Mr. Confetti Man 01

I don't mean to brag...well, maybe a little...but one of my girlfriends hung "Mr. Confetti Man" on me as a pet name..

The first time she called me that, I asked, "Deidre, why 'Mr. Confetti Man', 'splain it to me."

"Oh, Drum," she chirped, (My real name is Drummond), "you know...after the 'big game', like you know...the Championship Game...when the balloons fall, fireworks go off? There's always the guy who the cameras focus on who is standing there with confetti coming down around him. I call him 'The Confetti Man'...he's the MVP, the Most Valuable Player, he's the stud. Team sports, 'schmeme' sports... he's the one who really makes all the confetti fall, and the fireworks go off. YOU are MY 'Confetti Man', Drummond!"

The circumstances of her revelation were consonant with her sentiments: we had just finished having sex and she was still dreamy-eyed from her orgasm. I was feeling pretty mellow, myself but, as good as sex was between us that day, I wouldn't have put into the top ten of my sexual experiences...even with Deidre. Apparently, thought, she must have rated her orgasm as stellar, thus prompting her comments.

Nevertheless, I thanked her, whispering in her ear, "DD, you are so sexy you make me outdo myself...and you deserve the best I can do...'Ma bouffée de crème', "my little creampuff"! I could just eat you up!"

"THAT, Monsieur Confetti Man," she giggled, "is one of the reasons I call you 'Mr. Confetti Man'! I'm willing to try for a double...no, actually...a triple, if you are! C'm here!"

Well, a couple of things about THAT. Deidre, or DD as I sometimes call her, is a "little creampuff". She's never told me her exact age but I peg her to be in her mid 30's somewhere. She's been married once before and...well...she's married to hubby #2 currently. She hasn't any children, not for want of trying. There is not reasons that her doctors could find. It just hasn't happened for her with either husband. She jokes that her current husband, Drexel, likes anal and that lowers her odds of getting pregnant a lot!

We don't use any protection when we have sex; she doesn't like condoms. And it doesn't bother her that she might get pregnant. If she's willing to take the risk, so am I. Her other joke, and maybe not so much of a joke, is that if she got pregnant, she'd talk Drexel into thinking it was his anyway. His sperm count--and they had that checked too--is high enough, and they engage in sex often enough to make that believable.

I call her "DD" for a good reason, too....yes...double D Cups but on a tiny, "zaftig", body. She is about 5'1" (1.6m) but a bouncy 130lbs (59kg), her boobs adding a lot to her total weight, I can tell you. She's a cute as a kitten's ear, coos and giggles when we have sex, and despite her other "domestic" responsibilities, she can make herself available quite regularly for our sexual romps.

The second thing is that she loves my talking to her in French. Now, I don't know a lot of French but I could recite something off a menu of French cuisine, and it would thrill her just as much as anything: "pommes de terre au fromage" --"potatoes and cheese"--would tickle her just as much as, "fraises et lait" --"strawberries and milk"!

Deidre is my Tuesday or Thursday--sometimes Tuesday AND Thursday--late afternoon confection. Her husband is a "mall cop"--not the gun carrying kind *WHEW!*--who works in a neighboring town thirty, or so, miles away. On Tuesdays, and many Thursdays, he takes off for work around noon and doesn't get home until 10:00PM or 11:00PM--maybe later, if he stops off for "a few". Not having kids, she has a lot of free time and can occupy herself as she pleases. It pleases her to please me and, believe me, it pleases me that she does her best to please me!

Now, Deidre, is anything but serious about me. She is enthusiastic, attentive, and inventive in our love making; but she has also made it clear--as I have, too--that we are "a fling" not "a thing". She loves having sex but she loves her husband, too. If push came to shove, hubby would win out--not a problem at all with me.

I'm not a particularly good looking guy...entirely average, to be honest. I'm 6'1" (1.8m) and about 180lbs (81kg), in my late 20's, reasonably fit, sometimes with a two/four week tailored beard--sometimes not. I believe I have cultivated a nice manner, friendly...not pushy... and I try to take an interest in people I meet...especially women. I don't come on in a rush; if they are attracted to me, I let them follow up. That might not work well with a lot of guys but it works for me...pretty darn well.

And it's not like I have a revolving door in my apartment or have a twice-weekly laundry service for my sheets. It's not every day that I'm having sex with some woman; a couple of days a week, I just have to content myself with surfing the porn sites. But...well...and again, I don't want to sound like I'm bragging, but those weeks are getting fewer in number lately.

