Another Springtime Ch. 09

Chapter 9-1: A Most Delightful Honeymoon Adventure

Well, it was not OK! It was not OK with me, and the matter rankled until I confronted it again to set it aright.

Of course, the word itself is technically neutral, etc. Right. Nevertheless, for each person the emotional loading that goes with it will be different. For me, and this is just one man's perspective, the word carries too much… well, too much… the fellows will know what I mean, even if they do not agree. This loading overshadowed and impinged upon that which I had with my wife and sweetheart, and I didn't want the overlap at all. The two were worlds apart.

After a few moments I recalled how she had reacted. She had been sensitive to my feelings and recognized that I did not like the word and its connotations to me, and she had herself already found another way to express the idea. How very mature and ladylike for her to handle it just so, I thought to myself. I was impressed.

Thus, "fuck" was withdrawn from my active vocabulary, once and for all.

The morning was bright and sunny, but aside from being a beautiful day there was no cause whatever for us to rush about, and we dawdled away the morning in each other's arms just talking about everything and nothing, and . It wasn't much as conversations go, just a disjointed rambling, leisurely and unhurried. Just the same it was communication at a furious pace, long signals being transmitted and received between just us two. Do you have any idea, for instance, what it is to a man to have the softness of a woman's body next to his, yielding, fragrant, responsive, alluring, and inundating his senses with her particular uniqueness? Do you know what it's like to have it and loose her, and miss her so badly that her absence seems like a wound that will never heal… and then, miracle of miracles, find another to… not ‘replace' her, since the one is never really ‘replaceable,' but she steps into your void with her own personality and set of talents and… and fills the emptiness with her love.

Yes, perhaps some of you do… those who have experienced it for themselves. Here is one of those places where, I would imagine, experience is the best teacher… perhaps the only teacher.

Anyway, we decided to go for a little walk outside after some breakfast and arose and I led her for the second time into the shower. She was so very cute with me, being shy and excited all at once. I quickly began to realize that she just seemed to want to stay close to me. I toweled her dry with soft, leisurely motions, pampering her, and we wrapped her hair in a towel for the moment. I was thirsty and went downstairs, her hand in mine, to the reefer for some cold fruit juice, and she, holding one of the bathroom's little hand towels in front of her as if that covered her at all, trailed behind like a little puppy, eyes wide and gloriously unclothed but for the two towels, neither of any great consequence.

I poured a full glass and offered her some, and we shared that glass like some kind of right of passage, and the continuing sequence of sharing intimate activities, kissing, showering, love making, nudity, playing, all together seemed in that moment to coalesce into that singular act of both drinking from the same cup, to break us through somehow to another, higher level of unity. Following me seemed no great challenge to her as it might have been. I pulled the little hand towel away and drew her to me and held her, squeezing her a little and close to me with a hand on her cute little bare bottom.

"Darling, how can I…" she looked up at me with a bewitchingly soulful expression, "how can I ever thank you enough? You keep me safe, you love me, and teach me new things, and keep me warm. What can I ever do to repay you?"

It was not an idle thought for her. We had earlier touched on the matter of her dependence on me. She was quick enough that I knew I could not just pass it off casually; she was quite serious. What did fascinate me as well as her seriousness, was that she could be so serious and earnest while standing in the kitchen and evidently oblivious to the fact that we were both totally nude. I judged that to be a signpost or something and that I should push ahead down this road.

In addition, the very delightful view of her strikingly beautiful bare breasts was mesmerizing.

I reached for her with my right hand, for her shoulder, I think, wanting to draw her nearer to me, and touched lightly the outer curve of her soft breast with the back of my finger… and something special happened, unplanned and unimagined in advance… and a bond was forged between us in the second that the electricity flashed, and my desire for her companionship expressed in this simple gesture communicated the message from my heart to hers… as had I touched the very heart within her, and she trembled slightly, and stepped into my embrace as readily, and as fully mine as ever a maid might be. Neither of us could perceive what happened in that special moment, but in the future I would recall it over and over again with great delight. Me touching her so intimately had not been intentional, but became in that way that special things do a kind of ritual, almost a ceremony of our own, and her very being gravitated to mine and we both sought each other and the intimacy we had come to relish with pleasure. She looked up at me and there was nothing to do but kiss her.

