Denise

Jason, a college fraternity brother of mine, and I play tennis once a week. In general, it's a painful experience. Jason is an uncoordinated klutz on the tennis court. We started playing tennis about a decade after we graduated from college and after Jason secured a position as an analyst at an investment bank in the same city where I worked.

What he didn't have as an athlete he excelled at as a financial analyst. He was assigned to work on information from the energy industry. In his role as an industry analyst, he began to contact and visit various corporate offices of the institutions within his purview. When he visited the corporate offices of my firm, I was invited to the meeting.

At the meeting, we immediately recognized each other and began to exchange our respective experiences since graduation eight years earlier. Our affinity for each other convinced my management to assign me as Jason's primary contact within the company hoping, I believe, that our relationship might temper his opinion of the company.

We went to dinner that evening and developed both business and personal relationships. The personal relationship evolved, including an occasional dinner with our wives and a weekly tennis match. The chemistry between our families wasn't intense and the occasional dinners occurred about twice a year.

The tennis, on the other hand, became a regular competition. Competition is the wrong word. I can't remember Jason ever winning a match. However, he was a determined competitor. He professed to enjoy playing tennis and he did give me a decent workout so I continued to endure his fanaticism. Tennis became his game when he failed at everything else. He tried and gave up both golf and bowling after he realized that he couldn't score low in golf or high in bowling. Tennis, however, allowed him to run around, and randomly hit a yellow ball and the scoring was illogical enough that when he managed to score fifteen or thirty points he felt pretty good and even nothing was love.

Recently, we were sitting at a table overlooking the courts cooling off after a game, drinking Gatorade and watching the other players. For Jason, that meant the women players. As always, he was quick to point out especially attractive and fit young women explaining that he particularly liked the way their short tennis skirts flared up when they served. Repeatedly he explained that the view was better at court level from behind the baseline.

Jason's fascination with women doesn't end with tennis players. At other times, he is prone to point out women both at work and in public venues sometimes suggesting that he wouldn't refuse an interlude with one of them if they made the offer. When asked directly he maintains that he, like a dog that chases a car, wouldn't know what to do with it if he caught it but he likes to fantasize and promote his sexual proficiency. To prove his faithfulness, he extolls the virtues of his wife, Denise, whenever he gets the opportunity. He's not wrong. Denise is a fine example of a desirable woman although I've resisted confirming his opinion when I'm with him.

Recently, at one of our infrequent couple's dinners, Jason was unusually obvious in his appreciation of the other women in the restaurant. After he watched a particularly stunning blonde in an overstuffed little black dress walk by on the way to the restrooms, he excused himself to "take a leak."

"He just want's to get a better look at the blonde," stated Denise as Jason walked away.

"Doesn't that bother you?" asked my wife, Carole.

"That's just who he is," related Denise. "He likes to look at other women. He doesn't mean to offend me and I've learned to live with it."

"Looking and chasing are different things," suggested Carole. "Looks like tonight chasing is prominent."

"He wouldn't know what to do if she let him catch her," opined Denise.

"How do you know he hasn't?" asked Carole.

"To my knowledge he never has," answered Denise.

"He'd never tell you if he had," said Carole. They both turned to look at me.

"Whoa," I spoke up. "You think he'd tell me?"

"Mark," said Carole. "He'd be more likely to tell you than either of us."

"Well, he hasn't," I declared.

"That's not proof that he hasn't," said Denise.

Jason took that moment to return from the restroom.

"How was the view?" Carole asked him.

"What view?" asked Jason innocently.

"The blonde," stated Carole.

"I hadn't noticed," insisted Jason.

"Bullshit," exclaimed Denise.

Caught in the act, Jason decided to remain silent.

"You're constantly looking at other women," challenged his wife.

"I'm a guy," Jason dug in. "Guys look at women." He looked at me for support.

"Hold on," I spoke up. "Don't include me in this."

"Do you look at other women?" Carole asked me.

"I do notice other women," I admitted. "But you're the only one I actually look at."

Carole looked dubious at me. She turned to Jason. "Have you ever really looked at Denise?" she asked.

"Of course I have," insisted Jason. "She's my wife."

