The Honeymoon

 

 

Foreword and Acknowledgements

 

 

                You may notice the lack of content warning on this story. It’s one of the only ones. For this I decided to do something a little lighter and more cheerful. It’s one of the last things I ever published, and was based on eyewitness testimonies I’d read but, at the time, had no personal experience with. (And I mean no experience. You may recall, from my other forewords, that I wrote these stories partially to compensate for the fact that I was a single virgin, which meant that a sex story about marriage was completely outside my lived experience. Well, I was in a relationship for about a year in ‘06 and ‘07 – it’s what inspired me to write The First Ninety Days – but both marriage and sexual activity eluded me until the 2010s.) Despite this, I am both delighted and horrified to report that readers wrote back to me after this story was published and confirmed that it 100% resonated with their own lived experiences. That’s part of why I wrote it: to draw attention to this particular issue. (I’ve realized I did a lot of activism through fiction during those days.)

                The one thing that isn’t even vaguely accurate about this story was the way in which the main character’s switch just finally turned on. If I’m honest, this was totally down to laziness: while having her continue to struggle would have been much more realistic, it also would have been not only a chore to write but not particularly fun to read. If fiction has to choose between a boring truth and an entertaining lie, it is best served by choosing the lie, and that is what I did, but I’ve always been sad that I could not figure out a way to make the truth entertaining in this particular case.

                As a reminder, all these were originally released (for free) via the internet, first at the now-defunct ASSTR.org and eventually at Lazeez Jidan’s storiesonline.net. This meant that readers could write back when they found problems or typos. Big thank-yous to readers “lacewhy,” “steveh11” and “Rick in Eureka MO” for providing such corrections. Any remaining typos or factual errors are due to my best efforts, not theirs.

 

Image provided by istockphoto.com.

 

 

Chapter 1

 

 

                When Amanda Daniels woke up, she thought, Oh, that's right, I'm Amanda Greer now. The thought made her inordinately happy.

                Patrick was still asleep, his arm flung carelessly to one side; she remembered several elbows in the night. Around her was the paneled majesty of the bridal suite: they had curtains and a four-poster bed and even a jacuzzi. Kerri had insisted they take it; she and Winston were in a presidential suite one level down. Amanda was grateful, but she was a creature of habit; sleeping in new places was difficult for her.

                The overall decorative motif for the bridal suite was white, with lace ruffles here and there and touches of both cream and pink to set it all off. The pure, untouched colorings were ironic, considering what it had been mostly used for last night. Patrick's hands had been all over her. All over her, for the first time. She still wasn't wearing anything. That had been another uncomfortable new thing to learn to live with. That, and Patrick's elbows and knees as he rolled in his sleep; and his mouth-breathing, this close to being snoring. And his arms around her in the night, his heartbeat against her back too; those were more pleasant to adapt to.

                He began to stir, and she leaned down to kiss him awake. "Good morning," she said.

                "Good morning," he said. It made her heart dance in her breast to hear it—she had heard the words before, from many different people, even from Patrick on occasion; but never first thing in the morning, from the mouth of her husband and love of her life. "What time is it?"

                "Time to get up," she said. "Remember? We said we'd meet the Kollaths at nine for the continental breakfast, and our flight leaves at one."

                "Hzmrgh," he mumbled. He rolled over and buried his face in a pillow. "Five more minutes..."

                "Come on, dozy-toes," she said, kissing his shoulders, his back, his neck. "Up and at 'em." It took her a little while, but she got him on his feet, and then shoveled him in the shower while she packed up the clothes they had left strewn around the floor last night. This was her wedding dress; she wanted to keep it for the rest of her life. "Why don't you come in with me," he asked when she pushed him in the shower, but she ignored him. Shower with him? What a silly idea. She had the whole area packed up and ready to go by the time he got out, and she jumped in and showered quickly. Leaving her dark hair unbound—it would dry faster that way, and besides Patrick liked it loose—she scampered out to dress.

                As she got herself decently clothed, Patrick approached. To her surprise, he wasn't wearing anything yet. "We're awake," he said, "but I haven't had a chance to say good morning to you properly." He scooped her into his arms and gave her a long, lingering kiss. He was quite a bit taller than her, but she was long used to rising up on tippy-toes to reach him, knowing that he would be there to catch her if she fell.

                "Good morning, Mrs. Greer," he said, smiling.

                "Good morning, Mr. Greer," she returned. "We finally made it."

                "We did," he said. "There were some rough spots this week, what with flowers and all—"

                "Ugh, god, don't remind me."

                "—but we made it. And here we are." He reached down to kiss her again, and she let herself melt into his embrace, her arms around his neck.

                "I liked what we did last night," he said, and she became suddenly aware of his manhood bumping against her belly. Now his nudity made sense.

                "Baby, I love you, but, we don't have time," she said. "We have to be downstairs in ten minutes."

                "They can wait," he said, his voice husky. Their foreheads were together and his eyes were inches from her own.

                "Honey, I don't want to be late," she said. "That's not a good way to start off our marriage. Besides, we'll have time tonight... And every night for the rest of our lives."

                He gave a sigh. "All right. But I'm holding you to that, darling." His hand drifted lower, squeezed her rear gently. "I want you."

                She smiled. "And I you."

                As he bent next to her to dig clothing out of his bag, she allowed herself to look over his body—tall (over six feet), well-muscled, with a firm behind, a narrow waist leading up to broad shoulders. He had been in the Marines. She wished she could feel desire for him, but she didn't know how. She knew he had been looking forward to the consummation. If only she could've said the same.

