Not saying girl
Diane had been corresponding with Jim for a while now. They had exchanged email addresses over the internet and had at first tentatively written to each other, talking about themselves and their every day life, both shy to touch upon the actual subject of the mutual interest that had brought them together: noseblowing. They both knew they shared this fetish, yet somehow they were shy about it. Years of social conditionning had convinced them it was a socially unacceptable subject to bring up, especially with someone you really got on with, as a friend or otherwise. Thus they both skirted the subject until one day, Diane brought it up. She wrote an email about nothing important, and at the end added "Jim, I can't believe that we haven't talked about blowing yet. What are your thoughts on this topic?"
When Jim received this email at first, he wasn't sure how to answer. He honestly liked Diane's witty dialogue and her sense of humour. She had sent him a picture as well some time back and though they had never met, he found her quite attractive. She had boyishly cut red hair and bright green eyes, highlighted by the light dusting of freckles sprinkled over her delicately arched roman nose. The small round glasses she wore gave her a "gamine" look which went well with the teasing grin that stretched her sensuous lips as she looked at the camera.
Looking at her milky skin, he pictured how she would look when she had a bad headcold and couldn't help smiling at how cute she would look, nostrils reddened and blowing her nose hard into a soft white lady's hanky. He knew she lived about hundred miles away from him and, being single and knowing she was as well, the thought of actually meeting her and possibly hitting it off had begun to creep into his mind. He couldn't help worrying that detailing his feelings about noseblowing would put her off as it had done with some of his previous girlfriends when he had brought up the topic.
He gave it some thought and decided to put his feelings in writing. He chose his words carefully, saying that he could remember even as a young boy finding noseblowing "interesting". He would enjoy watching his classmates blow their noses when they had the incredibly messy colds that seem to be perpetual in the school environment. When he reached puberty, this interest had turned into something more sexual and he remembered embarrassing incidents where he had gotten immense and uncontrollable erections watching attractive girls blowing their nose. He carefully omitted details about the time when he had sat through an entire class where the object of one of his schoolboy crushes had blown her nose so hard, wetly, noisily and persistently that he had actually lost control and ejaculated right in the middle of a lecture, turning beet red though no one else around him realized what had happened to him. He was sure that Diane would be rolling on the floor with laughter if he told her that had happened.
He wrote to her about how arousing he thought it was when a woman would take out a delicate handkerchief and blow messily into it, producing a sound akin to a siren's song to his ears. It wielded a peculiar magic over him, turning him deaf and blind to anything but the blower. Just describing the way he got turned on by seing a woman take a handkerchief into both hands and bring it up to her wet nostrils before she drew her face into it and began to empty her clogged passages, he felt flickers of arousal.
He could almost see it has he typed, how fetching Diane would look in such a situation, eyes closed and her delicately shaped nose wrinkled as she filled a pale blue handkerchief with warm snot. Her slender shoulders would hunch from the effort and she would bend forward a bit, her chest heaving beautifully as she would blow noisily time and time again until she could breathe freely, possibly letting out a few feminine sounding sneezes between blows, looking and sounding wonderful. He could feel his member stiffening at the very thought! However, he did not put all this on paper; he simply told Diane that if he were so lucky as to some day meet a woman who could possibly understand these feelings and perhaps even accomodate him, being also attractive to him in other respects, he would truly be in heaven.
Diane received this email and smiled wide as she read it. "He's adorable!" she thought, reading this. His email contained nothing crude or vulgar, yet described feelings close to her own while leaving others unsaid, though she could often guess there was more hidden behind the lines. She liked his style, his particular brand of shyness on the subject, his personality and his attraction to something she also considered very special. And, it must be confessed, she liked the physique behind the text from what she had seen in the picture he had scanned and sent her. In it was a preppy-looking man of average height and build with a bright smile lighting up his intelligent brown eyes. His longish blond hair was slicked back in the picture in a way she thought looked very smart and she couldn't help but notice with a covert smile the handkerchief protruding from his shirt pocket - it felt like a secret wink which only she could understand.
She would have loved to have an animated image of him pulling out that handkerchief and handing it to her, asking her to help him blow his nose. She imagined how she would be only too happy to oblige and would hold it to his nose, pressing her thumb against first one nostril, then the other, as he heartily blew his nose, smiling at her with his teasing smile as he did so. The idea of the warm, slightly sticky feeling of the used handkerchief she was fantasizing about holding was enough to bring stickiness and warmth to her own nether regions and she blushed, supressing a quiet laugh at herself for having such naughty thoughts at the office. She filed this sweet fantasy away in her mind, knowing she just might use it later that night, pleasuring herself before falling asleep.
She read his mail again, delighting in his words anew. Finally, she pressed the "reply" button and began putting together words and sentences to answer him. She wrote down her own feelings about noseblowing, how she would sometimes be on the lookout for strangers with colds or allergies and how sometimes, even thinking about a man sneezing before blowing his nose wetly into a handkerchief, his eyes closed as his lungs struggled to push air out of his clogged passages, she would be surprised at how aroused she would become. Like him, she avoided crude descriptions and comments of a pornographic tone, knowing they both preferred the sweet and tender phrasing of e-erotica. To do otherwise would, in his mind as well she knew, make the whole thing sound dirty and she did not wish to ruin for them what was so special.
