Conversations With Jack & Diane
Certain Urges
The Imu (earthen oven) steamed deliciously, the kalua pig
beneath it’s hugging warmth lending a most aromatic flavor to the
surrounding atmosphere.
Jack and Diane sat beneath the makeshift hut of
two-by-fours and tin roof that had been hastily erected over the
hissing pit.
The folding wooden chairs they occupied were hard but
comfortable enough. Beyond the protective cover of the rusted
roof iron a light drizzle shared it’s freshness. The full moon
throbbed in the western sky, a direct contrast to the clouds that
came in off the ocean from the east.
The warmth from the Imu gently washed a calming
heaviness upon Jack and Diane. Both of whom were leisurely
sipping at their own bottle of Corona Extra, with lemon chaser of
course.
“Damn I’m tired,” Diane chuckled. “Digging an Imu is a
lot of work.” She stretched away a pesky kink in her long lovely
neck. “God...” she echoed into the darkness beyond the pit. “I do
feel wonderful though.” She turned her indigo gaze on Jack,
smiling. “Why is that, do you think?” she asked of her quiet
companion.
Jack returned the tired soothing chuckle. “I think it’s an
atavistic response to an instinctual need we all feel to connect our
hunger to the earth.” He leaned back heavily in his seat, chuckling
as he took a long draught of beer.
“Don’t you start with me Jack,” Diane warned, her
beautiful face flushed with the heat of the cooking pit. Her smile
dazzling in the glint of the moonlight.
“Well whatta you expect,” Jack shrugged. “My brain is on
empty after all that physical exertion. Geeez,” he protested
weakly. “I’m too damned old for this kind of hard labor. I need a
massage.” He looked over at Diane. “Hint, hint!” he laughed.
“Keep your hints to yourself,” she quipped. “I’m much too
tired love. Besides,” she proclaimed. “I did most of the work
anyway. If anyone deserves a massage, it’s me.” She smiled one
of her seductive smiles.
Jack took to his feet with a slow groan, setting his beer on
the ground. He moved over behind Diane’s chair, his fingers
lovingly kneading into her moaning shoulders.
“Mind you,” he explained softly, leaning his face against
Diane’s ear, the sweet fragrance of her hair firing his thoughts. “I
do this not because I agree with your assessment of the quantity
distribution of the workload, but because I enjoy the feel of you
against my fingers.” He kissed her moist cheek.
She touched one of his massaging hands with a light,
brushing stroke. “Ohhh...love, that feels so wonderful. Thank
you...”
“My pleasure,” Jack smiled, enjoying the undulating
appreciation of her muscles beneath his touch.
“You know Jack,” she said softly, her voice low and raspy,
but still as pure as a song. “I think you just might be right for
once. Perhaps we do have an atavistic need to be connected to
that...” She gestured toward the mound of canvas covered earth,
wisps of aromatic smoke rising intermittently from it’s heated
confines.
“Oh really,” Jack shrugged smuggly, his fingers digging
into a sinewy muscle on Diane’s slender neck.
“Ahhh,” she moaned with sheer delight. “You sure know
how to please a lady love,” she chuckled, her body tingling with a
soothing pleasure.
“I aim to please,” Jack assured her, brushing her long flaxen
hair over her shoulder onto her heaving chest. “Go on sweetie,” he
urged. “Tell me more about our insticntual connection to that
which now cooks beneath the good dirt.”
“Alright,” she sighed, her eyes closed in grateful repose. “I
shall do just that.” She moaned softly as Jack hit another
sweet-spot with his magic fingers. “I think that the ancient
Hawaiians knew exactly what they were doing when they first
started this process of earthen cooking.”
“And why is that milady,” Jack sought to extract, gently
carressing his best friend’s smooth shoulders.
“Because,” Diane whispered, her voice catching in her
throat for a moment. “Because of the way we can all relate to the
womb of what we experience when we use this method of
sustenance preparation.”
“Geez Diane. Speak english will ya,” Jack demanded.
“It’s hard enough concentrating when you’re making sense. But
trying to follow your logic, and I use that term very loosely, when
you babble is nearly impossible.”
“Hard to concentrate huh?” she asked with feigned
coyness. “And why might you be having difficulty with your
concentration Jack?” she posed, her cerulean gaze turning up toward
Jack, a smile covering her lips.
His eyes swept over the length of her supple body. “Never
mind,” he exhaled. “Please continue.”
Diane laughed, winking up at her flustered friend.
“Control yourself Jack,” she warned. “Or I may just have to let
you do to me what your horny little heart desires.”
He leaned over next to her ear again. “What my horny
little heart desires, your soul could never resist...”
“Resistance is not what I had in mind Jack,” she offered
openly.
“Don’t tease me Di,” he whispered, his breath hot on her
flawless face.
Her eyes met his. “I’m not Jack,” she assured him.
Their lips touched slowly, the warmth and sweetness of
their desires rising to a boil.
POP!!!
“What the hell was that!?” Jack shouted, their heated
embrace breaking as he rose.
“A warning from one of the embers...” Diane shrugged, her
breath still coming in short gasps. She turned her gaze on him.
“And not a moment too soon...”
“Indeed,” Jack agreed, moving away from Diane altogether
as he returned to his own chair, immediately retrieving his
warming bottle of beer. Silence lingered for a few minutes.
“What the hell just happened?” Diane finally inquired, her
eyes on the steaming mound.
“I think our atavistic yearnings went just a bit too far,” Jack
offered, his gaze on the throbbing mound as well.
“Yes...” Diane agreed. “As with the ancient Hawaiians, we
to have discovered how strong our need to connect with our basic
instincts are. They connected with this form of culinary discipline
for the link it provides to the womb of their creation. As we did in
a moment of warmth and blissful regression. But as usual,” she
added. “The sexual repression that we force onto our relationship
was seeking an avenue for expression.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Jack agreed, sipping noisily on his
beer.
“Really?” Diane probed hopefully.
Jack shrugged. “Well I do agree,” he began. “That there is
a degree of sexual tension between us.” He took another sip of
warm beer. “But nothing we can’t control...”
Diane nodded slowly, her eyes still on the hazy mound.
“How long do you expect the control will hold out?” she asked
softly.
“Not much longer...” Jack surmised, his gaze joining her's
on the smoky mound.
With practiced silence, they both let the tide of their desires
subside.
The End
Unpublished Works © 1997 GJB
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