In Brad's Mind

Copyright ©, 2003: Canadagander. 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: You might call this piece a posthumous submittal. It was originally intended to be the sequel to 'Diane's Mind'. For various reasons, "Kathy's Night Out With the Boys" was submitted first, and I've updated this story to now follow Kathy's story. If you haven't read either of the first two stories, then I recommend that you read 'Diane's Mind' first, then 'Kathy's Night Out With the Boys', and finally this one. You will get to know Brad, Kathy, Diane, and the other characters better. Consider the usual warning: this story contains sexually explicit content. Do not read it unless you are an adult.

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Almost two months have gone by since that unforgettable Saturday when my wife, Kathy, returned from her company's weeklong sales conference. If you recall from her story, on the last night of the conference, she had a very wild time with her two co- workers, David Malinovski and Allen Theriot.

But the sexual adventure out in Arizona with those three was not what made that weekend so unforgettable for me. No, it was the fact that I almost turned the whole deal into what could have had disastrous effects on the marriages of Kathy and myself, plus David and Diane and Allen and Teri as well. You see, it had been planned by the Malinovskis and the Theriots that while David and Allen were with Kathy in Phoenix, I would be engaged that same night in a ménage a trios with Diane and Teri, here in our Midwest hometown. Unbeknownst to Kathy and me, the other two couples had open, but very discrete marriages, and they wanted us to join with them to make it a swinging sextet (pun intended). These two swinging nights out with David, Allen, Teri, and Diane were to be the first of many for Kathy and me.

Only I bugged out of experiencing my first sexual adventure with two women, for reasons which you'll learn shortly. Fortunately, with what I can proudly claim as some very creative bullshitting on my part, I convinced Kathy and the swinging quartet that I had fallen in love with a married woman. Then I convinced them that if I consented to have an open marriage with Kathy, I wouldn't be strong enough to resist the temptation of having an adulterous affair with this married woman. As I counted on, Kathy (who was the key) bought into my story, and things went back to what you might call normal.

Well, almost normal. An unusual thing happened this week. After quite a few rejections, a book publisher accepted my novel manuscript. At last, Brad Worth, the stay- at-home free-lance writer, commonly referred to as the husband of Kathy Otterman, may get his own recognition. The publisher asked me to fly to New York City to sign a contract and discuss possible plot follow-ups. One never says no to requests from a publisher if you are an unknown author, so on Friday, there was another business trip separating the Worth household. Only this time I, and not Kathy, was the traveler.

It was more convenient for Kathy to drop me off at the airport while on the way to her office, even though my flight was not until 10:15 in the morning. The trip was to last only one day, so I didn't have to join the mob scene at the baggage checkin, simply going through security to my departure gate with a carry-on garment bag. Consequently, I had almost two hours before boarding to kill, pondering what to do with all that idle time. That was decided for me about 9:15, when my cell phone rang. It was Allen Theriot, from Kathy's office. I wondered why he would be calling me.

"Hey, Brad, Al Theriot here. Congratulations on the good news about your book. Kathy came in this morning all bubbling over about you finally getting published. I'll bet that you're excited as well. What's the book called, by the way?"

"Hi, Allen, I never expected that you'd be calling me at the airport. Thank you for remembering me. The title that I put on the manuscript is 'Shot Between the Ayes. That's A-Y-E-S; it's a contemporary murder mystery that has some congressmen mysteriously killed in the state capitol building. But the publisher wants to give it the title "The Deadly Dome." Frankly, they can call the book anything they want, as long as my name is spelled correctly, and they promote it to sell copies."

"Yeah, that makes sense. The boss may not always be right, but he'll always be the boss. But that's beside the point. The reason why I'm calling, Brad, is that I need to know what did happen between you and Teri and Diane on the day before we returned from Phoenix. You do realize that both David and I know that the story you told Kathy about your swing with Diane and Teri was just that, a story."

"Allen, please never, ever tell Kathy what you know."

"She'll never hear it from me, I promise. But what I'm curious about is just why you did what you did. Teri is not happy these days. She told me that the reason you backed out of partying with her and Diane is that you don't like her. If what you said about falling for another married woman is the true story, well then, she shouldn't feel rejected, should she? So how much of what you said is factual, and how much is just more of your witty fiction?"

