kidding, right?"

"No, I like forearms. It's a big fetish, I'm surprised you don't know about it." Actually, it was something her sister had found on the internet and shared with her; apparently there was a whole Reddit thread devoted to men's forearms.

"Here, I'll show you." She got out her phone and searched for the site. As it pulled up, she scooted her chair around so that they were sitting side by side. He loosely put his arm around the back of her chair, his leg brushing against hers.

The site was full of pictures of muscular forearms and horny comments from women. She scrolled through a dozen or so pictures with thumbs up and "Hot" comments. One of the commenters had posted: "rolled up shirt sleeves is like guy cleavage."

"Wow," he said, looking down at his bare arms, with the shirt sleeves rolled up to mid-bicep. "I had no idea. I hope you can control yourself."

"No you don't," with a smile, "you would like for me to jump your bones right here in the bar."

"Guilty as charged."

They were both looking at empty glasses now, and she felt his body heat against her side, his arm around her shoulders, his hand lightly caressing her arm as they processed this latest intimate interchange.

"Would you like another beer?"

"Sure," she replied.

It took awhile, but he finally caught the eye of the waitress with the big boobs, and flashed two fingers at her to signal another round.

"So, what else does it for you?" she asked, after Barbie Big Boobs brought them another couple of tall, frosty glasses.

He thought for a minute. "I like panties," he said.

"Really? Are you wearing panties right now?"

"Smartass." Grinning; "No, I like panties on women."

"Like my panties this morning in the session?"

She could see that he was actually blushing.

"You caught me. Yes, I'm a voyeur. An accidental glimpse of panties up a skirt or dress is a big turn on."

What do you like so much about panties?

"I don't know. They are just sexy. I guess it's because they are so intimate, so close to you-know-what. A woman in panties and nothing else is almost sexier than a completely naked woman; they tease and barely cover up what you want to see and can't. Maybe it goes back to school days and really noticing the opposite sex for the first time - all the girls in short skirts, careless about bending over or spreading their legs in class. The silky fabric, the lace, the colors... even the word itself is erotic."

"Panties, panties, panties, panties... am I getting a rise?" she asked teasingly, as she realized that her own panties were definitely getting damp.

"You're wicked... not that I'm complaining."

"Okay, your turn," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"Tell me something you like, something that turns you on."

She could think of several things, but decided on something not too explicit. "I like sex outdoors in nature. In the sunshine, or beside a lake or stream, maybe on a secluded beach."

"Well, that's something we have in common. Do you like the public aspect of it, the risk of getting caught or seen?"

"Not really, I prefer to be safely away from voyeurs like you," she grinned. "Okay, your turn again."

He hesitated, seemingly having an internal debate on how explicit this conversation was going to be.

Finally: "I love to give oral sex. Going down on a woman is my favorite thing in the world." He had moved closer, and lowered his voice to keep this revelation from going beyond their little table.

She didn't reply, just looked at him with dreamy eyes, imagining his face between her legs, his tongue probing her wet pussy, her fingers running through his soft blond hair.

He leaned in suddenly, and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, then stood up. "This beer is going through me, got to find the restroom. When I come back, it's your turn to tell me something sexy."

She watched him walk away, straight and steady, despite the beers. She realized that if she stood up, straight and steady would not be a good description of her.

"Would you guys like another round?" It was Flannel-Shirt Barbie, pointing to the empty glasses on the table.

"Sure, fill 'em up."

She was mellow and goofy and having more fun than she'd had in a long, long time. There would be a headache tomorrow. But that was tomorrow. Was she going to sleep with this guy? She didn't know. Yes, she was going to sleep with him, but maybe not tonight. It seemed obvious he was hot for her, and she was very attracted to him, but was it too soon? Maybe he's just playing, maybe it's just a game to see if he can get an old MILF eating out of his hand, the Devil's advocate in her subconscious proffered. No, he really seems genuine, she argued back. What fetish or secret fantasy was she going to divulge when he got back?

Ryan and the beers arrived at the same time; she noticed that he didn't sneak a peek at the blonde's cleavage when she delivered the beers. His eyes were focused on hers; she had his complete attention, as he sat down next to her.

"I believe we were in the middle of an extremely interesting conversation, sorry I had to interrupt it," he said.

"Really, what was it we were discussing?" She was feeling playful. "I thought we were talking about beer. I got you another one, by the way."