                Kerri and Winston were already waiting down in the lobby for them. Amanda greeted them with smiles and kisses—after all, they were practically family. "Good morning, Mrs. Kollath."

                Kerri laughed. "Who? What? Winnie's mom is here? Where?"

                Kerri and Amanda had been flung together by the random chance of freshman roommate assignments. Now Amanda thought of Kerri as less a best friend and more a sister. When both of them became engaged within a month of each other, it was Kerri's idea to have a joint wedding, but Amanda liked it, and both their fiancés were amenable. Patrick and Winston had never been quite as close, but they were friends and got along fine.

                "Well, come on then, Mrs. Greer," Kerri chirped, grabbing both Amanda and Winston by the hand; Amanda caught Patrick with her free hand, tugging him along. "Breakfast awaits, and then the honeymoon! A week's worth of tropical paradise with nothing to hold us back!" Kerri was a small, neat blonde with a pixie haircut and bubbly, effervescent personality; she had a way of making Amanda feel middle-aged by comparison. Patrick had never once complained, but she had a hunch that he might've traded her body's for Kerri if the option had existed; Kerri had the slim, practically anorexic look that was so in fashion today, while Amanda had to fight the fat and her raven hair to look attractive.

                Patrick and Winston could not have been more different either. Winston was not nearly as tall and had a sloppy, unshaven rock-star look to him. He wore glasses, and corduroys and collared shirts, but she knew Patrick could never have done that sort of look; she was still fighting him to grow his hair out past five centimeters. She liked having male hair to play with, something Winston had in abundance.

                "So, how was your evening?" Kerri asked with a playful grin.

                Amanda glanced at Patrick. "It was lovely," she said, self-conscious. "We went upstairs and, umm, made ourselves comfortable... And then we went to sleep." That was about as close as she was going to get to admitting in public that she and her husband had had sex last night.

                Kerri had no such compunctions. "Oh, 'made yourselves comfortable,' is that what they're calling it nowadays?" She giggled. "Winston and I just had sex. You know, same old same old. Didn't need any new names for it."

                Amanda could feel her face redden. To deter the inevitable question, she said, "How was it? Any good?" On the list of things she would rather not discuss over breakfast, Winston and Kerri's sex life was near the top of the list—just under the topic of her sex life with Patrick.

                "Oh, girl, you would not believe!" said Kerri. "He made me climax so hard my toes are still curled! People probably heard me down the hall!" She giggled again.

                Amanda nodded and smiled and tried to look knowledgeable. Kerri spoke often of this mythical 'climax' thing, which evidently was the most awesome thing since sliced bread. Amanda had no idea personally what it was, since Kerri just took it for granted. The best thing Amanda could do, as far as she could tell, was just play along.

                One of the reasons Amanda valued her friend so much was that Kerri had so many different opinions from her. Sex was one of them. Amanda was a devout Christian who had decided to wait until marriage; Patrick, who had lost his virginity in the Marines, had the patience to wait. But Kerri and Winston had been doing it practically since day one, much to Patrick's envy. The way they talked about it was a complete mystery to Amanda. Wasn't it true that sex was a dirty, sinful thing, and should only be engaged in to strengthen the bonds of marriage, and in the hope of children? Personally, Amanda didn't understand how Patrick putting his thingie into her whathaveyou had 'strengthened' their marriage—he had gasped and made faces and strained as if something were painful, while she had wondered what was going on. But Patrick had liked it, since he wanted to do it again. She knew there was more going on here than she was aware of; that wasn't news. But she wished she knew what.

                They ate while they chattered about the vacation ahead; fortunately, Kerri seemed to have satisfied her need to discuss the details of her and Winston's intimate life. And before long, they were handing over their luggage at the airport, and the plane was leaping into the sky. Amanda had never flown before, and Kerri willingly passed up the window seat to her.

                The seating arrangements were a moment of tension; they had booked two rows of two, but Kerri requested that she be allowed to sit with Amanda. "I know you just got your hands on her, Patrick, but you'll have that for the rest of your life. Right now we've got girl talk to get done. And wouldn't you rather us do that now, then later when we're on the ground?" Patrick relented with good grace, laughing when Winston pointed out that they could likewise have 'guy talk,' and so when Amanda flew for the first time in her life, it was with her sister at her side, not her husband.

                "So," Kerri said, setting her cocktail glass down on the unfolded tray table and turning to face her. "How was it?"

                Amanda feigned ignorance, hoping she'd be deterred. "How was what?"

                "You know, silly!" Kerri dropped her voice as low as it could get (not very) and put on an expression of mock solemnity. "The consummation."

                Amanda stifled a sigh. If it had to happen, let it happen quickly. "Oh, it was... It was fine. Very pleasant." She took a sip of her Coke to avoid looking at Kerri's scandalized expression.

                " 'Very pleasant'? Your consummation, your de-virginalization, the first sex of your life and all you can say is that it was 'very pleasant'?"

                "Well, what's to say?" Amanda said. "We kissed, he put his hands on my body, he put his thing in me, and that was that."

                Kerri's expression was something to behold. For a moment she debated turning to Patrick and asking for the camera.

                "Girl, I know you were a virgin, but he wasn't. And besides, It's your husband. Come on. You're making love to the man of your life. Didn't you feel more than that?"

                Amanda shrugged.

                "God, at least say he made you cum."

                The terminology escaped her. "...Made me what?"

                "Made you orgasm."

                Amanda blinked at her.