"Allen, tell Teri that she in no way turned me off. On the contrary, I like Teri a lot, and think that she is a very sexy woman. You are lucky to have her; I guess that goes for David, too, doesn't it? But getting back to my other woman, I guess that by now it can't hurt to tell you the whole story, as long as it doesn't get back to Kathy. How much time do you have? To tell the whole story about the airport scene requires that I fill you in as well with all the transpired during the week prior to that time."

"Tell me the whole story, Brad. Take all the time you need, and I want to say again that Kathy will never hear any of this from me."

"What I have never told anybody, Allen, is that my made-up 'other married woman' is actually based on Diane. I have been attracted to her from the first time we met. But my feelings started going overboard at that party hosted the week before the sales conference your boss, Ken Carleton. Diane may have told you about that evening, where I amused myself, somewhat at her expense, by telling her a story about a dinner at a restaurant in New York, at which a woman and I had an erotic experience. It was not a big deal; I was simply trying to show Diane that her mind could be her most erogenous zone. By the end of the story, she got it that my tale was all bullshit, but her mind had gotten her really turned on."

Continuing, I said, "Diane and I shared a good laugh, and our relationship was promoted to a deeper level. At least it was for me, Allen. In hindsight, now I'm not so sure that Diane felt for me as deeply as I now do for her. She can be so playful, perhaps she thought that our encounter was just a game."

"Perhaps Diane does feel the same way as you, Brad," Allen replied. "The reason that I called was last night Teri and Diane were chatting on the phone. The way Teri told it to me, was that when Teri mentioned your name to Diane, she began to cry. She then told Teri that she should have realized that you would never consider a threesome with her and Teri. That's when Teri thought that you didn't like her, and now she's crying, too. I'm calling you to try to understand just what did happen, and how to make the girls happy. We four thought that everything was planned perfectly, but things fell apart with you and the girls. Just what did transpire?"

"Here's what happened, Allen." I began to tell him the following story:

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The Saturday after Ken's party, we spouses wished our corporate salespersons bon voyage, and I began my normal weekly routine, waiting for Kathy to return. At least I thought it would be a normal week, but the two other couples had something different planned.

The next Tuesday evening, I answered my phone on the third ring. The green LED numbers on the clock radio on the nightstand read 11:00 PM.

"Good evening, Brad," she began sweetly. "This is Diane. How are you doing all by your lonesome, like me?"

"Oh, hi, Diane," I replied. "Well, it's kinda boring, but Kathy will be returning this Saturday. I'll hold out. Why did you call?"

"I want to hear another story, Brad. You really turned me on last Friday night."

"Sorry. You'll just have to dial your favorite 900 number for that."

"C'mon, Brad, let's talk for a little while." She giggled and said, "I'll even give you my credit card number."

"Diane, it's eleven o'clock at night. You should be in bed."

"I am, silly. All I am wearing is David's Vikings jersey, but I've decided to take that off to get completely naked, Brad. What are you wearing, and where are you?"

"If I hang up, you'll just call back, won't you, Diane?"

"Correct. So be nice, and let's chat. I really am lonesome, Brad, and I do like talking with you. For just a couple of minutes, please?"

I sighed and considered what I should do. "She'll only keep pestering me if I try to put her off," I thought, "so I might as well humor her."

"OK, Diane, let's talk, but just for fifteen minutes. Then I really must get some sleep. By the way, are you already drunk?"

"Negative. I had just one glass of wine before I called. I wanted a clear head for our little chat. And you never answered me, Brad. Where are you and what are you wearing?"

"I'm lying in bed, like you, only I'm not naked. I have on a pair of lounging pants. No top."

"Sounds sexy. Now, how about making up another story for me? Something that will get me hot."

"How about I finish the first story, and tell you what happened after that dinner at Sardis's?"

"So you two did get together, after all. Where did you go?"

"Sardis's was about four blocks from my hotel, and Alissa, that was her name, by the way, Alissa suggested that we go to a new place where they played soft jazz, and we could have a nightcap."

