Lessons in LovebyCheleste©
This is an excerpt from a story which I wrote called "A Stranger At The Well". The story is a fairy tale, set in another time and place. Rachel is not a modern day character. She is eighteen, but naive and ingenuous, having been raised in isolation before she meets Donald, a more worldly and experienced person, who falls in love with her and marries her in a private ceremony on her small farm.
Donald could not help wondering how much Rachel understood about the part of marriage that took place between sundown and sunup. She was a virgin in the purest sense of the word, in every element of her being, and he dared not change that roughly. She deserved the most tender handling.
When she laid down on the mat with him at night, she seemed to welcome his presence as a natural thing and to curl up into him as easily as a kitten with its litter-mates. Donald sometimes kissed her playfully on her cheeks and forehead, and rubbed her back and arms. She would smile and giggle at the tickling sensation of his tongue and lips, gently nibbling at her.
But once, when he had moved to her mouth and put his lips on hers, a surge of sensation had brought his body suddenly into tension, and he had pulled her to him, kissing her with hunger.
Rachel had become immediately rigid. If Donald was hungry, then she was the prey, and she didn't like that feeling. Donald had felt her response, and released her at once, dismayed to realize what he had secretly suspected--that her desire for him was as yet unawakened.
"I'm sorry," he had murmured, slightly embarrassed by the intensity of his own reaction.
Rachel felt bewildered by the sudden predatory feeling she had gotten from Donald, but he hurried to reassure her, asking cautiously, "Can I just hold you?"
"Well...alright," she had agreed.
So he had carefully placed his arm over her and lay still, putting space between his energized body and her timid one until he felt calm again.
* * * *
After their fanciful private ceremony, Donald and Rachel had returned to their shack hand-in-hand.
Rachel didn't know what to do next. There wasn't much she could do in this confining dress. What else did one do on their wedding day?
Donald suggested a picnic lunch, and Rachel thought that a perfect idea.
When they had spread out the blanket and food in the back field, they sat and fed each-other. It was another of Donald's good ideas.
"How fun!" Rachel thought, chewing the dried apples Donald dropped into her open mouth. She laughed as he playfully nipped her fingers when she thrust the bread and cheese in his mouth, and gargled the water she poured into it.
With their stomachs full, Donald pulled Rachel into his lap and leaned against one of the ancient oaks that stood in the field. He had thought it through carefully, and he decided that now was the right time to address her backward upbringing. He plunged ahead, hoping it would be well-received.
"Can I ask you something?" he began.
"Well, you know that people marry so they can raise a family, right?"
"Well...is that something you want to do?"
"Oh, yes!" Rachel replied, swelling with enthusiasm at the idea. Just as she had never expected to marry, she had never thought of having children. But once it was proposed, the idea excited her. How sweet to have a tiny baby to love!
"Well, Rachel...Do you know how children come into the world?"
"Well, I know how baby lambs come into the world," she offered.
"...And, do you know how they get into their mother's belly?"
"They just start growing there."
"I don't know. It's magic."
"Would you like to have some of that magic?" he asked hopefully.
Rachel grinned. "I sure would."
Donald felt desire trickling into his loins. He paused and took a breath in preparation for the revelation to Rachel. Then he looked deeply into her eyes.
"It's the ram that gives the magic to the ewe," he stated.
Rachel stared blankly, and then jolted upright, jumping away from him and grimacing with a sudden remembrance.
"No!" she protested. "No! That ram--he was nasty!--And noisy!--And that ewe, she yelled! She didn't like what he was doing at all! She ran away from him, and he caught up with her, and she squealed and squealed!"
"Rachel..." Donald interrupted, realizing he hadn't quite managed to convey what he had hoped...
"Rachel," he cajoled. "It's not like that at all...I mean..."
His words trailed off without a sure direction.
Then he tried again. "Rachel, it's not the same with people...Oh, Rachel..."
He suddenly felt weak with longing for her. How could he tell her what he was feeling? Surely, she was feeling something too.
