In Dianes Mind

Copyright ©, 2003: All text in this story is created by and the sole property of the author. All rights reserved.

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Writer's Note: This piece is my response to a challenge to write an erotic story in which all characters never touch and remain fully clothed. It can be done, provided the reader works with the writer. Writers and cooks share a common task. Using basic ingredients, they concoct something that satisfies, nourishes, or treats the senses. A person can satisfy his/her palate with pizza from a box, or a canapé off a silver tray. The mechanics of biting, chewing, and swallowing will be the same; the difference lies in the mind and tastes of the consumer. To the pizza box consumers used to reading the f, p, and c-words throughout a story, I suggest that they try the canapé below, and see if it pleases them.

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If anyone ever tells you that only men desert their wives to talk business with their fellow workers at a company social gathering, they are wrong. It's not a gender thing; I believe that the professional position alone drives that behavior. I should know. I happen to be a corporate spouse, only of the masculine variety. Our minority is growing, and sometime in the future we won't be considered that unusual. But for now, my playing the reversed role of the traditional spouse, who remains in the background and supports the professional position of the family breadwinner, sometimes triggers surprising results. This is the story of one such surprise.

In our business/social set, I am introduced as Brad, the husband of Kathy Otterman Worth, currently a Strategic Accounts Manager for AmerEuro Pharmaceuticals, Corp. This title is the current corporate-speak for salesperson, but in her company, it is given only to a rising star within the organization. We are both 34, settled in the Midwest. We followed the traditional lifestyle formula: college sweethearts; married at 24; opted to have one spouse (in our case, the wife) go to graduate school while the other served as the early breadwinner; then embarked on her long-term professional career after she got her MBA. Please, do not feel sorry for my sacrifices; there were few. I had always wanted to be a writer, and for Kathy's graduate school years, I labored as a tech writer for an engineering firm, and am now quite satisfied with being Mr. Work-at-home Nobody. I get to devote daytimes to free-lance writing, and who knows, perhaps one day Kathy will be introduced as the wife of the successful novelist Brad Worth. As part of the deal, I accept the obligation of having to play the role of dutiful spouse at company social gatherings. Those spouses like me will know perfectly well the list of duties: dress well, look attractive, smile at everyone, and laugh at every joke. The final duty is the most difficult one for me to perform without complaint: expect to be left to your own devices at any party, because your spouse will be immediately engaged in shoptalk with his/her business peers.

Which gets back to my story. Kathy's regional manager, Ken Carleton, regularly hosts at-home evening social gatherings, at which his staff and their spouses/partners are expected to attend. I go reluctantly, but I do understand the importance and opportunity for Kathy's career. The problem for me is that I am shunted off to the food buffet table or some separate room, along with the other salesmen's wives, and this often makes me feel very much out of place. Most men are uncomfortable in a group where women substantially outnumber the men.

That was the case two weeks ago. It was the Friday before the AmerEuro Midwest sales staff headed off for the weeklong corporate sales conference in Phoenix, AZ. Because of budget cuts and travel worries, none of the spouses were invited this year, so Ken hosted a party for his staff and their spouses at his house. I was especially regretting filling my corporate spouse role that evening. First, because I was envious that Kathy got to go someplace warm in February. And secondly, I was feeling somewhat neglected in the intimacy category by her extra work hours and dedication to meet her quarterly sales goals before the conference. The first hour at the party was pleasant enough. I was enjoying the fine wines that Ken and Arlene, his wife, were serving. However, somewhere on my third glass of wine, Ken announced to the gathering that he wanted to have a private conference with all his staff to review the conference agenda and particular goals and objectives for his sub-ordinates. Upon hearing that command from the major-domo, four wives and one husband humbly and dutifully exited from the living room. Two of the women went with Arlene for a tour of Arlene's latest interior re-decorating upstairs. The fourth went to 'powder her nose.' I sought refuge in the kitchen (hey, I knew where more wine and goodies were stashed). While I was refilling my glass, Diane Malinovski, the nose-powderer, joined me. Diane is the wife of David, Ken's assistant regional manager (referred to behind his back as 'Workaholic Number 2'). She is in her early 40's, I would guess, but is the type of woman whose attractiveness increases with her maturity. Her short sexy basic black dress molded her slender figure, nicely displaying her long legs with elegant ankles. (Did I mention that I am an ankle man? My theory is look for a woman with ankles having those beautiful concave hollows underneath the anklebones. When you notice ankles like that, pardner, scan upward, because there is bound to be a delightful body above.) Diane held out her glass without saying a word, and picked up a potato chip and nipped off half of it between her lips, all the while maintaining total eye contact with me. I had not been so turned on by a simple act of eating since the classic "Tom Jones" movie scene. Not for an instant did my brain register that she had placed a mere chip in her mouth, nor did it think that she simply licked salt off that fried piece of vegetable.

Only hoping that my quickened breathing and trembling hand would not give me away while pouring her some wine, I tried to say something suave.