So, you may ask, where do I get all the time and money? I'm a day trader and good one, if I do say so myself. I don't go for the big scores--I pick a little here and a little there. I have a "nest egg" some long term holdings that I accumulated when I was a hedge fund trader a few years ago. Now, I am content with a few conservative mutual funds; but just to prove to myself that I still have a little acumen, I also get in there and mix it up with my "play money", as I call it, to pick off some nice short term deals that peak and drop quickly. It's not all win but I win more than I lose. I don't live an extravagant life style--nobody would call me a "high roller"--but I do all right. Plus, it gives me time to do what I want.

I'm up early online following whatever is hot for the day and looking for things that may be hot tomorrow. 6:00AM to just after Noon are my busy times. A six hour workday isn't a bad thing, you know. That's not to say that I don't spend extra time doing research; it's just that I can pretty much do that when I want to. That leaves afternoons and nights to do what I want to...including taking care of the women who "followed up".

Deidre was one of those. I met her at "The Grind", the local coffee place. We were both picking up our coffee orders at the same time. My cup was marked, "Drum", and hers "DD"--no kidding!

Deidre spoke to me first, "So, 'Drum'? Are you a musician? You look like you could be."

"Oh, no....my name is Drummond," I answered, "I use 'Drum' because it's shorter and less likely for the barista to confuse or misspell, although sometimes it comes out 'Rum' on the cup."

Looking at the "DD" on her cup while appraising the size of her boobs, I thought it best not to make the obvious comment--too creepy pushy, it seemed to me. I'd let her bring it up, if that's something she'd want to do. I was right.

She showed me her cup and giggled when she said, "I'm DD! But I guess you already knew that!"

There followed a subtle wiggle of her chest, another giggle, and she said, "My name is Deidre. Glad to meet you Drummond! I got my coffee to go but...well...I have time. Let's sit for a bit."

How could I pass that up? Before I could answer, she beckoned me over to a vacant small table. I followed marveling at her balance, top heavy as she was.

Our "get acquainted" chat did just that. I found out about her in general. She talked about her husband's job and how she didn't like his schedule. He worked at night and her job was part-time at the high school cafeteria doing lunches. She was off at 2:00PM every day. She wasn't thrilled at all that the time she got to spend with him was essentially midnight to 7:00AM. But his schedule rotated a couple of times a month: sometimes days, sometimes nights. As much as she talked about this, I sensed that it was important to her.

I gave her a rundown on my work, my computer set up, and my love of--within limits--being able to make my own schedule.. She thought that interesting but in a detached sort of way. Truly, she was more interested in her own problems than mine and I was just as willing to listen to her and, of course watch her boobs! We finished our coffees and left; she to her shopping and I to go back home. I was expecting company that evening, anyway.

"Company" was in the person of Conchita, who had about five names following it. She was your quintessential Latina firecracker, 25 years old, 5'4" (1.6m) 110lb(50kg), overly-fit, hyperactive, not-an-ounce-of-fat-on-her, fireball. I met her at the gym where, in her workout shorts and top, I could clearly visualize her B-Cup breasts and eraser-tip nipples. I was kneeling down adjusting my weight stack so, actually, my first view of her was her trim tummy over a sharply defined pubis...hairless pubis, I could tell even through her spandex tights.

"Nino!" I heard her say, " you do that for me, please?"

I wasn't quite sure what I heard so I stood up and saw that she was pointing to the weights on my machine. She was pointing with an air of command, I might add.

"Sure, no problemo," I said impudently, "that'll be easy. How much weight do you want?"

"30 kilos will do right now," she said abruptly, "maybe more in a while. I'll see."

I puzzled for a minute, and said, "30 kilos? that's about 65ish pounds. How about I put 60 pounds on and, like you said, we can boost it up later if you want. How's that sound?"

"Si, si, Gracias, that will work for now," her tone softened, "60 pounds I can handle. I'll just do a few more reps, that's all."

"You certainly look fit....ah...ummm," I said, trying to find out who she was.

"My name is Conchita...and you are?" she said easily, no more hurry in her voice.

"Oh, my name is Drummond," I responded, "my friends call me Drum...you can call me Drum, if you want."

She repeated my name but it sounded like, "Drewmond" and "Drewm".

I said, "Well, yes that will do just fine. Conchita. Here....you're all set up. Have fun!"