"I mean more than just as your wife," clarified Carole. "Denise is a beautiful woman. In my opinion, more beautiful than the blonde you followed across the restaurant. Have you ever really focused on her beauty?"

Jason silently looked at Denise.

"Maybe you need another opinion," offered Carole. "Mark, what do you think about Denise as a woman?"

Not about to become embroiled in the mess Jason was already in, I responded. "I think Denise is a beautiful woman. She has all the attributes any viral male would ever want," I concluded.

"More," suggested Carole.

"More?" I asked confused.

"Yeah. More. Be specific," Carole demanded.

Denise looked uncomfortable but she was smiling. "Okay," I caved. "I think Denise has magnificent hair and incredible facial features with clear, enticing eyes, a pert nose and perfect lips, all without too much makeup."

"More," insisted Carole.

"She has perfect breasts," I continued. "They're large without looking uncomfortable. I could go further if she wasn't sitting down," I added.

Carole looked at Denise. Without being asked Denise stood up.

On a roll, I continued. "Her hips are perfectly sized for her body and her waist is narrower without looking too thin for her figure."

Denise turned around and put her hands on her hips.

I took a deep breath and plunged in. "Her ass is a wonder of the world," I proclaimed. "Round where is should be round and I can only imagine it in its natural state."

Denise stepped back so I could see her in full length. "Her legs are as shapely as any I've ever seen," I concluded.

Denise sat back down, slightly embarrassed but seemingly content.

"Do you agree with Mark?" Carole asked Jason.

Jason could only nod in agreement.

"Enough said," completed Carole.

"Thanks," whispered Denise. I wasn't sure if she was thanking Carole or me.

The rest of dinner was sedate. I think everyone was thinking about how men view women. I know I was.

Driving home, I asked Carole, "What was that all about?"

She knew immediately what I was referring to. "I don't know," she admitted. "I guess I was incensed at how Jason was treating Denise. She is a beautiful woman and the fact that he didn't seem to notice and was spending his time fantasizing about other women instead of focusing on her pissed me off."

"Do you think you changed his perspective?" I asked.

"I hope so," Carole said. "Thanks for your support," she added.

"You're welcome," I said.

"Tell me," said Carole. "Did you mean all the things you said about her?"

"I did," I admitted. "I may have exaggerated a little for emphasis but, in general, I was truthful."

"Do you feel the same way about me?" asked Carole.

Red flags all over the place. "Carole," I said. "You are the most perfect woman I've ever known. I'm overjoyed that we're together. I don't compare you to any other women, ever. I don't lust for any other women, ever. Just you and I'll prove it to you when we get home."

"If you can convince me," Carole said as she leaned over, kissed me on the cheek and stroked my crotch.

That night I convinced her.

After tennis that week, Jason and I were sitting at our usual table, Gatorade in hand. Jason wasn't staring at the women on the courts. He seemed distracted by something else.

I waited, assuming he would eventually raise the subject.

"Did you really mean the things you said about Denise last weekend?" he finally asked.

"I did," I confessed. "Denise is a beautiful woman and I think you're a fool for not taking advantage of everything she has to offer."

He handled the taunt well. "You're right," he admitted. "That conversation over dinner made me think more clearly about what I value in a woman. Denise does have it all. We've had some conversations about it since and I've apologized. I don't know if she accepted my apology but it's a start."

"Sounds encouraging," I agreed.

"She did ask me a few questions I couldn't answer," Jason continued. The first was, 'Do you think Mark really thinks I'm beautiful?'"

"You can tell her that her beauty secrets are safe with me," I quipped.

"I don't think that was her concern," responded Jason. "I've seen her looking at herself in the mirror since and I think she's evaluating herself in light of your description of her."

"I'm honored that she thinks so highly of my opinion," I responded. "But you don't need to reinforce it with her."

"She also wanted to know if you really meant that you'd like to see her naked," said Jason.

"Where on earth did that come from?" I asked.

"It took me a minute to figure it out too," confessed Jason. "But you remarked that you could only imagine her ass in its natural state. I think she took that to mean you like to see her ass, and the rest of her, naked."

"Let's leave that question unanswered," I told Jason.

The next week, the conversation turned more unsettling.

"Mark," opened Jason. "Denise asked me if I thought about Carole in the same way you thought about her."

