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Mr. Confetti Man
Things weren’t looking up for me. Other than the occasional over-nighter with Desi, my sex life had dropped to almost zero. If it weren’t for body lotion, facial tissues, and internet porn it would have been zero. I made a note to myself to check the stock prices on that big company that made the lotion I was using. If their sales demographic included a significant percentage of 30ish single men, it might be worth my investing in some shares.
I got a call directly from Kurt, which is unusual because most of the time he has one of his flunkies call me.
Kurt: What the hell is going on with Karen?
Me: Huh? Well, that’s difficult to say.
Kurt: What? Difficult to say? Is that because you don’t know? You don’t want to tell me? Or, you are having trouble pronouncing words? C’mon Drummond, what’s going on?
Me: Well, Kurt, to be honest, I have seen Karen for quite a while.
Kurt: What! What do you think I’m paying you for?
Me: Uh, Kurt? You aren’t paying me…you never have. We’re friends, remember?
Kurt: Oh, yeah, I forgot…I’m paying so many people…I just forget who, sometimes. But that doesn’t answer my question, Drummond. Tell me what you know and what you think.
(Was in a dilemma there. I had my love and loyalty to Karen–and Conchita–and my friendship and loyalty to Kurt. Talk about a razor’s edge!)
Me: Kurt, why don’t you call her yourself. You’re married to her, you know.
Kurt: I’ve tried that…all I get back are short texts…like…Everything is O.K., I hope you’re well. I mean, really, What the Fuck?
Me: Well, Kurt, in a way I’m, in a sense, persona non grata at the house lately so actually don’t know what she has been doing there.
(That wasn’t exactly a lie because Karen and Conchita told me they were having a lot of fun on their own together right now and, for the time being, I’d be just a third wheel. And, of course, with my not being there, I can truthfully say that I haven’t witnessed anything that was going on there…although I knew the pair were having sex with each other until they were raw!)
Kurt: You can’t tell me ANYTHING?
Me: Not really, Kurt. I think, though, that Karen has an old friend there as a house guest. You know Karen, maybe an old college friend, or some woman from the cultural society. Karen loves to do the planning for all those soirées, you know. Must something big coming up.
Kurt: Yeah, well…keep your ear to the ground and fill me in when you can. It’s not like Karen to go incommunicado like this.
I sent Karen a text: “Got a call from Kurt. He was beating the bushes for information. He is curious you haven’t been communicating with him. I told him I hadn’t been up there much lately to see you. I obliquely mentioned that you may be having house guests…cultural committee planning, you know. Anyway, heads up…xox to you and Ms. Banana!”
I got a text back: “Thanks for the info. I’ll deal with it. BTW, it wasn’t a Banana, it was a Cucumber! How did you know?
My text back to Karen: Ask Chiquita…I mean Conchita! xox
“I’m just going to need to be more careful,” I said to myself, after the Gloria episode, “a pretty, vivacious, smart, friendly blonde like that could be nothing but trouble. Then again, a blonde like that could be nothing but fun. I’ve got to avoid the crazy ones, though.”
The problem was that most of the time when I was looking for one, they weren’t around. A self-examination of my own history demonstrated to me that, most of the time, these women just fell into my lap…and other places. I tried to give myself the same advice that I gave to Karen, “Visualize the Perfect Woman and You Will Attract Her Into Your Life!” The problem with that was that I had a hand in steering to Karen the perfect woman she visualized–Conchita! I give up!
I guessed the best I was going to be able to do was just be about my business and wait for something…someone…to turn up.
I was working at my computer reacting to the market changes and closely watching 5 stocks that I had tagged for the day. I didn’t hear Hildegard come through the door so it startled me a little when she greeted me.
“Mr. Drummond, good morning! I hope you are having a nice day so far!” her cheery voice was unmistakable–she has a pronounced Scandinavian accent.
“Oh, Hi, Hildegard,” I called back to her, “it’s a fine day…and you make it finer!”
Hildegard is my cleaner. She comes in twice a week and does a light cleaning, the bathrooms, the kitchen, and changes the sheets, and takes the laundry out to wash. She is a marvel! She is easily in her 50’s, a chubby granny person, who doesn’t say much but when she does talk she is always pleasant and helpful. I pay her nicely and she does fabulous work, worth every penny.