I finished up with my weights, did half an hour on the treadmill, grabbed my towel and headed for the locker rooms. Conchita was headed the same way but was a little ahead of me. She slowed up until I caught up with her. She was aglow from her workout; there was sheen of perspiration on her body which, to me, looked very sexy.

"Drewmond, thank you for your help," she started out, "shall I buy you something to drink?"

I accepted saying, "How very nice of you Conchita. Of course...I would love to have a drink with you. Let's get cooled off and cleaned up and I'll meet you in the lobby in 20 minutes? That sound good?"

Conchita nodded and off we went to our respective locker rooms to do the necessary.

When I met her in the lobby, she was wearing a stylish "cool down" outfit, nothing like the baggy sweats that I was wearing. I also noticed that she had put a little make-up on which made her look much more feminine than she did during her workout.

"Conchita! You look like the poster girl for working out," I said when I saw her, "you look radiant...and that outfit...superb!"

"You flatter me, Drewmond, " she said as she flashed a mega-watt smile, "shall we have a drink? Where would you like to go? I am training so juice is what I'd like but you can have whatever you want...to drink."

"There is a juice bar around the corner, Conchita," I said pointing, "and I'm not much of a drinker so a juice sounds really good to me now, too. We can walk there. Let's go?"

We walked to the parking lot, threw our gym bags in our respective cars, and headed off to the juice bar.

Now, this juice bar is a righteous JUICE bar. They had their own concoctions or one could put one together oneself. Conchita ordered up a pear/grape/cranberry number and I had one of the same. We were both a little dehydrated so we finished those off quickly and ordered up another of the same.

"Conchita, you are remarkable fit woman and beautiful at the same time. How do you manage it?" I said that specifically to flatter her to see how she would react.

"Oh, you are really too flattering to me now, Drewmond. If you are doing that to get on my good side, you may keep it up as much as you wish!" she said, flashing that mega-watt smile again, "my looks I got from my parents, my fitness takes me effort."

"Well, then, my thanks to both your parents and you," I responded, "you said you were training?"

"Si...yes, the marathon run is about six weeks away and I'm concentrating on weight training now but from here on it's just a matter of putting on more miles...including...ugh...hill training!" she said, being much more relaxed.

I tried to tune into her by saying, "I've done some running...well...more like jogging. I can't imagine doing a marathon, though....my knees and ankles can't handle it. I certainly admire you for doing it, though. Have you done many? Or, is this your first one?"

She warmed to the subject, "Oh, I've done 6 marathons before...a couple of half marathons...and a lot of shorter runs, too. My best for the marathon, though, is 3 hours 6 minutes. I plan on doing better this time."

"My, Dear, you ARE a runner!" I said, truly surprised. "that is a marvelous time!"

"Well, Drewmond, that is just my personal best so far. I'll never be world class but I know I can do better." she said with some humility mixed with determination.

"Well, Conchita, I'll be rooting for you!" I said sincerely.

We finished our drinks and walked back to the gym parking lot. We were standing by her car, a very nice "Beemer", trying to find a way to part without being awkward.

"Drewmond, my training regimen is very stressful," Conchita said in a matter of fact way, "yes, very stressful, and I do get very lot of tension. I get massages, but they only do so much."

"I know that feeling, Conchita, from when I did sports in college. The trainers were pretty good, though. Real pros there were." I said that to give her some time think.

"I was thinking, Drewmond," she said with a little hesitation, "how nice it would be if you followed me home so we could spend the rest of the night together fucking each other loco! What do you think?"

I agreed in an instant, "Conchita, I don't have to give it a second thought. I'm on your tail!"

I followed her to her place which was an up-scale apartment house in an up-scale part of town. It made me wonder what she did for a living. In any event, it required a security card to get into the garage...I followed her in...a security card to get into the building...a security card to use the elevator, and a security card to enter the hallway where her apartment was located...oh, yes, and a security card AND key to get into her apartment.

Her apartment was a large two bedroom affair, superbly decorated, and as neat and orderly as I had ever seen a lived-in apartment. My guess was that she had a housekeeper in daily to take care of things--it was cleaner than any 5 star hotel I'd ever been in. Conchita insisted on leaving our shoes in the entry way; only stocking feet or bare feet were allowed in the apartment.

She went to the refrigerator, grabbed a couple of bottles of "designer" water, and headed for the bedroom, beckoning me to follow her. I did so with alacrity.