"This is a delightfully dry Chablis, don't you think, Mrs. Malinovski?"

"Really, Brad, what's with this Mrs. stuff? We know each other well enough to be on a first name basis."

"Right, Diane it is."

"It looks as if Ken and the gang will go on for at least another hour. Arlene, Lois and Linda will be upstairs extolling wallpaper selections and bathroom décor equally as long. What do you want to talk about, Brad?"

Diane nibbled the last half of her chip. Gulp, there went that 'Tom Jones' thing again. I chose to sip my wine before I said something stupid. Witty repartee is not my best skill.

"I don't know, Diane, what do you women usually talk about?"

"We'd probably get the conversation eventually around to sex. But with you, Brad, we'll have to steer our conversation elsewhere. Let's compare our cleaning services."

"Now hold on, Diane," I retorted. "You're setting me up to look like just another male jerk. I'll have you know that I can keep up my end of any company spouse topic, short of discussing female medical problems. Let's talk about sex, then, if that's the usual girl talk."

"Fair enough, Brad," Diane replied. "I have a question for you. What was the most arousing movie you ever watched? Some porno flick?"

"Actually, I find the porno films quite boring. I guess that makes me a lousy voyeur."

We both nibbled some cheese cubes before I continued. Back came that Tom Jones fantasy again, as her lips puckered around the yellow cube on a green stick.

"I think that the sexiest movie I have ever seen, Diane, is 'Diva.' The story and the directing were superbly erotic. It had almost every porno fantasy: inexperienced young man in love with an exotic Afro-European mature woman; her slinky silk dress that he stole and had a prostitute wear; and her abandonment of inhibitions to walk in the evening with him, eventually ending up the next morning in her bedroom. And not a single naked body to be seen, yet I can get turned by just recalling the film."

Diane asked, "So how is watching a porno film boring? Doesn't seeing a naked woman turn you on?"

"I never said that. There are times when looking at an image of a nude woman is very arousing. Every rule has its exceptions, but to me, the formulated scenes, the silly emoting, and the simulated sex in that triple X crap are not any different from the simulated murders on TV. I watch the action, but in truth, I feel no pain or reaction to the simulated killing. Nor can I fantasize that I am either the killer or the victim."

Diane stared at me with a puzzled look on her face.

"That's really interesting, Brad. So why do you think that so many adults spend so much time and money on porn? I happen to enjoy watching a porn flick now and then, when I'm alone. I know that it helps get David into the mood to have some bedroom fun."

I felt that I had to defend myself.

"I don't want to get into any argument here. I'll accept that my opinion is probably in the minority. If you have a different opinion, I can respect that. So let's drop the subject, OK?"

The conversation stopped while I re-filled our glasses. Diane took a mini-carrot, dipped it into the Ranch dressing cup, and proceeded to slowly lick off the carrot before popping it into her mouth.

"That d---d woman knows exactly what she's doing, and she knows it gets to me," I cursed to myself.

Diane sipped her wine before asking her next question.

"So tell me, Brad, when you make love to Kathy, what part of her anatomy do you find most quickly gets her excited? I can tell you that for me it's my nipples."

I understood that she was putting me on. However, I found it kind of fun to be discussing intimate things with someone of the other sex (why do we call them 'opposite' when we are so physically compatible?). Oh, of course, Kathy and I had quite a few 'pillow talks', but this was different. Here I was, sitting on a kitchen stool in a strange house, sipping wine and discussing nipples with someone else's wife. I didn't want to let the opportunity slip away just yet. I answered Diane's question. "Actually, Diane, for Kathy, and I suspect for all women as well, the most erogenous organ for stimulation is her brain. I think it was Voltaire who said that without the mind, sex was reduced to some awkward motions with the right amount of friction. You say it's your nipples, but I would bet that the nerves within your breasts are sending signals to your brain which trigger some imaginations."

"Well, maybe women are just more complex, but for men, mere stimulation of the penis is sufficient, isn't it?"

"Not true," I said. "Without the brain in boys and men, how could there be wet dreams? And think about masturbation, for either men or women. Unless your brain is engaged with the mechanical movements, you could play with yourself until you're exhausted or sore without any results."

Diane shifted her position on her stool, turning to face me more directly.

"You are a most interesting man, Brad. Have you ever made love with any woman other than Kathy? After you were married, I mean. If so, did you try to use her brain to seduce her?"

"Aha! She's getting interested," I thought. So I gave her my most enigmatic smile and began.

"Actually, I did once, now that you remind me. It happened on a trip that I made to a publisher in New York City. I had just received my first advance check, and was feeling euphoric, so I decided to splurge on a dinner at Sardis's. She was eating alone, too, at a table about twenty feet from mine. A slender woman, in her late twenties, with long brown hair and perky, up-pointed breasts."

"So who took the initiative to get you two together?" Diane asked.

"We never did get together in the restaurant. However, we eventually made eye contact. Do you know how it is when a man and a woman happen to meet, and there is that unsaid communication that tells them if flirting can be an acceptable part of the dialog?"