The fact that it was late, and I was getting horny with Kathy's absence, probably contributed to my tale progressing from titillating, as it was on Friday in Diane's kitchen, to much more explicit descriptions of my imaginary lover and me having torrid sex together. OK, I'll admit that thinking of Diane in her bed, listening to me talk to her got my mind into the scene as well.

The sexier sequel seemed to be what Diane wanted that night. I could hear over the telephone the sounds of rustling sheets and her sighs and moans. I was fascinated by how easily her mind could stimulate her body, just by listening to me tell a story.

My declared limit of talking for just fifteen minutes evaporated into yet another of my good intentions. I found that I wanted to draw out the story, and to make it even steamier, because I, too, was getting turned on from listening to Diane's responses to my words. It came as a shock to me when I paused for a moment, to see two amazing things: the clock read past 1 A.M., and my bed sheet looked like a tent from my raging erection. Gulp!

"Diane, I've got to stop," I pleaded hoarsely.

"Oh, no, Brad, not just when I'm, er, …, just when your story is almost at its climax." Was that the buzzing of a vibrator that I just heard?

"Listen, Diane, we must stop this right now. If you must know, I've gotten turned on from imagining what you look like and what you're doing while we're talking. Your mind is not the only erogenous zone that is being tickled. I feel as embarrassed as a teenager getting an erection on the dance floor."

"Ooh! How sweet, Brad. Do you really have an erection, or was that just an author's simile?"

"Similes don't leave your pajama bottoms wet, Diane."

"I'm not wearing bottoms, but I have made the sheets wet. And it's all because of you, you darling boy."

"I can't take all the credit, or blame, as the case might be, Diane. I heard enough to know that you've been playing with yourself. I think that's a healthy thing to do, so just have a good time without me. Goodnight, Diane, and I want you to know that it was good for me, too."

I enjoyed hearing Diane's earthy laugh as she hung up. Conscious of my erection and groin urgings, I had a choice of either a cold shower, or giving myself some manual relief. What the hell, I showered in the morning.

Wednesday, I cleaned our condo apartment, and worked on the manuscript sent to me to copy edit. There were several times when the novel (it was a ridiculous bodice ripper) described some sex scene. While I tried to read for editing, I found myself recalling the story that I made up for Diane, and wishing that I would have another chance to describe a scene more like my client author did. The blue pencil chore went slowly that day. At one point, to help keep my mind focused on the manuscript words, and not slip into day-dreaming about what I'd like to say to Diane, I put aside my paid work, and scribbled some of my Diane fantasies on a yellow lined legal pad.

The time invested paid dividends pretty quickly. Surprise! Who do you think called me at 10:00 that evening? I was sitting up in bed, doing a final once-over scan of the edited manuscript before sending it back to the publisher. When the phone rang, I behaved like a lovesick puppy, hearing the master's footsteps at the door. I quickly closed the manuscript, and grabbed the yellow legal pad with my notes (now how do you suppose that it got on my nightstand?).

Once again, Diane and I engaged in our little pillow talk game, only the rules got radically modified. As before, Diane let me initiate the story, and I used one of the fantasy scenarios that I had sketched out earlier in the day. The man/woman characters had met at a social gathering, and were immediately attracted to one another.

"And so John and Marcia entered the hotel room," I said in the course of the story. "After turning on the light, both just stared at the king-sized bed which dominated the room, then looked into each other's eyes."

To further try to capture Diane's imagination, I then asked her to provide some of the story content. "And what do you think that Marcia did just then, Diane?"

"Well, if it were me, I would have excused myself to go to the bathroom, put on some cologne, and got rid of my pantyhose. They're going to get in the way of what Marcia wants from John."

"Er, …, good answer, Diane, 'cause that's exactly what Marcia did. And when she returned from the bathroom, she noticed that John had turned down the blanket and top sheet on the bed, and was sitting in the easy chair on the opposite side of the room."

"Had he taken off his pants?" Diane asked.

"What?"

