The Conference Cougar Connection

Big Tits

The Conference Cougar Connection

Note to readers: a big chunk of this story is buildup and anticipation, but it does eventually get to the explicit details. As Carly Simon probably knew, anticipation makes the orgasm stronger. I write what turns me on; I hope some of you are aroused as well. Although set in (hopefully) plausible circumstances and locations, this is a work of fiction. As always, votes and comments are welcome and appreciated.


The Plenary

It was the hair that caught his eye.

As he scanned a sea of various shades of brown, blond, red, and gray heads in the large conference auditorium, it was a striking salt and pepper beacon that stood out. She had bare arms, and shoulder length hair that immediately brought to mind a photo he had seen on the internet of Emmylou Harris from sometime in the 80’s – with her dark chestnut hair streaked with silver. However, this woman was even more breathtaking, at least from the back and from a hundred feet away. Her hair was darker, almost jet-black, and shot through with an equal amount of silver. He found himself just staring at the back of her head and tuning out the speaker at the podium.

There were well over 1200 people in the hotel ballroom on the first day of the conference, the first major in-person meeting held by the Civil Engineering Society since the start of the Pandemic. After more than two years of working remotely, doing Zoom meetings, and having a curtailed work/social life, he was looking forward to bumping elbows and having intelligent face to face conversations with peers.

Ryan Benton was single, decent looking, and 30 years old – an age that allowed him to date across a wide spectrum: college girls to twenty-something professionals to early-middle aged divorcees. He liked them all, but lately his dating life was in a slump. His last girlfriend was a Grad student who moved to a different state to get a PhD, and they had parted amicably, neither wanting to invest the energy in a long-distance relationship. Then came the pandemic, which completely rearranged the dating scene along with so much else about “normal” life. Although most things had been pretty much back to business as usual in his state for several months, conferences and big meetings had been on hiatus for 2 years.

Professional conferences had always been a target-rich environment for him to meet and hookup with cool women. Throw a lot of intelligent, educated people into a hotel together a long way from home for a week, united by common professional interests. Add various mixers and networking events with free drinks or a cash bar, and a guy could get laid once in a while. He missed that.

So he tingled with anticipation and excitement as he scanned the room, looking for the love of his life, or at least a sexy playmate for the next few days. There was a tall blonde in a bright red dress across the aisle. Over to the left was a gorgeous brunette in khaki slacks and an official-looking polo shirt.

But it was the woman with the radiant silver hair that he couldn’t stop staring at. He could tell she was pretty from the brief sideways glimpses he got of her face as she turned to look around the room or talk to the person next to her, but beyond that he couldn’t tell much. But that hair…!

The Breakout Session

Ryan worked for the Parks department in his state, designing and coordinating new infrastructure projects at various parks across the state. Boat ramps at state lakes, road improvements, relocation of underground utilities, upgrades to sewer systems and septic systems (many parks relied on septic systems rather than sewers for waste management), even golf course design at some parks. He wasn’t an expert on any single specialty in the field of engineering, but knew enough about most subjects to initiate a project and review proposals and plans. Most big park projects were bid out to private contractors rather than done by state employees; he was the coordinator who made sure permits were secured, specifications were followed, and projects were completed safely, on time, and within budget.

There were four concurrent breakout sessions the first full day of the conference. He chose the one entitled “Water Management in the Age of Climate Change.” A hot topic for sure, but the recent floods in Kentucky and the southwest, and the severe drought causing western reservoirs to go dry had apparently piqued everyone’s interest more than expected. The small conference room was already packed when he entered 10 minutes before start time. Very few seats left, and people milling around all over the room. Hotel staff were busy bringing in extra chairs, lining them up along the wall on the side of the room.

Desperate for coffee, he made his way to the refreshment table at the back, and stood in line for a cup. He saw the guy in front of him shake his head. “Out of regular, that’s a bummer,” the guy said as he moved over to the Decaf dispenser.

“Well, that sucks,” came a feminine almanbahis voice from behind.