                "Climax? Made you climax?"

                "Umm... Yeah," Amanda lied, grasping at straws. "Yeah, it was... great."

                "Amanda, you don't even know what that word means, do you." It wasn't a question.

                Amanda sighed. "Look, I'm not... Kerri, I'm not like you, okay? You're all... You and Winston have sex, a lot, and I know that. That's just not who I am."

                "Maybe, but that doesn't mean it's okay to not enjoy it," Kerri said.

                "I... I did enjoy it," Amanda protested.

                Kerri arched an eyebrow.

                "Look, can we drop it, okay?" Amanda said. "This isn't important."

                "Yes it is," Kerri said, and to Amanda's surprise her voice was not angry. It was sad. "Hon, it is important that you enjoy sex. It's one of the most miraculous things you'll ever do with your husband, and one of the most intimate. You'll see parts of him and learn things about him that nobody else ever will. You'll get to do things to him that are incredibly special, and have incredibly special things done to you in return. To speak your language, it's part of what God wants you to share with your husband. And you plan to tell me that it's not important that you share it?"

                "Okay, fine," Amanda said, to get Kerri off her case. "How do I enjoy it."

                She was surprised when Kerri entered a thoughtful silence. She chewed on the straw of her cocktail before handing the drink to Amanda and standing up to look over the back of the airline chair. "Pat, honey?"

                "Yes, Kerri?"

                "Does Amanda masturbate?"

                Amanda felt her jaw drop. To just ask that, so brazenly—and of her husband! Surely Patrick would have the sense to not answer. But no, his voice came back quickly, even over the rushing din of the air flowing by outside. "No, not to my knowledge."

                "To your knowledge, has she ever climaxed?"

                "Not to my knowledge, no."

                "All right. Thanks, handsome." That was Kerri's way—to flirt with, well, just about everybody. She settled back into her seat again and regarded Amanda with a mixture of speculation and pity.

                Amanda felt a twinge of worry in her gut. "Do you really think this is important, Ker?"

                "Yeah, Mandy, I do," Kerri said. "To your happiness and to your marriage."

                Amanda sighed. "Well... Then, tell me. Tell me what to do."

                "What do you think I'm trying to figure out," Kerri said with a hint of a smile. "A crash course on human sexuality. Not an easy subject. Did your parents ever talk to you about it? I mean, I bet you got the birds-and-the-bees thing."

                "Yeah."

                "And, if not, you'd know about it by now, since it just went on in your body last night."

                Oh, that aspect of the birds and the bees. "Right." She'd have preferred to ignore that part.

                "What did your parents say when they caught you masturbating?" Kerri asked.

                Amanda shrugged. "They never did."

                "Wait, so, you were good at sneaking about it?" said Kerri. "But if that's true, then how come... Oh. Right. You just didn't, at all. Ho boy. All right, umm... Did they have anything to say to you about sex in the context of marriage? I mean, obviously they told you not to have it until you got married."

                Amanda nodded.

                "Did they say anything about becoming sexual?"

                "What?"

                "I mean, like, they discouraged masturbation, right?"

                "Well... Yeah. It's right there in the Bible, the sin of Onan."

                "And yet they said that you're supposed to enjoy sex with your husband?"

                "Well... Yeah. I mean, they said I should find it pleasurable and to talk with our pastor if I didn't."

                Kerri ejected a snort. "Typical Christian hypocrisy!"

                "Hey!" said Amanda, who was proud to be Christian.

                "Discouraging you from having a healthy sex life and then criticizing you for not doing it anyway. Boy, these wise people."

                "Kerri, what on earth are you saying? Are you saying that, to enjoy sex, I have to masturbate? That's... That's a silly thought."

                "Why?" said Kerri. "The female sexual response can be difficult to engage. It needs practice."

                "So what?" said Amanda. "Patrick and I will practice. Besides, we did it last night; it's not like it didn't work."

                "Mandy, just because it worked doesn't mean you have a healthy sex life. That just means your sex life exists."

                "And what's wrong with that?"

                "Oh, so, you can't imagine it getting any better, can you? You look forward to doing that every day with Patrick for the rest of your life, do you?"

                The second remark hit a little too close to home. Unfortunately, it was also dead on. "No, Kerri. I can't imagine it getting any better. How could I? I have zero experience with all this. That's what you're stumbling over, isn't it?"

                "It is," Kerri sighed. "And, no, I don't know what to do. You remember the rules of math: one is infinitely larger than zero. And the first step is the same. But, sweetie, it can be better. It can be so much better."

                Amanda couldn't deny that better sex would make the whole thing palatable. But she did have her pride. Besides, all of this seemed like a lot of trouble. This whole masturbation thing—silly. Why bother? Sex was something she had lived without for almost thirty years, and she didn't feel like there had been any reduction in her quality of life because of its absence. How could anyone claim that adding it would cause things to get worse? Clearly, that would be untrue. Things would work themselves out—tonight, even!—and she wouldn't have to lift a finger about it.

                Of course, that theory was put to the test within twelve hours.

                They had landed at the airport and retrieved their luggage; they had taken an airport van to the hotel, a gorgeous resort in scroll-worked stone and classic pillars. They had checked into their shared suite, and spent the afternoon and evening exploring the resort itself—swimming pools in lagoon shapes connected by waterfalls; tropical birds flapping in and out amongst the open architecture; too many dining establishments and styles of cuisine to choose from; an infinity of white sand and a beach teeming with life, both aquatic and sapient. But now the exploration was over, the evening meal had been consumed, and it was time to retreat back to their rooms for more private pursuits. Amanda had been married for 27 hours.