Don't ask me how she did it but she was naked down to her spandex shorts by the time I came through her bedroom door. This woman had an absolutely stunning body. She was taut, toned, and lithe. there was not an ounce of fat that I could see and this included her breasts. It would be generous to call her breasts a B-Cup; they were more like an A+Cup. They were firm, not a millimeter of sag to them, and her areolas were small and dark, and her nipples small and hard. Her darker skin highlighted the contours of her musculature; she looked like a finely sculpted statue.

As she undid her ponytail, her glossy jet black hair cascaded over her shoulders framing her chiseled features. As she slipped off her shorts, I could see that I was right....there wasn't a hair on her smooth pubis; the fissure leading to her labia was just a hairline. How lucky was I?

"Drewmond?" she flirted, "do you not think you should be naked? Are you not as impatient as I am?"

I was almost embarrassed to take my clothes off. In comparison with this female counterpart of an Adonis, I felt rather puny. That's not to say that I'm not in fair shape but there are one or two soft spots on my body. Plus, my pale whiteness against her exotic richly hued skin would be more incongruent still. Nevertheless, if I wanted to get laid, I had no choice. I slipped out of everything I had on in 45 seconds.

I defy any man who would be the presence of this wonderfully sensuous naked woman for 45 seconds to suppress an erection--or even want to, for that matter. Well, biology being what it is, instinct took over and shortly--well, actually Longley--my erection appeared. I've never done any measurements to my own penis, soft or hard, but I have had curious women do it for me. So, for the record, my limp penis is 7" (18cm) and my erect penis is 10" (25+cm). This seems to favorably impress most women and, in this instance, seemed to impress Conchita.

Conchita, eyes wide open, said in Spanish, "¡Oh, Dios mío, qué pene tan mamut ES ESO!"

I'm said to myself, "That must be a compliment of some sort, however my cock isn't tan."

The next I heard was Conchita saying in English, "Mr. Drewmond, get into bed with me right now or I will have to drag you there!"

She hopped up on the bed and I followed her. Her kiss to my lips was perfunctory as she rolled me over on my back, sat astride me, and pinned me by the shoulders like a wrestler. She was not only fit; she was strong! She lowered her body, more specifically, her vagina onto my cock which was not only erect but getting harder. It slid easily between her labia and the weight of her body forced all the way inside her. If I had any doubts that this woman wanted to fuck my brains out, the wetness of her vagina removed all questions. She was ready from the time she uttered her words, "...get into bed with me..."

She did all the work. The sum total of my efforts were trying to hold her hips to keep her body from flying totally off my cock in mid thrust. She sat up straight and flexed her legs which raised up and down on my cock followed by her falling forward and laying her entire body against mine as she squirmed to heighten her sensations.

The more she fucked me the wetter her pussy got; I could feel the excess liquids of her lubrication ooze onto my body. Not only did her lubrication make her vagina more slippery, it eliminated the friction between our bodies. I could feel my pubic hair grow soft and wet and slippery.

Conchita, eyes closed, almost as if praying said, "Oh, bien.... bien.... más... más... más... oh, es tan dulce.... ¡Estoy en el cielo!"

Well, I got the "bien", the "mas", the "dulce". I thought, "This is good!"

Concurrent with my thought, Conchita cried out, "Oh Dios, Oh Dios...¡oh!....Estoy en el cielo... ¡OOOh!"

Conchita pressed herself against, her hands on my shoulders gripping them, her legs gripping me too, and her body forced down so my cock was entirely inside her. There was a outflow of liquid from her vagina, not a deluge, but enough for me to know that she had experienced an orgasm.

She calmed down and lay motionless for a few seconds and began thrusting her body against mine again...moments later she reeled off more exclamations in Spanish and then lay still. There were a couple of half hearted thrusts after that but she ultimately just lay on me, breathless.

Our cheeks together, she whispered in my ear, "Drewmond, ¡fuiste magnífico! ¿Tuviste tu orgasmo? Did you have your orgasm? Did you cum?"

I whispered back to her, "No, not yet."

"Cariño!" she cried, "Cariño! We shall do something about that RIGHT NOW!"

With that, she moved her body forward until my cock popped out of her oozing vagina, got up on her knees, and knelt beside me with her mouth poised over my still stiff penis. Her mouth descended on it with enthusiasm. Her lips and tongue working on my cock, her hands massaging the shaft, she forced it deeper into her mouth until I could feel the head of my penis contact her throat. Odd as it might seem, I knew I was not near an orgasm of my own. She sensed this and worked harder. Still nothing.