Diane nodded in agreement, and her smile affirmed that this dialog allowed crossing those lines.

"Please go on, Brad," she said. "This sounds interesting."

"Well," I continued. "Our eye contact definitely told us that we were attracted to each other. The feelings were almost electric. After looking around to assure herself that nobody was observing us, she took a celery stick and sucked on the end of it, exaggerating her pursed lips for my benefit."

I stared directly into Diane's eyes.

"Sort of like what you did to that carrot before, Diane. When she was certain that I was watching her, my dining lover inhaled the whole stick until her fingers reached her lips."

"Ooh!" she giggled. "How sexy. How did you respond, Brad?"

"I took a large crusty roll from my basket, and slowly broke it open to expose the tender white insides. I placed a pinch of the soft inside dough on my tongue, which I had extended from my mouth. After tasting, I slathered the roll with a large knife-full of butter. Before putting the roll back on my plate I licked off all the butter from it. She got the message, all right, 'cause I saw her blushing."

Diane squirmed on her stool. I noticed that she uncrossed her ankles. We both nibbled more cheese before I continued my story.

"I waited until she was sipping her wine before I spread some more butter on the roll. Only this time, I stuck my middle finger into the roll. You should have seen how large her eyes became when I licked off the butter from my finger. She nearly choked on the wine in her mouth."

Diane began rubbing her left hand on her thigh. She gulped the last of her wine;

"Go on, Brad. What happened next?"

"Let me recall. Oh, yeah. We went through another round of 'swallow the celery stick' and 'lick the hard roll' before our entrees arrived. She had shrimp scampi. She would half-close her eyelids and give me a sexy grin each time she picked up a shrimp with her fingers. When she was certain that I was watching, she would dramatically slide the shrimp into her mouth through pursed lips until only the tail in her fingers was visible. What a turn on, I can tell you."

Diane smiled and looked at me while imitating the shrimp swallowing description with a carrot. Her eyes were excitedly bright.

"You mean like this?" she said, after licking her fingers.

"Exactly, only imagine six times in five minutes."

"What did you do while she was eating your …, er, going on?"

"I had pasta in spicy red marinara sauce, so I took a long, fat breadstick and repeatedly dipped the end of it into the pasta. I slowly licked off the red sauce from the breadstick and put it into my mouth. I recall her arched her back and squirmed around on her chair. Even from twenty feet away, I could tell that she was flushed and breathing faster."

"I am, too," Diane admitted. "What happened next?"

"We exchanged shrimp swallowing and breadstick dipping until we finished our entrees. I had strawberries with brown sugar and sour cream for dessert. She ordered zabaglione. I took a strawberry, dipped it into the sour cream and brown sugar, and licked it clean before popping it into my mouth. She countered by taking a spoonful of the custard and turning the spoon upside down to lick the spoon with her tongue. I tell you, I was relieved that the tablecloth hid my legs, I was that excited."

I kept my eyes on Diane, but she had closed hers. Without realizing what she was doing, she took a chip and licked the bottom of it before putting it down. Damn! She was imagining the chip was a spoon. Since she was sitting on the other side of the island, I couldn't see what or where her left hand was, but I could tell that her elbow was flexing rhythmically.

"Go on. Don't stop now, for God's sake!" said Diane rather hoarsely.

"Dessert left us both kind of shaky, so we mutually paused to catch our breaths, so to speak. Just to tease her some more, I ordered a brandy in a balloon snifter glass. When it came, I held it the glass in both hands, holding it up to my nose to inhale the aroma of the brandy. With my head tilted back, I tipped the glass up to let a little stream of brandy drip into my wide open mouth."

"It was impossible to see what reaction that got," I continued. "However ,when I put the snifter down, I saw her head tilted back. Her eyes were closed, and she was smiling that sensual way that you women do during sex. Both of her hands were in her lap, so I could only imagine what they were doing."

Diane actually whimpered a little. Her breasts were heaving in syncopation with her elbow movements.

"You're reminding me a lot of her, Diane. I think I can see that certain smile on your face right now."

Diane returned to our eye contact.

"Your story has really turned me on, Brad. What did you and that woman do after you finished your dinner?"

I tried my most enigmatic smile again.

"A gentleman is always discrete with tales about his women. Let's just say, use your imagination as to where we went and what we did."

It took Diane about two or three seconds before she got it. Just for a moment, her eyebrows raised, her mouth forming an astonished 'O'. She convulsed with laughter.

"You bastard!" she chortled. "That whole story was made up! You turned me on with bullshit."

"No, I didn't, Diane. It was your mind that let my story turn you on."

The sales crowd adjourned their meeting, and David and Kathy found Diane and me in the kitchen, still laughing and sharing our private joke.

David said in a jesting tone, "Brad, were you fooling around with my wife here in the kitchen?"

Diane whooped with a gale of earthy laughter. I winked at her. She blew me a kiss.

"It all depends on what she's thinking, David."