He took her hand. He closed his eyes. A wave of desire moved through the mid-line of his body, its origin indistinct, coming at once from his heart and his groin.
"Can you feel that?" he asked.
Rachel closed her eyes. A sudden, warm current seemed to move to her insides.
"I love you, Rachel," Donald whispered.
And Rachel understood, in a moment, in an instant. Love.
He took her hand and began to kiss it softly, holding it against the smooth skin of his shaven cheek. He took her other hand and pressed it together with the first, locking them together in silent prayer and sealing them with kisses.
Holding her clasped hands in one of his, he pulled her toward him, laying her head against his shoulder. He stroked her hair gently, and closed his eyes, rocking slowly back and forth.
The day was warm, and Donald removed the dark jacket he had worn for the ceremony. Suddenly, Rachel was worried about her dress. She tried to jump up, but Donald held her, commenting, "Don't worry about it. I'll take care of it later. You look so beautiful in it. Lie down."
So she reclined on the blanket, and Donald propped himself on his arm, leaning over her with his other arm for support. He placed his lips to Rachel's, watching her eyes. She stared back at him.
"Close your eyes. Relax," he murmured, kissing her again. He kissed her cheeks and her forehead, gently brushing his cheek against her wispy eyelashes. He kissed her chin and her jaws and her neck, breathing softly on the skin made wet by his mouth.
He returned to her mouth, his breaths becoming longer and deeper. His tongue moved evenly across her lips, gently pressing them apart. He explored her mouth with his tongue, and she opened it to receive him.
He pulled away to look at her, reached for a tendril of her hair and arranged it around her shoulder. It curled gently over her breast. He leaned forward and kissed her chest, brushing his blond curls against her skin and nuzzling his nose softly into the folds of her dress, as they heaved softly with her breathing. A sweet longing swelled in her breast, and she wanted to hold him close, as she had held the baby lamb.
He ran his hands up and down her torso, her arms and shoulders. The sensation in her breast spread to every part of her body he touched, and a strange yearning rose up deep in her bowels.
Unfastening the buttons of her gown, Donald kissed the white flesh of her breasts passionately, sucking the skin tenderly into his mouth. When he reached the nipples, he sucked hungrily on them, and Rachel remembered the lamb again, pulling on its mother's teats.
She felt her body responding to him with new and powerful feelings. He looked at her with gleaming eyes, and professed, "You're so beautiful. I love every inch of you."
As he returned to her breasts, Rachel became aware of a pressure against her leg. She flashed on the ram, and she couldn't get the ewe's bleating out of her mind. She felt suddenly frightened, panicky.
Donald stopped kissing her, feeling her abrupt withdrawal.
"Rachel, " he promised. "I'll never hurt you. And I'll never force you to do anything you don't want to do."
He sat up and rested his arms on his knees, with his broad back to Rachel. He took two long breaths, closing his eyes and willing against nature for the river to flow backward.
Finally, he asked, "Would you do me a favor, Rachel? Would you stroke my back?"
"Oh, yes. I will," she volunteered, reaching her arm up from her supine position. She stroked firmly and willingly, running her long fingers through the wiry hair on his shoulders and back.
"My body is yours to explore, just as you like," he reassured. "I don't want to scare you, Rachel."
"Alright," she agreed. She felt calmer, as they backed away from the abyss that had appeared without warning.
He laid down, and she rubbed her firm hands across his chest and belly, stopping now and then to bury them in the curly hair that accented the muscular lines of his sun-bronzed chest and abdomen.
"My father had hair like this," she commented. "It used to mat together when I poured the water over him in the washtub."
Her face suddenly brightened. "Could--could I give you a bath like I used to do for Papa?" she asked.
Donald smiled. "I guess we could make an exception for one chore today," he teased.
Rachel jumped up and pulled him to the cottage. She found a work frock to change into.
"Now, close your eyes," she admonished Donald, before stepping out of the ornamented white dress and into the simple one.