Ryan turned and saw the radiant silver hair first, then the most beautiful blue eyes he’d ever seen a split second later. Then the swell of breasts with a hint of cleavage, underneath a bright canary yellow dress. The sight literally took his breath away. He was speechless.

“I don’t think I can function on Decaf,” she said.

Slowly, the cogs in his brain began to turn again. “I think we might be able to get a little more out of this pot.” He grabbed a cup and handed it to her. “You hold, I’ll pour,” he said, as he opened the spout and grabbed the coffee canister with both hands and tipped it over, filling her cup almost to the brim. “It might be a little crunchy, but at least it’s caffeine.”

“Thanks!” she said. Then she grabbed another cup and held it under the spout for him.

He tipped the canister halfway over as the last dribbles came out. Only half a cup.

“I guess I’ll have to make do with half-rations,” he said as he reached over and finished filling his cup with Decaf.

“You’re a gentleman. And way to take charge of the coffeepot,” she said with a smile. “Thanks again.”

Then she was gone into the crowd, and the moderator was coming over the loudspeakers calling for everyone to take their seats.

Like Sunday morning service at a Baptist church, the seats at the back of the room filled up fast. No one wanted to be on the front row of an audience. But that’s where he found himself, as a couple of hundred people scrambled for seats and AV guy fiddled with the first PowerPoint presentation on the laptop.

He was giddy from his brief encounter with the beautiful woman with the silver hair. Who was she? What was her name? Everyone had nametags, but he hadn’t had the presence of mind to read the name on her tag, stuck onto her dress just above the left breast. Truth be told, he had been so focused on the breasts, he hadn’t even noticed the name tag.

As he settled into his seat and the moderator gave opening remarks, he scanned left and right, hoping to find her again. One big drawback to the front row was not being able to scan the crowd without turning completely around and being obvious. Then he saw her, over to the right side against the wall in the row of overflow seats. She was almost even with the front row, and had her legs not been crossed, he would be looking straight up her dress. Damn! A beautiful woman and the possibility of upskirt panties; this day was starting out well.

The moderator tapped on the mic and opened the session with preliminary throat-clearing and housekeeping details and introductory comments as the crowd finished finding seats and settling in for the meeting. The rumbling background noise of dozens of voices and scooting chairs and clanking of doors shutting came to a sudden lull. Except for the one or two loud voices of hard-of-hearing folks who didn’t get the memo and were still carrying on a private conversation in voices loud enough to talk over the din, and someone coughing in the back of the room. There was always someone coughing in the back of the room.

When silence finally prevailed, the moderator, wearing a dress shirt and jacket, but no tie, welcomed everyone to Denver once again and stressed the importance of the session topic: “The challenges presented by climate change are many, but the effect on water resources is one of the most challenging aspects. Whether it is drought that threatens the supply of water for agriculture or urban uses, or severe flooding that causes damage to property and infrastructure, managing water is critical to adapting to our changing environment.”

He briefly gave an overview of the session talks, then introduced the first speaker. As the first presenter was making his way to the podium, Ryan glanced over at the beautiful lady in yellow. Eye Contact! She was staring directly at him, a slight smile on her face. He returned the smile, and then looked away, his heart suddenly beating faster. Don’t stare! But there was something about this woman that captivated him completely, and he kept glancing her way throughout the talk.

The first presentation of the day was by a researcher at UCLA – he gave a complete overview of the history of the Colorado River and its dams and water use. The Colorado supplied water to 7 states: agricultural irrigation, municipal water for nearly 40 million people, generation of hydroelectric power. The allocation of water among the various states and uses came from a 1922 River Water Compact, that unfortunately, was based on one of the wettest 10-year periods in history. So there was a baked-in deficit so to speak – more water allocated than was in the river. Add a 20+ year drought, hotter temperatures, and population growth, and the proverbial dry, dusty shit was about to hit the fan. Already, all of the water was sucked from the river before it reached its historic outlet in the Gulf of California, and some were predicting that within a year or two the water level almanbahis yeni giriş in Lake Powell would drop so low that turbines at Glen Canyon Dam couldn’t generate electricity.