I suddenly realized that Hildegard was standing had a dust mop in her hands and was looking at me intently. ankara eryaman escort She said, “Mr. Drummond, do you want me to blow you?”
I flinched, and looked at her standing there looking at me in a matter of fact way, waiting for my response.
“Hildegard, I’m sorry,” I said, “what was it you asked?”
“Yes, Mr. Drummond,” she held up her dust mop and said, “do you want me to mop below you? You will need to pick up your feet.”
“Oh, yes, Hildegard, please do. It always gets dusty under there! Thank you.” I laughed at myself.
I know things are bad with I think my ancient cleaner is offering to give me a blow job.
She continued, “Do you want me to change your sheets today? They don’t look like they are very dirty…hardly wrinkled from what I see.”
“No, that’s o.k., Hildegard. Sadly, they haven’t gotten much use this week,” I winked at her as I said that, “you can leave them on the bed…maybe indefinitely!”
She gave me a knowing nod and a sly smile, “Ms. Desi hasn’t been here? And, I think nobody else either. Be patient, Mr. Drummond.”
“Has it come to THIS?” I said silently to myself, “my cleaner is giving me advice on my sex life? What’s next?”
Hildegard finished her cleaning at the same time I finished my work day. I was walking out the door with her with the intention of going down to the “The Grind” and getting some needed psycho-therapy from my barista.
“Can I give you a ride somewhere, Hildegard?”
“Oh, no, Mr. Drummond. My friend Brita is picking me up,” she pointed to the corner, “she is a good girl and always on time.”
No sooner had she completed her sentence, than a nicely maintained SUV of Scandinavian origins pulled up to collect Hildegard. I had to blink my eyes, the driver was your quintessential Scandinavian….GODDESS! Blonde hair, blue eyes, fair skin, flawless complection, pink lips, incandescent, and…we can’t forget…stupendous looking boobs! I couldn’t tell how tall she was but, knowing the Scandinavians, I wouldn’t have been surprised if she was my height, 6’1″ (1.8+m)!
I smiled at “Brita” as I helped Hildegard into the car. I got a pleasant smile back.
“Brita, it is so nice to meet you at long last,” I said breaking the ice, “Hildegard has raved about you for such a long time. And it’s only now that I have a chance to meet you!”
Hildegard piped up, “Oh, Brita, meet Mr. Drummond. He is such a charmer!”
Then she said to me, “Mr. Drummond, Brita has been here only a week but…well…she has always been on time to pick me up. Did I not mention that before?”
I gave Brita a weak smile, and managed to say, “Well, if she hasn’t been talking a lot about you she should have. I can’t understand how she could possibly keep a secret about someone as lovely as you!”
Hildegard said to Brita, loud enough for me to hear, “Did I not say he was a charmer, Brita?”
“We have to go now Mr. Drummond, ” Brita said with a smile and an accent, “it was a pleasure to meet you but we do have to go. Good bye, then.”
I waved as they departed and said to myself, “Well, she may not be the one but I’m damned sure now that they’re still out there. I have a feeling it’s open season again!”
Well, that feeling took a crushing blow to it that very evening. Desi came in about 8:30 looking solemn. I sensed what was going to happen but I let her talk it out.
“Drummond, this is very difficult for me,” she started out, “and, perhaps, I think you might know what I am going to say…You and I are going to need to part company. I will explain…but… first, may we have a cup of tea? I think that will settle us both down.”
Oh, the Brits! Well, in Desi’s case the Island folk with British roots. A “cuppa” is always called for no matter if the news is bad or good. I “nuked” some water–it took less time–and broke out some loose leaf tea–the kind that Desi preferred–and set it to steeping. I took the pot and two cups to the living room, set everything on the coffee table, and waited for Desi to continue.
I could tell this was difficult for Desi, but she continued, her voice choking a little, “Drummond, I love you and you know that. Nobody has been closer to me during these last many months than you and have supported me through some trying times. And I know you love me, in your own way, but I have come to a point where THAT way can’t be enough.”
I poured two cups of tea, Desi took a cautious sip from hers, still too hot, put it down and went on, “But this is not about that. Well, not entirely about that. You know now how much I would like to have a baby. I am getting older, not that I’m ancient, and the urge in me to be a mother is stronger than it has ever been. Your state in life, on the other hand, does not fit well…or perhaps at all…with fatherhood. So…that’s one thing.”