There are kisses, and then there are kisses. Some are for sport and recreation, sometimes even devoid of deeper meaning even as many others carry intense messages of passion and fire. This was more like a bird high in a tree in some remote forest welcoming its mate back to their nest, outwardly perhaps casual and brief, but inwardly laden with the rich and soulful bounty of love and togetherness shared with no other.

It was marvelous!.

I took her hand lightly, our thirst quenched for the moment, and led her into the living room. Over the back of the large sofa I had the previous evening tossed our large down comforter from the car. Now, unforeseen and opportune, it seemed to offer the perfect refuge. Within a few seconds I had her laying next to me on the sofa, wrapped up in the comforter all cozy, her head on my arm. None of this distracted her in the least. One look of those eyes and I knew she was waiting for my answer as if we were still standing in the kitchen. As noted before, when connecting the dots she could be quite focused.

"Christine, a year ago I accepted a work assignment. They needed a job done; I accepted the job for the pay that went with it. If you have incurred a debt, it is with the United States government. So far as I can see they have asked no payment; nor does it appear that they will.

"Some months back, I'm not sure exactly when, that all changed for me." I had to pause and think this through because it was still a little fuzzy to me. Well, fuzzy in the sense that I had not yet actually put it into words to anyone, let alone her.

"I began to realize that I wanted more. It was still just a job for pay, and that was fine, but I wanted it to be more. As part of the job I wanted and needed to win the young lady's trust and confidence, and then," I had to again sort of shake off the uncertainty that had plagued me for a while, "I came to see that she was not just any young lady. She was a very special young lady;very special, and," I turned to look at her, "I wanted to win her heart."

She had been listening quietly, and at my declaration the surprise and delight shown very clearly not just in her expressive brown eyes but in her smile and the brightness of her countenance. She was so very beautiful I could hardly comprehend my good fortune!

"A man," I continued casually, "meets lots of women in his life; a woman meets lots of men. Some stand out from the others, occasionally there is someone special. A fortunate man may find one who is extra special. If his crusade to win her heart succeeds he is a happy man. It is a rare thing, nevertheless, for a man to find yet a second girl who is of such exceptional quality…" where was I going with this? "that he of his own desire and choosing takes up once more his sword and armor and sets off on yet another crusade to win her heart."

"And what possible reward at the end of his quest can possibly warrant his laying before her his sword, his shield, his arm, his means, his honor, his very self… his heart? To what vast wealth and untold riches does the comely young maiden hold the key? What can she possibly bestow upon him that might in any measure cause him to willingly undertake to slay all manner of dragons to assure her safety and welfare?

"What, pray tell?"

Such romantic meanderings come easily for me in the right situations – it has been a side effect of studying and enjoying German and English literature – but the romantic idyll can be overplayed, and that to a fault. Nevertheless, idealism for a man carries with it a reward all its own, for if the lady be herself idealistic as well, then his love and dedication may well inspire her to blossom yet more fully as a creative, vibrant, sensitive and caring person, and more than any other it is the husband who then perceives and savors the fragrant and colorful blooming as the beautiful blossom opens ever more fully, even into the autumn and winter years.

I had posed a question, and I could see she had no clue as to the answer and was waiting, almost holding her breath… waiting for me to go on.

"M'Lady, it is alone the gift of your love."

The glowing beauty about her – after the intensity and abandon we had enjoyed together in the last hours she was glowing like my own little candle in the lonely darkness of the world – and the lustrous twinkle in her eyes was just breathtaking to behold. She was, as I had come to appreciate, an idealist as well, and hopes and dreams and ideals were lively and meaningful fare for her. In our endless discussions of all kinds of things we had often seen that in each other. She moved to sit up beside me, quite unaware, I think, that in her nakedness she presented to me a view of her, with her breasts still swollen and flushed from my earlier attention, more gloriously attractive than ever. In that smooth, artfully feminine way she had, the fingers of one hand gathered her long hair from her face, and she looked down at me, very much the innocent and shy young maiden she was.