As she was about to press the "send" button, she had a thought. She hesitated for a moment before deciding to go with her idea, adding another line at the end of her message. It read:
"P.S. Jim, we've been writing for some time now and seem to be getting on well... think it might be fun to meet up sometime and go for dinner or something?"
She quickly pressed the "send" button after having finished and regretted it immediately. What if he thought she was too forward? She honestly liked writing to him - it was so nice to have someone with whom to share these feelings that seemed like a normal and decent person to whom she could really talk - and did not want to spoil the tenuous link that they had. He seemed like a wonderful guy and, though she knew this was only in her mind, she had been thinking more and more about him and what it would be like to meet him and possibly indulge in a little session of noseblowing a deux.
Jim read her e-mail the next day. He had been wondering what she had thought of his admissions and whether she had been disgusted. He knew it was an ungrounded fear as she shared his interest, but there was still a niggling doubt instilled in his mind by the few women who had told him this was more of a revolting perversion than an interest. The majority hadn't reacted badly, but the few who had had been enough to make him cautious, garded and nervous about the topic.
Hence, it was almost with apprehension that he approached his computer that morning, hoping and at the same time not hoping that he had gotten an answer from Diane. He switched on his email program and drew a sharp breath. There it was: "No Subject" from Diane Strauss. "No subject", he thought, his expelled breath almost a grunt. It could mean anything. Why not write "You are disgusting, don't contact me again" or "This is great, I feel the same way" as a header instead of leaving him in this lingering state? Compelled by his own curiosity, he clicked on the link which would make the message appear on screen. Like a little boy anticipating a rebuke, he shut his eyes tightly before opening them again, feeling silly. Why should he care so much about what a woman he had never met and possibly never would thought of him and his desires?
He opened his eyes and began to read. The tension which had unconsciously built up in his shoulder muscles relaxed and a silly, relieved smile played at the corners of his mouth. She not only understood, but shared feelings similar to his! He grew more animated as he continued reading her own account of how nose blowing affected her, until he reached the poscript and felt blood rushing to his ears and his heart begin to pound.
He had thought about meeting Diane several times but hadn't spoken of it to her, for fear of scaring her off. She had told him she was very cautious with people she met over the Internet and, as she had written once, "There are lots of weird people out there and there is no chance I'd want to meet up face to face with them!" He had agreed with this at the time, even though he'd felt himself to be included in this sweeping statement. To read now that she would like to meet him made his flickering smile grow into a pleased grin. He knew he would love to do so.
He bent over his keyboard and wrote a few lines about how surprised and delighted he was by her invitation. He apologized for seeming overeager, but told her that yes, he would be interested in meeting her, the sooner the better. And then, not quite knowing if this was the right thing to do, he included his personal phone number in his message. "I hope I'm not making a mistake," he thought fleetingly.
He sent the mail and settled down to do some paperwork in his home office. He was already deeply absorbed an hour later when the phone rang. Mechanically, he reached out without looking up, grasping the telephone and bringing it to his ear: "Atwood consultancy, how may I help you?"
"May I speak with Jim please" said a musky female voice with a dash of humour and mischief to it.
"This is Jim speaking, how can I help?" he heard a quiet laugh at the other end of the line and his brown eyes widened. His voice cracked slightly as he asked "Is this... is this Diane?"
"This is Diane speaking, yes. And I sure hope you can help me," she answered, mimicking his opening question. The same quiet laughter came again before she added "this is so strange, isn't it?"
They made a bit of small talk, delighting in this sudden new dimension of interaction, feeling closer than they ever had. Each went from an outline composed of pixels on a screen to being a voice with words, feelings and intonations behind it. They talked and laughed like a couple of teenagers making a fabulous discovery - they were that much closer to becoming real to one another. After a few minutes, Diane took advantage of a lull in the conversation to say:
"Well, I can't talk very long since I am at the office and my employer will be footing the bill. But about what I wrote to you yesterday, about meeting up, you would be interested?"
"Yes!" answered Jim, without hesitation.
"Then tell you what. You won't believe this, but I was just told that I must attend a last-minute business meeting scheduled in your town tomorrow afternoon. Isn't that an amazing coincidence? Would you like to meet up for dinner afterwards before I go back?"
Would he? Did she really need to ask?
"Great idea," said Jim. "I could suggest a place since I know you aren't familiar with Greenswalde... How about if I meet you in the city centre, at the corner of two big streets, say Kingston and Edings, at six o'clock?"
"Kingston... and... Edings... 6 pm..." repeated Diane, obviously making a note of it. "Right! I shall meet you then!" she replied, laughing once more.
They both said goodbye, smiling at each end of the line. Unknowingly mirroring each other's actions though they a hundred miles apart, Jim and Diane sat back in their chairs, arms hanging my their sides and exhaled slowly, feeling blood rush to their cheeks. Diane felt an adrenaline rush as she replayed the conversation in her mind. Jim smiled sweetly like a schoolboy in love and leaned forward, whistling as he started to work again.