Overall, a depressing but interesting presentation.

The second talk was something about water, he was sure of it, but he couldn’t have passed a pop quiz on the contents. The presenter was a recently graduated girl who gave a presentation on her Masters thesis work at Ohio State. She probably knew what she was talking about, but after the fifth or sixth “Like,” and “you know” he gave up and just concentrated on her bosom, which was outstanding, and jiggled whenever she turned abruptly to make a point about some graph on the screen.

The third talk was a pretty esoteric dive into the need to redefine the parameters of what was considered to be a 100, 500, and 1000-year flood event. Talk number four got into some statistical deep water (deep shit?) concerning sediment production and disposal at sewage treatment plants. He zoned out and daydreamed about fishing, and kept sneaking glances toward the right wall at the spot where two sexy legs disappeared into a yellow dress. Hopeful for a careless uncrossing of legs or absentminded shifting in the chair, while trying to be discreet. No luck.

Mercifully, the mid-morning break was next, but when he glanced toward the wall as the crowd finished their obligatory applause for the speakers, the yellow dress and the silver hair had disappeared. He made his way back to the refreshment table, and was able to score a full cup of real coffee, then milled around making small talk with random clean-cut folks in pleated khakis and polo shirts, most embroidered with the logo of some municipal government agency or some private company that sold water purifying equipment or high-tech sewage pumps.

When the 15-minute break was over and the session was called back to order, the silver-hair woman was already seated, and his glances her way were unseen.

The moderator was speaking again: “Next up, we have Marissa Anderson presenting on culvert modifications for safe passage of aquatic life.”

Ryan’s ears perked up. This sounded like an interesting departure from the tone of the meeting so far. He was looking at the title slide on the screen, which featured a photo of a brook trout in fall spawning colors, when his peripheral vision saw yellow movement halfway to the podium. What the…!?

He glanced down at the program stuffed under his seat. Sure enough, there it was:

A Review of Culvert Modifications to Enhance Streambed Habitat and Aquatic Organism Movement on Federal and State Lands. Marissa L. Anderson, Hydrologist. Madison, WI.

So, the object of his obsession was named Marissa and was not only hot, but was a researcher on a topic that captured his attention.

She was at the podium and started her remarks: “First I would like to recognize my co-authors; George Simpson, Colin Crutchfield, Charles Elkton, and Emily Stevens. I also want to recognize the efforts of the many state and federal personnel from multiple agencies in 18 states, and the many volunteers and funding from over 30 Conservation organizations that have contributed to this work. The real work on the ground was done by all of these folks.”

The slide on the screen had the logos of multiple agencies, and a long list of organizations.

“My role in this project was primarily to collect and analyze 10 years of data from many different sources to take a high-altitude look at the successes of culvert replacement projects across the country.”

The next slide was an in-your-face view from below of muddy water cascading out of a 4-foot diameter corrugated metal culvert. The water dropped at least 3 feet into a pool below the culvert.

“Many road crossings on 1st, 2nd, and 3rd-order streams across the country were put in with culverts like this,” she said. “There are several deficiencies in this design, both for structural integrity of the road, and for the health of fish and other aquatic life. First, the culvert diameter is too small to carry all the water flow from major flood events, leading to washouts. This is getting worse with more extreme rainfall rates. Second, the culvert is ‘perched,’ meaning the 2-3-foot vertical drop at the outflow is a barrier to fish moving upstream. And third, the steepness of the slope through the culvert and the metal bottom creates an unnatural substrate that is mostly barren of aquatic life.”

It was almost like a light bulb went off in his head. Ryan was a fly-fisherman and nature lover, and dealt with water engineering to some extent in his job, but had never looked at culverts in connection with fish in this way.

The next slide showed the same road with a concrete box culvert 6-feet high and 10-feet across. The bottom looked just like the streambed, with shallow water rippling over and around rocks at a leisurely flow; there was no waterfall at the outflow.

“Here we see a design that corrects these problems: the bottom almanbahis giriş of the culvert mimics the natural substrate and flow rate of the stream, there is no barrier to fish passage, and the box is big enough to accommodate heavy floodwaters.”