"His pants. If John was really hot after Marcia's body, he would have shown her by getting down to his skivvies. And please tell me, Brad, that he did take off his shoes and socks before Marcia saw him. A man can't ever look more ridiculous than in shorts with his shoes and socks still on."

"Umm, that's just what John had done, so Marcia saw this handsome, well-built man sexily attired in just his blue silk boxers, no shoes or socks. Then he told Marcia that he wanted to watch her slowly undress, so that he could admire all her feminine charms as they were exposed, one by one."

"Guys really like to see a strip show, don't they?" giggled Diane. "Well, I'll bet that Marcia had the foresight to wear an underwire bra to really push up those gorgeous knockers of hers, plus some lacy thong panties. Sexy underwear does wonders for a woman's feelings, I know. She would face John, who was sitting in the chair, and look deeply into his eyes, and then slowly reach behind her back to unzip her dress. That's what I would have done, anyway. And I would have let it slide over my hips, and puddle on the floor. A graceful step, and John would see my, er, no, her body, clad only in the half-bra and thong panties, plus her spike-heeled strap sandals. If Marcia did that, she and John would have been feeling pretty hot."

I chuckled at Diane's contribution to the story. Her earthiness and openness were beginning to attract me.

"And that's just how it did happen, Diane. John's eyes widened with delight and desire as he looked at Marcia. He felt his male urges warming up his insides, and his cock began to harden, giving him a large bulge for Marcia to notice."

"And Marcia did notice," Diane interjected, picking up on my parody of the bodice-ripper phraseology. "She smiled and licked her lips with anticipation of having John's cock in her mouth. Then she arched her arms behind her back to unhook her bra, letting it slowly slide down her arms to the floor. After letting John get a good look at her naked breasts, she began to tease her nipples to arouse herself."

I responded. "John softly gasped with astonishment at how beautiful were Marcia's breasts, even larger than he had imagined. His cock grew ever harder with desire. Oh, how much he wanted this wonderful, gorgeous woman with the sexy, full mouth to come across the room and fondle his cock."

"And that's just what Marcia did," Diane whispered with growing excitement. "She cupped her breasts with her hands, walked across the room to John, and offered her ripe globes and pink nipples for his mouth to taste and suckle. It felt so good when his tongue teased her nipples, then his teeth lightly nipped at them. Finally, she gently pushed his mouth away from her breasts, and knelt down in front of John. Staring into his eyes, her hands explored his thighs and crotch, until she found his fly to release John's hard cock. Then she began to slowly and teasingly lick around his shaft and head, tasting his salty pre-cum."

I took up the challenge. "John moaned with the pleasure of feeling his cock being licked, and then sucked by Marcia. He encouraged her to continue pleasuring him by riffling his fingers softly through her long, silky hair, sometimes reaching down to caress one of her breasts."

And so on it went, back and forth between Diane and me. It was as if we were making love with each other, but using the code of John and Marcia. We understood that it was safe to disclose any of our most personal fantasies, ones that perhaps we would be afraid to share with a real partner, for fear of disappointment or refusal.

The story-telling foreplay of John and Marcia was felt and appreciated by Diane and me, although we real people were forced to use self-administered replicas of the physical stimulations that we were describing to each other. My hands were constantly on my cock or teasing my nipples while I talked with Diane, and I could hear her vibrator to know that she, too, was masturbating herself to our little tale of lust.

Both of us lasted in our bi-lateral story-telling through John eating Marcia's pussy for her first orgasms, and Marcia sucking John's cock until he came in her mouth. Neither of us, however, could manage either words or control when we progressed to telling how John fucked Marcia, and how she responded. I think that it was I who came first. I was trying to tell Diane how John was feeling just before he came into Marcia, while they were fucking doggie style. My words collapsed into a guttural grunt when my hand action and my mind pushed my cock to spurt a powerful stream of cum. My orgasm continued for three more spurts, and I fell back gasping for breath.

As soon as Diane heard my grunts and panting of coming, she, too, went over the brink, and I could hear her primitive mews and soft screams of pleasure from coming. We both lay still for several minutes, trying to catch our breath, neither one daring to disturb the other. Finally, I risked speaking.

"Diane, are you OK? That was some exciting story we told each other."