"Whoa," I exclaimed. "Don't go there. I don't think about her that way. I only said what I said in the context of the conversation. I hadn't considered it either before or since."

"Too late," said Jason. "I answered her question."

Hesitant to hear his answer, I said, "So?"

"I said yes," Jason almost whispered.

"You've had carnal thoughts about Carole, who, I should remind you, is my wife," I accused him.

"Not carnal," said Jason. "Yet."

"Damn it, Jason. "Don't ever, ever, go there. It'll never happen so don't even entertain the thought."

"I'm okay with that," Jason said.

We left it at that although I was uneasy with the situation.

After tennis the following week, Jason was full of nervous energy but unwilling to start a conversation.

Tense but curious, I said, "Well?"

"Denise and I have been talking," he told me.

"Okay," I said. "I know you want to tell me something so just do it."

"Denise wants to know if you want to have sex with her." Jason blurted.

"Jesus Christ," I responded thinking I'm going to hell for that. "You can't actually be entertaining the possibility of that happening."

"Mark," Jason informed me. "I wasn't until Denise brought it up. I'd be okay with it."

"Fuck," I cried. "No. Wrong word. Forget I said that. Whether Denise and you are okay with it or not, neither Carole nor I am. Forget the whole thing. I'm certainly going to try. This conversation never happened."

Over the weekend, Carole raised the issue that I never thought I hear again. We were cuddled up on the sofa watching a romantic comedy on the television when she said, "Denise called me this morning."

Not realizing the importance of that phone call, I asked, "What did she have to say?"

"It took her awhile to get to the point but eventually she asked if you wanted to have sex with her."

"Jesus Christ," I said out loud for the second time in a week. "No," I exclaimed. "I haven't thought about it. I haven't considered it and I'd never do it. What the hell is she thinking?"

"It's pretty obvious, isn't it," Carole concluded. "She went even further."

"How much further could she go?" I asked.

"She told me that Jason wanted to have sex with me."

"Fuck," I exclaimed. "What did you say to her?"

"When I got done laughing, I told to forget the whole thing. We're not interested."

"I told Jason the same thing," I confessed.

"Jason and you talked about it?" Carole wanted to know.

"He hinted at it without the part that involved you," I told her. "I told him to forget it and to forget the conversation ever happened. It wasn't going to happen."

Carole crawled up on me and kissed me. "Then we're on the same page," she said and kissed me again.

We didn't see the end of the movie.

Before tennis the following week, I immediately cornered Jason and reiterated that, whatever he and Denise might be thinking, it wasn't going to happen and to forget it. However, I was distracted enough during the match, thinking about the ramifications of the situation, that Jason actually won a game.

Things were quiet for the next several weeks. Carole and I were convinced that the unfortunate foray into forbidden activities had been forgotten by all. That was until my phone rang at work on a Wednesday morning.

Denise was on the phone. "Hi Mark. Can we talk?"

"Denise," I said. "Not here. I'm at work and if you want to talk about what I suspect you may want to talk about, not ever."

"I just wanted to have lunch with you," Denise suggested.

Warning bells and red flags. "Denise," I said. "I don't think that's wise."

"Why not?"

"It's not just bad optics, it's bad on a personal level. We shouldn't have lunch, or any other meal, together without Jason and Carole. Let's not entertain the possibility and forget you made this phone call," I suggested.

"Okay," she said softly and hung up.

When I got home that evening, Carole was waiting for me. "Anything interesting happen today?" she asked.

This was not an idle question. Somehow she knew that Denise had called me. "Denise called this morning," I told her.

"What did she want?" Carole asked with a calm that I interpreted as relief with my honesty.

"She wanted to have lunch," I related. "But I told her no, it was a bad idea and she should forget she ever asked. But you already knew that," I added. "How did you know?"

"Denise called me this morning," Carole confirmed. "It was after she called you."

"What purpose could that serve?" I asked.

"She told me that she wanted to apologize to you for her and Mark and thought that lunch in a public place would be the best way to do it."

"What did you tell her?" I asked.

"She seemed sincere," Carole said. "I told her I'd talk to you about it."

"And?"

"I think you should have lunch with her. I could be the finale of this whole dilemma."