                The door had barely closed behind them that Patrick was moving in on her. He scooped her into his arms and kissed her repeatedly: "I—have been—waiting for this—all day."

                "Have you nmmfff. Have you now."

                He kept kissing her. "On the plane—when Winston and I were talking—he gave me—all sorts of ideas—to do to you."

                "Is that snnmmmff. Is that so." Inwardly she stifled a sigh of despair. Was she the only person in this suite who wasn't thinking about sex 24/7?

                "Yes." His kisses were becoming longer as he drew her further into the circle of his arms, their bodies beginning to meld together. "And now... I get to try... Some of them out."

                "Well..." She interposed a finger between her lips and his, so that her next line could have its full impact: "I'm yours, to do with what you will."

                The smile he gave made his eyes seem to smolder. "Hmm. Just what I was hoping to hear."

                For a little while they just kissed, lip on lip, arm in arm, and she counseled herself to relax. This was something she knew. She remembered their first kiss, at the end of their first date, and how she had pressed herself against the door after it closed, a delighted smile on her face, looking forward to the day when she could kiss him again. He was so tall, so broad of shoulder, but she never felt an urge to cower before him; he was like a shelter, a broad-branched tree, for her to nestle herself against and be protected.

                To her surprise, he started below. His hand had been roaming up and down her body, but now one of them insinuated itself underneath her skirt, cupping one of her buttocks. The skirt was elastic; in a moment it was sliding down her legs. Hadn't he always paid more attention to her breasts while they were dating? But then again, she'd been wearing the white tennis skirt he'd always said made her look perfect; perhaps she shouldn't have been surprised.

                Next to go was her shirt, the open-collared one in the forest green; she knew he liked it because of the way it accented her breasts when he looked down at her from the side. Finally, he reached around and let loose her hair, tossing the clip off to one side. Now she had nothing on except her bra and panties, while he was still fully clothed. Smiling, she turned the tables by doing the same to him—running her hands and her nails over his skin, tracing the lines of his muscles and ribs. He didn't keep himself in quite as fantastic shape as he had when she first met him, fresh off his final tour of duty, but there was still a lot there to be found. Then, teasingly, she unbuttoned his shorts and let them drop, running her hands down the front of his legs; he was wearing some slick polyester-type material for boxers. Stepping close to kiss him, she smelled male sweat and warm flesh.

                Now he dropped to his knees in front of her, kissing her stomach, trailing his way down. It was ticklish, but good at the same time; she had always enjoyed playing with his body, his back and shoulders and the pliant flesh of his large hands. And she liked it when he did the same to her. It lit a tingling feeling inside her, an almost sinful level of relaxation, and comfort too—comfort in the hands of her man, knowing that nothing could ever hurt her while he watched over her.

                It was when he started kissing her underwear that she started to giggle a little.

                "What?" he said.

                "Well... Why are you doing that? It's just cotton, it can't taste very good. And it's not a body part on me, so I don't feel anything."

                "Well, it was an idea," he said. "We're supposed to experiment with each other, you know."

                She giggled again. "Well, you can cross that one off the list."

                He started kissing her tummy again, making her wonder if there was something about that area she should know about. This time, though, he began by stripping off her panties entire; now she was bare except for her bra. He let his kisses follow the contours of her body, down the curve of her hips and then down the crease leading inwards to her private area. Instead of going there, though, he made a detour down her left thigh, planting tickly kisses all over it. Then he moved to her other leg.

                She watched his wanderings with growing amusement. It felt pleasant, sure, but... "Is this supposed to be going somewhere?"

                "Well, with any luck, it's supposed to get you hot," he said. He gave her a smile, but she could sense his impatience.

                "Maybe you should do what you did yesterday," she said. "That seemed to work."

                He shrugged as he came to his feet. "I guess." Then, without warning, he scooped her up and carried to the bed. She gave a yelp of protest, but almost before she could react, he had plonked her down.

                "Patrick! Unless you want your wife and the mother of your children to die of a heart attack long before any of that ever happens, you should warn me before you do that!"

                He gave another casual shrug. "I just picked you up. You should learn to relax more, Amanda."

                When I'm being manhandled by this giant ape of a husband of mine? she thought, but she kept it to herself.

                He reclined on the bed next to her, and then reached to pull her lips down to his. She submerged her irritation. Relax, he'd said. Fine, she'd try to relax. She heard the whoosh of the sea outside, barely audible through the closed windows, and the hum of the air conditioner; she felt the scratchy cotton of the bedspread under her elbow, the heat of Patrick's hand in the small of her back. Her breasts were at an angle, a little bit uncomfortable in their bra.

                He must have noticed, because his hand moved higher; and just like that, she was naked, her breasts now hanging free. She stifled an urge to cover them with a hand. That was an appropriate response to just about anyone else in the world... But before her was the one man to whom she should make an exception. She wondered what he thought about them. They were heavy and large—one upside to weighing as much as she did—but she thought they were too veiny, the skin too translucent. Surely he must prefer... What else could breasts be like? She didn't know, but surely he must prefer them.

                Last night he had started with her breasts, and she knew he would move there eventually. She didn't know how to think of the feeling—a deep pulling sensation that seemed to go all the way down inside her, as though her breast was searching for milk for him. Would it be like that when a child suckled there eventually?—a child, hers and Patrick's, born out of union of sperm and egg and grown in her womb from his seed. She wanted one someday, and knew he did too. But they'd never get there if they couldn't figure this out first.