Both Desi and I sipped our tea, now much cooler, and Desi started talking again, “The second thing is…and I think this may escort sınırsız çankaya be the harder one for you…is that I have lately been seeing someone else. He is a good man…actually a brilliant man…a doctor, who is establishing himself in the community. He has asked me to marry him and I have said yes. I know this is all very sudden but…well…when one knows…one knows.”
She stopped for a moment to let all of that settle in, and said, “Drummond, I can’t tell you how hard this is for me. We have been so close and have shared so much…and believe me when I say that sex was not the least of it…but there was really no future in it…the sex can’t go on forever without a commitment. I hope you understand that. A baby would be a commitment…getting married would be a commitment. I am not angry with you, just sad…so sad.”
I put my arm over her shoulder, kissed her cheek, and said, “Desi, believe me, I am not angry, though I feel sad right along with you. And I totally understand what you are telling me. I do love you and I truly do wish only the best for you. Your happiness has always been in the forefront for me. I recognize my flaws but I am, at least for now, willing to live with them. It pains me that they have caused you pain and you shouldn’t have to live with them. I can see where they would make any life that we might have had together, children or not, very difficult….if not impossible.”
A few more sips of tea, a kiss on my cheek, and Desi said, “Well, there is one more thing I must do here…I must fetch my things from your bedroom…my scrubs, underwear, and toothbrush. Would you help me to that?”
Off we went down the hall to the bedroom As she was taking her things out of the dresser drawer that I had set aside for them, Desi dropped a pair of her panties on the floor. We both crouched down at the same time to pick them up. Our faces were within inches of each other. Desi leaned into me and kissed me, a soft, chaste kiss. I kissed her back with anything but a chaste kiss. Desi dropped everything in her hands and pulled me to her. Kissing was not all we were about to do.
Our clothes came off, tossed in all directions, and we tumbled naked onto the bed. Desi loves to kiss so we took a lot of time kissing, exploring with our tongues, kissing each other…all over other parts of our bodies, too. I traced Desi’s breasts with my lips before I applied my lips to her nipples which sent thrills through her body.
Gradually I worked my way down to where I knew she wanted me to be, every bit as much as I wanted to be there. My probing her smooth labia with my tongue heightened Desi’s pleasure, and my tongue contacting her clitoris amped it up even more. She was ready quickly. It surprised me but it was only moments before she climaxed; and only a few moments after that when she had another orgasm. She held her hands behind my head as I continued to ply her clitoris with my tongue and pressed me into her once more. Her third orgasm left her limp, breathing hard.
“I shall miss that, Drummond, “Desi said breathing hard, “I shall miss that as much as anything. I do love you, Drummond!”
Once she recovered her composure, Desi inquired, “Drummond, my love, you did not cum? We must do something about that…right away!”
Well, she did indeed do something about that. She had my cock in her mouth and half way down her warm throat before I had a chance to say, “How about a blow job?”
On a scale of 1 to 10, with 10 being the best, my orgasm was an 11. I shot so much semen into Desi that I worried she might truly choke on it. She wasn’t about to let that happen; what she didn’t swallow right away, she licked up afterwards. I had gotten so used to hearing her purr her “MMMmmmMM’ sounds.
“Desi,” I crooned, “I will definitely miss THAT!”
As we sat on the bed afterwards, out backs against the headboard, we caressed each other’ cheeks and lightly kissed…just pecking. I asked Desi, “It may be none of my business but have you had sex with your ‘new man’ yet? Is it good for you?”
“Oh, yes, we have had sex,” Desi said calmly, “he is very good. I have had my share of orgasms and…well…you know…I make sure he cums as well. But there is one difference…and it is strange. You have worn a condom when your penis is inside me; he does not. I have gotten accustomed to the condom and the sensation I get from that. It is different than his bare cock. I rather like the condom. But both he and I want me to get pregnant and that won’t happen with him wearing a condom! But, Drummond, I rather like you doing it to me, condom or not!”
Desi shifted her position, held my cheeks in her hands, looked me in the eye and said, “My dearest Drummond, I shall miss you and I shall miss this so very much. I will NEVER forget you!”
“Desi, my heart is aching, too,” I said as I took her hands in mine and kissed her fingers, “I shall miss you, and…well, Desi…how could I forget you? You are unforgettable!”
We got ourselves çankaya eve gelen escort bayan cleaned up–one last play session in the shower. Desi bundled up her things, and we said our good-byes to each other at the door.