"You're kidding?" I asked.

"I'm serious," Carole insisted. "I trust you and Denise apologizing for what she considers the miscommunication could end it all."

"I'll think about it."

"Denise is going to call you again tomorrow."

"I guess I don't have much time to think about it," I stated.

Denise did call and, with trepidation, I agreed to lunch Friday at a nearby pizza place with a dozen tables and a very busy lunch take out business.

Friday at lunch time, I met Denise in front of my office building and we walked the three blocks to the restaurant. She was wearing a light jacket, tight jeans and four inch black heels. Inside, she looked around. "I was hoping for something more," she reached for a word. "Sophisticated than this."

"Denise," I said. "Our relationship is not sophisticated. This is fine for a quick lunch for us."

"Fine," she said. She took off her jacket, hung it over the back of a chair and sat down. Her outfit under the jacket was much more sophisticated than the lowly pizza shop. She was wearing a black, semitransparent blouse, unbuttoned deeply between her larger than I remembered breasts that were almost contained in a black half bra. The effect was unexpected and stunning.

My traitorous penis reacted in spite of my desire to remain neutral. An older gentleman at a nearby table shifted his seat to get a better view.

I sat opposite her, blocking his view. We sat, uncomfortably quiet while a young waitress took our order.

I looked Denise in the eyes and asked, "I thought you wanted to apologize."

"I do," she responded.

"Is this the way you dress for an apology?" I asked.

"This is the way I dress for someone I like whether it's an apology or not," she insisted.

My eyes betrayed me while my penis continued to assert itself.

You're having a problem not looking at my tits," said Denise.

My eyes snapped back to her face. "It's okay," she said. "You can look. In fact, I want you to look."

Carole forgive me, I looked.

"I'm confused," I admitted. "I expected an apology but you're dressed for something more."

"I really am going to apologize," Denise insisted. "But not for raising the issue but for how I raised it."

"Help me out here," I begged. "You've lost me."

"Mark, let me be honest with you," Denise started. "Before that fateful dinner with you and Carole, this is not the person I was then. Carole, with your able help, changed my view of myself. Your complementary description of my physical assets caused me to reassess how I view myself. The more I looked critically at myself, the more I realized that I wasn't being faithful to who I actual was. What you see sitting at this table is closer to the real me. There's more to come and I want you to be part of it. So, I apologize how Jason and I handled the original request but I don't apologize for wanting it to be the final result."

I was speechless. If I heard Denise correctly, she wanted to share her body with me and Jason agreed. More ever, she was explaining that the entire idea was initiated by Carole and me at that now infamous dinner.

"I'm speechless," I told Denise. "I'm happy that you've reevaluated your life style but I have to caution you that I'm in no position to provide the services you're asking for. I'm married. Happily married and I'll not risk my relationship with Carole, even for you and what you're offering."

"I'm not suggesting you risk anything," Denise insisted. "Jason thinks Carole is a beautiful woman and he'd love to spend quality time with her."

"So," I clarified. "You and Jason want to fuck me and Carole and you think that if we all agree and do it together there is no risk to our respective relationships."

"That's a crude way to describe it," chastised Denise.

"But accurate?" I asked.

"Accurate," agreed Denise.

"You may want that to happen but Carole would never agree to it," I stated.

"Then," suggested Denise. "If Carole were to change her mind, you'd have no problem with it?"

"I didn't say that," I insisted.

"Not in so many words," explained Denise. "But you did say that Carole would never agree and didn't mention if you would."

"You're twisting my words," I said.

"Mark," said Denise. "You once described me as beautiful and there was a hint of desire in your voice." She pushed out her chest. "Tell me, do you still think I'm beautiful?"

Her movement brought my eyes back to her breasts. "You are beautiful," I responded.

"And desirable?" pushed Denise.

"To the right man." I avoided a direct answer.

"By you? Are you the right man?"

"Denise," I said. "In another universe, maybe. But we're not in another universe. We live in the world we live in and, barring some disruption in the force, it can't happen."

"Because of Carole?" Denise asked.

"Not just Carole," I insisted. "She's my wife and I respect and agree with her on this."

"If Carole were to change her mind, would that constitute a disruption in the force?" Denise asked.