                He laid her down to her back on the bed, leaning over her, kissing his way around her breast. Then he switched to the other one and repeated the same treatment—kisses, speckling the surface of her breast (now flattened by the tyranny of gravity), before laying one perfect kiss on her nipple, followed by his lips closing around it to suck in earnest. She felt again the deep pulling sensation, a little pleasurable, a little painful. She wondered what other women's nipples were like; hers seemed small to her.

                "Just relax," he said to her.

                "I am relaxing," she said, giving him a cheery smile. And it was true. She was relaxing, or at least trying to as best she could; it wasn't her fault that all these other things were whizzing through her head.

                He gave a noise of skeptical assent, but he didn't stop.

                Eventually he tired of her breasts and began to kiss his way down her stomach again. This time he did not detour around to her legs; this time he went straight between them, and for the first time she felt the sensation of his lips on her lips. They felt a little cold and fishy; even his breath, warm against the soft skin of her privates, grew cool where he had kissed. She felt his lips wandering, and then (of all things) his hands reaching up to the insides of her hips, to pull her private parts open (she spread her legs obligingly to give him room). Then she felt kisses—gentle ones, like the wings of a butterfly, more gentle than she'd thought possible—sprinkled across the terrain of her privates. It was ticklish there, but also—and there was no other way to describe it—red, in a strange uncomfortable way; it made her wiggle on the bed, made her feel like the skin of her hips had shifted like a pair of pants. It was a strange feeling, and she wasn't sure she liked it.

                He looked up at her. "You're not relaxing."

                "What makes you say that?" she said.

                "Because something should be happening by now."

                "Oh? What?"

                Patrick covered his face with a hand.

                "Patrick, what should be happening?"

                He let his hand fall away. "Does it feel anything when I do this to you? Do you feel anything?"

                "Well, yes," she said, "I feel you sucking on my nipple."

                "Is there anything else?" he said.

                "Umm..." She cast back through the last thirty hours—her entire life's experience with sex. "No, not particularly."

                "Not last night either."

                "No, umm... Well, when you put it in me, there was feeling. It was... Interesting."

                Patrick's eyes screwed shut. " 'Interesting'."

                "Honey, what's wrong?" she said, sitting up. (Unnoticed, her arm covered her breasts.)

                "I..." He sighed. "Nothing. Nothing at all. Come on, baby, let's go to bed."

                "But I thought... I thought we were going to have sex."

                "Well, I hoped so too," he grumbled, "but if you're not..."

                "Honey, this is what it was like yesterday," she said, reaching out to stroke his cheek with a hand. "We did it yesterday. I don't see any reason why we can't... Why you can't just go ahead and... I mean, we did it yesterday."

                He made a grimace. "Maybe we did yesterday, but today it... I couldn't. Not today. Not knowing that..." He sighed. "I mean, look at me, I'm not even hard right now."

                She looked and saw that it was true. That was troubling. When they dated, when they kissed... His erection had become so ubiquitous during those times that she'd almost stopped noticing it. For him to be so disenchanted now...

                "Look, just... I'll talk to Winston tomorrow, and you talk to Kerri. Okay?"

                "Okay," she said, feeling frightened. She'd had no idea that his happiness was so bound up in something she herself could not control. "I'll..." Needing to say something, needing to give him something more: "Anything for you."

                He gave a wan smile at that.

                "I love you," she said.

                "I know," he said. "And I love you too."

                "If you love me," she said, "and if I love you, then I don't... Love is all you need for sex, isn't it?"

                "Maybe in the fairy tales," he said, and kissed her again.

                Because of the church's rules on cohabitation, they had never slept in the same bed during their courtship. It was something she knew she would enjoy—hearing his breathing in the dark, being able to look over and see him when she woke up. And it was comforting to be there, his arms wrapped around her, the warm lub-dub of his heart against her back. But it was a long time before she could sleep that night.

 

 

Chapter 2

 

 

                In the morning, Patrick engineered an excuse to get Winston alone. It actually wasn't much of an excuse; both of them loved golfing. But the end result was that Amanda had Kerri all to herself. She was scared she'd get all sorts of grilling from Kerri over breakfast, but maybe Patrick had stopped that too: Winston took his wife aside for a palm-cupped comment, and suddenly sex was the furthest thing from Kerri's mind; it was like a personality transplant had happened. Amanda didn't know what the clinical definition of nymphomania was, but she was convinced Kerri was one anyway. But the reckoning could only be delayed, not averted completely; after breakfast and kissing their husbands goodbye, they retreated back to the suite for their discussion.

                "So, Winston tells me there were some problems last night," Kerri said.

                "Yeah," said Amanda.

                She told the whole story from beginning to end—it didn't take long, since of course the whole problem was that nothing had happened. Kerri, to her credit, kept her comments to herself, limiting her responses to nodding and gesturing for Amanda to go on. And once Amanda was done, Kerri stood up and came over to her and wrapped her in a hug. "Oh, you poor thing," she said. "I can't even imagine how I'd feel if I couldn't satisfy my man."

                "You were completely right," Amanda mumbled. "You were completely right. Because I can't satisfy him, not... Not like..." Not if her body refused to work the way it was supposed to. "God, I feel so damaged."

                "Why?" said Kerri.

                "Well, just... Why doesn't my body work right? Nobody else has problems like this when they get married."

                "Well..." said Kerri. "Actually, hon, I don't know about that."

                "What do you mean?"