"Sir knight," her delightful words were those of a timid and star-struck young girl, but they flowed, friend, they flowed like the sweetest honey, warm and smooth from a stone krug, "may it please thee this day, I am but a poor maid with naught but the love and loyalty of my heart to offer, and I do so now again and forever… that in the heat of thy labors thy brow shall ever be laved by my kisses and our hearts beat as one in love eternally!"

I was dumbstruck, I can tell you, by her declaration, by the intensity and the earnestness of her feeling expressed so, and by her mastery of English to do so in practice. She was smiling at me, pleased with herself, I think for saying such a thing, and – I came to find out later – she had been reading some older English literature to put together all the wording and sentiment she felt in her heart for me. It was not a meaningless sham for her, but an outpouring from her heart. That shown clearly in her eyes. I was proud of her, and told her so. She sat next to me, holding my one hand gently in hers, opening and closing my fingers with hers, that enchantingly feminine smile curling the corners of her mouth.

And yet, for all the intensity of the moment, we could play together and turn things light-hearted again. On a whimsy I pretended to be exhausted and begged the maiden's soothing kiss on one fevered brow, to which she acceded gracefully like a fairy princess in her woodland retreat, leaning over to place a kiss daintily upon my forehead and sprinkling her sparkling fairy dust all about us. I motioned to the other brow, to which she hesitated and then shook her head playfully, declaring that I had first to slay another dragon… and we both broke into laughter at our little game.

She was such a darling girl. I felt myself to be a very fortunate man.

]

As I had noticed right from the first day together a year before, her bust line was an eye-catching feature of her person. I had multiple opportunities to observe her and think about her attractiveness over the months, and her breasts always figured prominently in the calculations, prominently because they were prominent. That doesn't mean large. Her trim figure did not need a lot of top hamper to become noticeable; volume and size were not the critical features. Her posture, her carriage, her attitude were… she was an integrated girl, and prominent breasts were not something she flaunted, they were simply a part of her. She blended the total package quite smoothly and the overall effect – outside her view, I'm sure – would be like an electric shock to the right man. It was to me.

That first night together when I had helped her off with her wedding dress I had felt how very sensitive she was to me seeing her naked, and my approving of her… and here her breasts specifically were an important thing to her… was a crucial event, though in her youthful innocence she was less than fully aware. And I did approve of her, and I made sure she knew it, even if it did embarrass her at first.

Now, after a day of being together and her being naked with me through the night and through these morning hours, I came back to her breasts.

They were, firstly, nothing less than magnificent in their own right. Size and shape were marvelously in tune with her overall body dimensions; form and fullness were the purest poetry in their perfection.

We had been chatting about a story we had read together and she was kneeling on the bed next to me and leaning forward as she brushed her hair out. The picture she presented me was innocent and natural, but all the more impressive and gorgeous for her relaxed manner with me.

"Christine, you're a beautiful girl. Your breasts are the most delightfully entrancing beauties I have ever imagined. Your bounteous charms just captivate me… you are an eyeful of beautiful woman that just overwhelms me."

She stopped brushing and my bold words made her immediately aware of my intimate and critical inspection, and thus a little timid and shy.

"Your gift of self to me is a wondrous thing, and I find your breasts very inviting to look at… and touch… and hold in my hands…"

My words, though spoken softly, arrested for her all other thought. At first she could not think what to do, but then in a gesture most feminine and dainty, laid her brush aside and covered the pretty little pink peaks of her breasts with just her fingertips, as if, somehow, such would be adequate shielding from my intense perusal. I have thought about that scene many times since – and shall never forget it – ever. She was in that singular moment a maiden most wondrously feminine and desirable.