The next slide went into the methodology of her study, looking at hundreds of these replacements across the country, but Ryan was studying Marissa, and only partially listening. He could stare freely now – everyone in the room was looking at her anyway.

He couldn’t get a good handle on her age. The face was mature – not old, not young, just pretty. If she had solid black hair, he would guess late 30-something. If the hair was solid gray, he would have to go with 60-ish. But the streaked black/silver hair, that messed up his age calculator… and gave his cock a pleasant twitch.

The yellow dress stopped just above the knees, and had some short sleeves, so there was no sideboob to see when she turned to train the laser pointer on the screen. There was just a tease of tasteful cleavage as the dress dipped in the front. The breasts were medium sized and had a soft…what was the word? Pendulous – they had a pendulous quality. Not the firm apples of a 20-something or a silicone-enhanced porn star, but the soft, jiggly flesh of maturity. He could imagine the bouncy drop of them being released from the confines of a bra; the soft skin still showing the imprint of bra cups, the sweet sweat where the underside of the breasts lay against the skin of the chest, the brown nipples crinkling up in the sudden cool air…

His cock not only twitched, but he could feel it growing and bulging against the front of his Dockers.

She had what he considered to be “Mom body.” A little chubby, and bulging in all the right places, but still rocking a tight dress. She had a shapely figure, with a little extra in the bottom – actually quite a bit extra in the bottom, which was his favorite part of a woman. He could see a faint panty outline, just enough to know that she was wearing panties.

He found himself fixated on her belly. It was soft and rounded and bulged out slightly in the front of her dress. Not a fatty, not a pregnant look, just soft curves. He suddenly realized that he had a belly fetish. Never really thought of it that way before, but the curve and jiggle of a woman’s belly, with enough fat to make her belly button an orifice rather than a hard balloon knot, was a big turn on. He imagined kissing her, pulling that yellow dress up over her head, unhooking the bra in the back and caressing the suddenly free breasts; feeling their bouncy weight in his hands. Then kissing down her belly, probing her belly button with his tongue as he clutched her panty-clad ass cheeks in both hands, working his way down to the top of the panties and… Stop!

His cock was in full erection mode, as she wrapped up the conclusions, and he crossed one leg over his knee to conceal it.

“…so we are pushing for more funding and agency support to increase the pace of culvert replacement to benefit fisheries and limit damage to infrastructure.” She walked back to her seat as the applause died down.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her, and instinctively, they focused on the thighs as she took her seat. There! – one leg slid to the side as she adjusted in her seat, and he was looking at a triangle of yellow in between the brown legs; panties just a shade to the pastel side of the bright yellow dress. He looked up… Busted! She was looking him straight in the eyes.

The first rule of upskirt voyeurism was not to be too obvious, not to get caught. He looked away quickly, a little embarrassed and probably red-faced, but he thought maybe he glimpsed a slight smirk on her face as he swung his eyes back to the front of the room.

His mission for the rest of the conference: get to know this beautiful woman.

The Networking Mixer

Marissa was relieved to have her presentation out of the way. She actually enjoyed giving presentations, and she was well prepared for this one, having just finished the manuscript for publication in a professional journal. She knew the data backward and forward, and it was just a matter of putting together some good photographs and graphics and making sure everything was organized, concise, and had “punch” on the screen. And she knew that her subject matter was more light-hearted and relatable than many of the topics at the conference – it was a “White Hat” project.

Still, it was nice to get it over and done with on the first morning of sessions. She was here for the full week, and could relax and enjoy the rest of it with no pressure. This was her first presentation – other than over an internet connection – in several years, and there were some butterflies and a little anxiety.

Her position with the federal government was mostly a “behind the scenes” research job. She had been with the agency since just after Grad school, and had done fieldwork early in her career. Then came two kids, a couple of relocations to follow her husband’s career moves across the country, finally ending up working in data analysis with a group loosely associated with the University of Wisconsin. Hers was not a public facing job, and she had little interaction with other professionals outside of her small work group.

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