                Kerri sat down on the sofa next to her. "Well... Do you remember back when you first heard about the birds and the bees, and what was involved?"

                Amanda had been ten years old, in a 5th-grade public-school classroom. She had learned via the school district's mandatory sex-ed program. "Yeah."

                "Do you remember how weird it sounded?"

                "What?"

                "I mean, seriously, Mandy. It's a weird thing. A man takes his penis and he does what with it? It gets hard? And then he puts that dirty thing in my dirty thing, and somehow this makes babies happen? How bizarre can you get?"

                Now that Amanda thought about it, she could indeed remember having thoughts along those lines. "Yeah, I see what you mean. And I could never figure out just why anyone would want to do that. Like, voluntarily. ...Come to think of it, I still can't."

                Kerri poked her gently on the nose. "Bingo."

                "What?"

                "I think we're getting to the source of your problem."

                Amanda tilted her head.

                "Did you ever ask your teachers why people would want to have sex? Did you ever ask anyone?"

                Amanda shook her head.

                "Me neither. Nor did anybody in my classroom. I had a hunch that the teachers wouldn't tell me—I mean, this was all dirty stuff, you know? About private parts. Of course they aren't going to tell me anything. Plus, you know—bunch of ten-year-olds trying to be grown-up, trying to look like they know what's being talked about. You remember how it was.

                "But I had an advantage. I was able to learn why people would do it, voluntarily."

                "Why?" said Amanda. "Did you do it?"

                "No," said Kerri. "I started masturbating.

                "My mom had told me all the stuff we always get—you know, wipe forward so you don't get an infection, don't let the boys touch, babies come out of there, things like that. When I started my first period in sixth grade, I knew what was going on. But eventually I learned that my private parts were good for something else. I wasn’t even sure, at the time, that my mom knew this about her body… but I learned that, if I touched myself in certain ways, I could make myself feel really good."

                Amanda, who was genre-savvy enough to see where this was going, said, "And you didn't think your mom knew about it? Even though she'd had enough sex to have you and your siblings?"

                "Well, like I said, I didn't make the connection until later," said Kerri with an artless shrug. "And even then, it wasn't until I had the chance to do some research on the Internet that I understood what was going on. I was wondering what they meant by 'oral sex,' and that led to the clitoris, and— Well, whatever, you don't need to hear about my wiki walk. The point is that, eventually—like, four or five years later—I started to understand why people would voluntarily undergo intercourse."

                "Because of the stuff that made you feel good."

                "Right. I realized that that response, that feel-good part of my body, would be involved in sex. I realized that sex would—or at least was supposed to—feel good. And that realization was enough to get me into real sex, where I started finding out about the emotional stuff."

                "There's emotional—? Never mind, I'll find out about that once I get there, I guess. So, how come I'm broken?"

                "Hey." Kerri took her by the chin and made her look up at her face. "You're not broken. Don't give me that crap, Amanda. You're not broken and you know it. That's the whole point—that you're not broken."

                "Then why doesn't it work?"

                "Well, that's what I just went through a whole storytelling session to explain. I think that it doesn't work because you never had the chance to make that connection. Because that's the thing, the thing that's been such a defining factor of female sexuality throughout all of history: it's completely possible for a woman to go through her entire life without ever having an orgasm—much less a healthy enjoyment of sex."

                Amanda felt a surge of indignance—and then a spike of amusement. I was going to be one of those women, without ever knowing I was one. Why am I so angry? "Why is that? What's the difference between a man's orgasm and a woman's?"

                Kerri peered at her. "You know men have orgasms?"

                Amanda gave her a look. "I'm not that oblivious. I know that a man needs to have an orgasm to ejaculate sperm and semen." She decided not to mention that it was mostly Patrick who had taught her this. That part of her wedding night, at least, she had known about.

                Kerri shrugged. "Coulda fooled me." Before Amanda could protest, she continued: "The difference between men's orgasms and women's are that, number one, a woman's orgasm is a lot stronger. Women climax harder. We don't know why, it's just known. The second is that pregnancy doesn't require the woman to climax, only the man. There's no equivalent or whatever where a woman has a physical deposit of genetic material. In fact, if you wanna get down to it, scientists aren't yet sure why women have orgasms. It seems to contribute nothing from a biological standpoint."

                "Weird," said Amanda.

                "Yeah. Now, quality-of-life standpoint, on the other hand... But that's not really what science concerns itself with. The point that concerns us is that young boys are encouraged to explore their sexuality, or at least not discouraged from it. Young girls, on the other hand, are supposed to keep their hands out of their pants and not know anything about their sexuality at all. At least, until they get married."

                "Well, speaking only for myself, that's not working out too well."

                "I know. Our culture is backwards about sex in so many ways."

                "So, what should I do?"

                "At this point?" said Kerri. "I think what's warranted is a two-phase plan of attack."

                "Okay," said Amanda. "What's the first phase?"

                "The first phase is, we're going to the spa," Kerri said, waving her credit card with a wolfish grin. "W're gonna get you exfoliant and luxuriant and feeling good about yourself. Maybe go do a little shopping too."

                "I like this plan," Amanda said, grinning. "What's phase two?"

                "Phase two is, we get you some privacy and you start to explore."

                "Explore what?" Amanda said.

                Kerri fixed a deliberate look on Amanda's crotch.

                "...What?" said Amanda, apprehensive.

                "Hon, we already talked about the crucial step you missed," said Kerri. "You know that people have sex, but you don't know why because you've never experienced sexual pleasure before. Which is understandable, considering that you've been expressly forbidden from learning. Well, this is your chance. We'll set you up with my vibrator and you'll get to just play around until you find out what feels good. You need to get to know yourself."