“Here’s a kiss for luck,” I said to Desi as I brushed her lips with mine, “you deserve all the good luck, happiness and love there is, my dear.”
She kissed me back and whispered in my ear, “Drummond, it is because of the happiness and love that that you have given me that I know there is more of that in the world. I love you.”
I watched her tall, lithe body gliding down the long sidewalk to the street. My heart did ache.
Having Desi leave was like a negative orgasm: it starts to build, reaches its peak, and gradually subsides. That what I felt missing Desi. At first it was painful, then it got really painful, and ebbed a way a little at a time. Body lotion and facial tissues would not solve it, the wacky stock market couldn’t distract me from it, and even the prospect of a new woman in my life would not make it go away–but it did help.
You guessed it, Hildegard’s friend–Brita!
I told you what Brita is like in general, from my first impression of her. Well, that did not describe her loveliness enough. She was in her mid-thirties, divorced from her husband in one of the Scandinavian countries–which one is unimportant–and was here on a visa looking for work, pretty much as a rebound from her divorce and to make a new start here. Physically, Brita is Deidre at 125%. I said I thought Brita was tall, well she was 5’8″(1.7+m) and about 140lbs (63+kg), but with an athletic build. How does 36C-Cup sound?
Brita was a furniture designer and interior designer who had some chops in her home country and was trying to break into the American market. Her métier was not the cheap, ubiquitous, mass-produced, composite press board pieces that one sees so much of nowadays. She worked on high-end items and larger projects, such as society mansions, and corporate executive offices. She was known in America but had not done much in terms of the American market before this. She was financially secure, having protected most of her assets. Many of her designs were patented or copyrighted so she had a fairly regular income stream separate and apart from her fees from ongoing projects. If I had been looking for a woman, she was it. The only thing about it was that her money made no difference to me.
Brita and what my GM (GrandMA) would call a “winning” personality. Brita was in a word, Delightful, but she was also focused and driven when it came to her art–and she called it “ART”, not product, nor business, nor even a project. She could disappear for a week or more conceptualizing and creating designs for her clients–“patrons”, she liked to call them. Once approved, she managed every detail of the actual production and installation of her designs. A remarkable woman all around.
All of this I didn’t know until I actually met Brita. Naturally, Hildegard was instrumental in this. She doesn’t miss a trick and figured out, just from that one brief meeting, that I had interest in following up with Brita. Clever, clever Hildegard. She decided, with my approval, that I needed to completely launder all off my linens, except those she just put on my bed. She bundled all of my towels, sheets, pillowcases, and bathmats on the floor. I was going to help her take all of that with her but she would have none of it.
“AAch!, Mr. Drummond!” Hildegard chortled, “Do not trouble yourself with it. And don’t worry about my poor old back, I will have help.”
Well, the help came in the person of Brita who arrived to pick up Hildegard when her cleaning was done. Now, as I said, Brita was fit, and had sturdy Scandinavian DNA but even she couldn’t deal with the pile of laundry Hildegard had amassed. I pitched in with Brita and, between the two of us got everything moved into Brita’s SUV.
“Brita, it is so nice of you to help with this,” I broke the ice, “I understand from Hildegard that you are here developing your business. It is wonderful of you to take the time to help your friend Hildegard with her things…transportation…and…things.”
“Hildegard! She is so funny!” Brita chuckled, then said quietly so Hildegard couldn’t hear, “don’t you dare tell her I told you this but I am more than a friend to Hildegard…she is my step-mother… Why she doesn’t want you to know that, I don’t know. But, as you Americans say, ‘Keep it under your hat’, O.K.?”
I doubled down on that, “Yes, Hildegard has been so very nice to me, too. My place never gets dirty or out of order, not that I’m a disorderly type to begin with…you know.”
“Is that so?,” Brita questioned, “Hildegard hasn’t said. I suppose the code of ‘Housekeeper Confidentiality’ prevents her from revealing ‘secrets’. But I could guess from your laundry what you might be up to.”
Brita’s smile that accompanied that open-ended comment, made me a little nervous, I probed, “Oh? Hmmmm…What, pray tell, might you discern from my laundry that would be so interesting?”
“Well, for one thing…you’re a bachelor,” she said in an analytical mode, “but I knew that from what Hildegard told me. But I see traces of that on your sheets to convince me of that”
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