When she dropped her eyes, just waiting for me to do something, I ventured something more possessive, thinking back to my first holding her breasts in my hands. I reached up and caressed very lightly the sensitive undersides of each breast, enjoying the very attractive curves there. Her eyes gave her away within seconds. She was too shy to look at me but followed my hands as I touched her, and apart from enjoying the vision of her bare breasts I watched her eyes too, and as I caressed her the stimuli surprised her. Her breath caught in her throat and she trembled at first, uncertain what would happen, but arousal soon overtook her and she took a deep breath… her dark lashes drooped softly.

"These two beautiful breasts of yours are mine now to hold and caress and love, Baby." In response to my attention and probably without really thinking about it, she let her fingertips slip away and thrust those magnificent breasts forward towards me as if in surrender and submission. My fingertips moved around under them, tracing hot trails of sensation… "mine to touch… and tease…" and I opened my hands, caressing the undersides with my fingertips and drawing her closer to me… "and tantalize for our pleasure and love."

Her composure was breaking down now very quickly and she was beginning to tremble as I played with her, fingering the undersides of her breasts as were I about to take them both into my hands possessively, encouraging her with my attention to lean yet further forward. She was very near the point of falling forward, eyes closed, surrendering totally to my hands, and then I did it. I grasped her breasts, each in one hand, my thumbs to the outside and lifted her bare beauties to take their full weight in my hands while pulling her gently to me.

Her reaction was priceless and sincere. "Oh, my darling," she whimpered meekly, "I'm yours forever." Her decomposure seemed almost instantaneous, and she wilted literally before my eyes, dissolving in a passionate response that was both surprising and very rewarding to me. She blushed crimson, her upper body flushed with her reaction, her little rosebud nipples puckered and hardened, and she whimpered piteously of her love for me and for me to please never stop loving her. I nibbled on her sensitive breasts and kissed her tenderly, tweaking her little nipples with my tongue and then sucking on her lightly… and she gasped as her orgasm overtook her and she collapsed into my arms, weeping great tears and clinging to me like her very life hung in the balance.

The very intense release of energy had drained her, and we lay together for a long time thereafter. It embarrassed her that she was so wet between her legs, but I quieted that softly with a towel about her bottom, and held her close. Her tears flowed as had a dam burst within her and only as her very high emotional peak subsided did she begin to relax in my arms. She was a treasure unbelievably rich, and I had given her a thrill by merely holding her two beautiful breasts in my hand and caressing her! What a thrill for me that had been, I can assure you.

Thereafter she was mine as perhaps no other girl has ever drawn close to her husband. It was the result of our intimacy from our kiss in the car the previous afternoon, of course, but our activity through the evening and the night, and now this episode of me fondling her breasts with such dramatic outcome, made our entire time together just beyond imagination. I held her securely in my arms and spoke softly to her of her beauty and my love for her, and found that making a place for her in my world, a safe and secure place just for her, was the sure way to sooth her anxieties and win her trust and confidence. And when she pushed those pretty breasts up against my chest as she sought to get close to me, my heart, already well exercised through the night, did Olympic-Games-quality triple back flips in response.

She was a real piece of work, I can tell you sure!

]

She had been busy in her kitchen for a few minutes and I took the opportunity to check my laptop and monitor accounts, e-mail, and such. Soon she came to me quietly, and I could feel her hands on my shoulders and neck, massaging the muscles lightly and just telling me in her shy way that she wanted to be with me.

There was an e-mail from my daughter, just a short note to say hello and wish us well. Christine leaned on my shoulders, her face right next to mine, as I read, and she wanted me to tell Jenny hello from her as well when I answered.

Done. And then I cast the rest aside as unimportant.

She giggled as I turned around and pulled her down on my lap for a hug.

"Do you have time to teach me something new?" She tilted her head a bit and her eyes were bright but too shy to look directly into mine and bored into my chest… and there was her impy little smile playing about the corners of her mouth, and I thought again about the sixteen-year-old asking her father sweetly for a new dress.