                "Know myself?"

                "You know, like in the Bible? I thought you might appreciate the reference. Adam knew Eve; Cain knew his wife; those girls who knew their dad because that was the only way to get pregnant... They knew each other. Carnally. Biblically."

                Amanda said, "My understanding of the matter was that the first person to know you... is supposed to be your husband."

                "I'm sure it was," said Kerri, not unkindly, "but, Amanda, look where that got you."

                Amanda couldn't argue with that.

                "You... You have a vibrator?" she said.

                Kerri nodded.

                "You brought a vibrator on your honeymoon?" Amanda said, grinning. "What, did you think Winston wouldn't satisfy you?"

                "You're one to talk," Kerri said, laughing.

                So they went to the spa, something Amanda had never done before. She let Kerri walk her through the process and recommend the various treatments. Amanda herself felt very out-of-place—walking around with only a robe on, having all these people fuss over her—but Kerri urged her to enjoy it, and Amanda had to admit that she had never been pampered like this in her life... and maybe would not be again, for a long time. Kerri walked her through a mud bath, a whirl in a hot tub, and finally a massage that left Amanda feeling as though her muscles had all turned to goo. At least she was getting used to the idea of being around someone while she had no clothes on. Most of them were women, and most of the time she at least had a towel draped over her, but there it was nonetheless.

                They stopped for a late lunch, and unfortunately by the time they had gotten back to the room, Amanda had been forced to trade that delicious gelatinous relaxation for a much more rigid stance—one, at least, that was capable of walking. Too, she had begun to work herself into a state of high anxiety over the prospect of masturbation. The simple fact was, she had no idea what to expect, and she didn't like the idea of having to walk in blind. What exactly did a vibrator do? What if it was painful? What if she somehow misapplied it and damaged herself? She kind of wanted Kerri to stay in the room with her... But she couldn't decide which was more embarrassing: having to masturbate, or having to masturbate with Kerri watching.

                When Kerri handed over the vibrator it was smaller than she'd expected—a little plastic bullet smaller than the length of her little finger. But even that had its own pitfalls. Was she supposed to put that inside her, like a penis? What if she lost it? How embarrassing would that be? What would she tell a doctor? What would she tell Kerri??

                Maybe some of this was clear on her face, because Kerri sighed and put the vibrator on the nightstand. "Amanda, sit down. I want you to just concentrate on breathing..." She felt Kerri's hands kneading her shoulders, shifting deep into the muscle, melting away some of the tension.

                "God, Kerri," she breathed. "You're really good at this."

                "You pick up some things in life," said Kerri, and Amanda heard the smile. "Now, I want you to lie back..." Gentle hands helped smooth her down to the covers. "And, I want you to just relax and be calm. And then, whenever you feel the spirit move you... I want you to just reach down and play around with yourself. Nothing weird, nothing goofy... Just the most natural thing in the world. This is your body—the one God gave you, so that you could please yourself and your husband. Why don't you spend some time getting to know it?" When Kerri put it that way, it seemed so much less... bizarre.

                "If you need me, I'll be in my room," Kerri said, and shut the door behind her, leaving Amanda alone.

                She wasn't at all sure how she should start this process. Be calm, Kerri had said. Very well. She began by breathing—nothing more, just breathing—and trying to listen to everything that was going on around her. The rough cotton of the bedspread; the whoosh and swish of the waves outside; the cool air-conditioned air on her skin. Her name was Amanda Greer. There would never be in all of human history another person quite like her.

                She was a woman. That could mean any number of things, depending on the circumstances. It meant being shorter and having a higher body-fat percentage; it meant being less prone to certain types of cancer, living longer average life spans. It meant not having the vote until the early 1900s, being looked down upon and guarded, not being allowed outside unless chaperoned in some countries and eras. It meant having to endure whistles, jeers, cat-calls, unwanted flirtation; it meant being a second-class citizen in a world that, despite everyone's best efforts, was still a male-dominated society. It meant menstruation, monthly cramps, sanitary napkins; it meant breasts, ovaries, fallopian tubes. It meant being able to bring forth life out of her body, being able to bear children. And it meant a vagina, and it meant a clitoris.

                At least I know about those. It could be much worse.

                She let her fingers wander over her own body, testing, tasting. What did a man think when he felt what she felt now? Her breasts were heavy, the C-cups so beloved of modern America; she had small nipples but large areolas. If one day she should bear children, she would nourish them from those breasts. Today, though... Well, Patrick seemed to like them; he seemed to like them a great deal.

                Her belly was flat, but not as taut as once it had been; she'd been meaning to hit the gym, but never had time before the wedding happened. Below was pubic hair, dark and ruffled, and below that her own feminine secrets. It was funny, now that she thought about it, that she had been so discouraged from exploring her own body. Weren't these her secrets? Why should she ignore them?

                Still, she wasn't entirely sure how to go about this whole 'explore yourself' thing.

                Her hand down her pants, she began to re-acquaint herself with the geography; half-remembered anatomy lessons floated through her head. Here was the outer padding; down here was her rear; there was her clitoris—ooh, too sensitive. Her opening she found easily enough as well; she was always aware of this area, she realized, but just didn't tend to pay a lot of attention to it. She was sure the same must be true of anyone else.

                She felt a little silly, lying here with her hand down her pants. So, after a moment's thought, she shimmied out of them, leaving herself bare from the waist down. A moment later her shirt was off too; her bra followed it, and now she was as naked as she'd been in the spa. She hoped Patrick wouldn't walk in right then; that would be too embarrassing to be borne.

                Her fingers continued their walking tour of her body. Now she could spend more time on herself—on the smooth texture of her own skin, the tiny bumps ringing her areolas, the softness of her pubic hair. Still, her main goal was to learn to understand this pleasure thing her body promised.

                It soon became clear that just touching her clitoris directly was not going to work: oh, sure, it made her feel something, but those feelings were so strong they were almost dizzying. Did it feel that way to Patrick when his penis was being touched? Or was it because her clitoris was so much smaller?—the same number of nerves being packed into a very dense package. Whatever the case, she soon found that she could achieve something by, not stimulating her clit directly, but by moving her fingers up and down on her mound right near her clit.

                That was when she felt it—a tingling sensation that swept through her, faint but unmistakable. She had never felt anything like it before, but she knew instantly that this was what she was seeking. It was ticklish, almost, and a little bit squirmy, but it made her whole body feel alive... And her whole mound tingle. And she knew that, whatever this was, she wanted more.

                She began to masturbate in earnest (at least, assuming this was masturbating) and soon she noticed that there was wetness under her hand. Had she urinated on accident? There didn't seem to be enough of it, and when she raised her hand to her nose the smell was not the sickly scent of urine, but rather something more acrid. She decided to ask Kerri about it later. And, as she moved her hand back down, her arm brushed against her breasts and she noticed, almost by accident, that her nipples were tight and hard, as though in cold weather. But it wasn't that cold. The connection was to remember back to that first night with Patrick—all of sixty hours ago—when this had happened too. She'd wondered about it at the time, but decided not to ask; obviously, he'd had other things on his mind, and she too. Now she began to wonder if all this was normal.

                Curious, she slipped one finger inside herself, encountering ridges and folds half-remembered from childhood exploration. She noted that her whole area seemed more slippery—and that the moisture she had encountered seemed to be coming from inside her. Of course, she could hardly say with any certainty, but maybe this was her body's way of making intercourse easier. Another thing her classes hadn't covered—when she first heard about sex, she had wondered how this could possibly be comfortable. Would her vagina grow substantially as she passed puberty? It hadn't. Would it be rough and painful to have sex? All in all, it had seemed as though sex must be something you only did to have babies; surely there was nothing else to recommend it.

                Boy, was she learning.

                Now she had lots of questions, and so she donned her clothes again to go ask Kerri for some help. True to her word, Kerri was lounging in the common area of the suite, reading a book. "Hmm, is that pussy juice I smell?" she cried.

                "...'Pussy'?" said Amanda. " 'Juice'?"

                Kerri took the hand Amanda had used down below and smelled it. "Yep, that's pussy juice. Amanda, you've come a long way!"

                "So it's supposed to make that stuff?" said Amanda.

                "Well, of course it is!" Kerri exclaimed. "How else do you make yourself hot and wet for your man! Did you come? Did you have an orgasm?"

                Well, evidently there's still a lot more to go, Amanda thought. "No, I didn't wanna strain myself, you know? Like you said, I've come a long way."

                "That you have, that you have," Kerri agreed. "But don't forget to try it, hon. It's the best!"

                Amanda was sure that Kerri might've dug further, but that was when the men returned—Winston in his plaids, Patrick with his silly visor that she'd always laughed at. They seemed to have had a very productive day, at least as far as the golf chatter seemed to indicate: topics ranged from the consistency of the fairway (excellent) to the quality of the golf clubs available for rent (excellent) to their overall scores that day (excellent, with both of them convinced that, with a little luck, he would've beat the other). They were so excited they could barely sit down; eventually Kerri plunked herself down in Winston's lap to get him to calm down. It seemed to work, and it certainly saved Amanda any embarrassment when she decided to do the same thing. Her explorations in the bedroom had made her suddenly and intimately conscious of Patrick's presence in her life. He had been a perfect gentlemen for the three years of their courtship, and an even bigger one for the three days of their marriage; he had unending patience and a generosity of heart, and she felt sure that, given time and what she'd learned Kerri that morning, he could've brought her to the arousal and understanding she'd gained for herself, but in a lot faster time. As it was, she couldn't wait until they could be alone together and she could put her knowledge to good use. (Suddenly she realized that he must have felt much the same eagerness about her, except for the past three years. This, if anything, only strengthened her resolve.)

                It was her first real experience with delayed gratification, with wanting something and having to resist that want, and it left her antsy. Despite the beautiful environs, despite the tasty and creative cuisine, despite the gorgeous moon-lit beach which she and Patrick strolled along, her mind was elsewhere. It was so hard to focus when something she wanted was just out of reach! Kerri must've seen, or maybe even Winston, because the two of them retired early; but it was then that Patrick insisted on the beach-walk. She should've been delighted.

                "What's going on, honey?" Patrick said to her. "Ever since we got back from golf you've been just on the edge of your seat."

                Oh, go figure that he would choose this moment to suddenly become observant.

                "Winston had some more ideas about how to... Ease you into things," Patrick said.

                "So did Kerri," Amanda said.

                "Oh," he said. "Did any of them seem like they would work out?"

                "You mean, of the ones I tried while you were gone?" she said.

                He stopped short and stared at her.

                "I mean, why do you think I've been edge-of-my-seat this entire time?" Amanda said.

                "I, umm. I take it you'd like to head back to the room." He was grinning.