"Now you can open them," she instructed, handing Donald the dress. He folded it carefully and stowed it in the bag he had brought it in, while Rachel started a fire.
She hung the big water pot to boil and fetched the metal washtub from its resting place near the sink. She poured cold water into it and procured soap and towels from their respective places.
When the water was hot, she dipped and poured it into the tub, mixing it with the cold until it was a perfect temperature.
Then she turned her back. "You can get in now," she said.
Donald stood up, dropping the suit trousers to the floor, folding them and putting them aside. He stepped into the tub and sat down, covering his loins with the cloth Rachel had hung over the side of the tub.
"Alright, I'm ready," he said.
Rachel turned around and knelt down to scrub his back. She worked efficiently and gently. The hair on his back and chest indeed matted, and then sprung up in wet ringlets that produced a rich white lather with the soap. Her strong hands massaged his muscular arms, and then his legs, reaching into the milky water to rub his feet, his calves, and his thighs.
When she was done, Donald proclaimed, "I've never had such a refreshing bath! Thank you. Now it's your turn."
Rachel startled. "Oh, no, that wouldn't be right. Papa never washed me. I wash myself," she declared proudly.
"So be it," Donald concluded.
"I'm hungry," Rachel said suddenly. The afternoon light was growing thin.
"So am I," Donald said as he stood up, wrapping himself with a towel.
Rachel busied herself with the meal, and then they ate it in quiet companionship before retiring to an early bed.
Rachel was up early, busy as usual. Donald joined her, and together they worked as they had done for the past two seasons.
After the evening meal, Rachel flopped carelessly into bed, tired yet satisfied. Donald rubbed her sore muscles, taking pleasure in the smoothness of her skin beneath his hands. The days were becoming warmer, and even the night had lost its chill.
"M-m-m," Rachel hummed.
"It's so warm I don't want any bedclothes tonight," Donald commented. "Isn't this spring air delicious?"
"I love it." She buried her face in her folded arms as she lay on her stomach.
Donald tickled the backs of her legs softly with his moving fingers. He inventoried the curves of her neck, her small waist, her round hips and shapely legs with his eyes, and wondered how much of them belonged to him tonight.
Rachel rolled over to look at him.
"Why are you so good to me? What did I ever do to deserve you? I feel like a fairy princess in a story that can't possibly be true. No one is really as kind as you are. They're mean and angry, like my father."
Donald was motionless beside her, savoring the moment between them. There was no answer to give her, except that he loved her. His eyes spoke of that as they peered into Rachel's brown ones, and though he said nothing, she seemed to understand.
Rachel rolled back, and Donald slid down beside her, wrapping his body around hers. Her hair smelled sweet to his nostrils as they rested close to her head. Her even breathing told him she was already slipping into slumber, and answered the question he had asked himself earlier.
When he was sure his movement wouldn't rouse her, he extricated himself from her sleeping frame and found the night air beyond the door a poor second for a lover. He crouched near the earth, grasping his frustration and feeding it to the dark soil, groaning with the pain of it.
Then he could sleep near her again, and feel his love for her without anger, and touch her without seizing. So he returned to bed, closed his eyes, and was soon lost in sleep.
* * * *
The spring days passed evenly and uneventfully into summer. Donald held the reins of his patience, and gave Rachel the space she required. Sometimes his body ached to be inside her, but he held his peace, knowing her wounds needed time to heal.
She seemed content with simple companionship, and sometimes she was much more of a little girl than a woman; but that too only needed time. And with it, he began to perceive changes in her. She became less timid and began to venture out further away from him, to the barn and the fields alone.
One day, she announced to him that she wanted to have a baby. Donald wondered if he dare hope she understood the implications of her announcement.
"That is the only thing that could make me happier than I am with you right now," he replied, smiling broadly.
He saw that she knew what she had asked for, when she sat cross-legged on the bed that evening, stretching her hands out to him. Her face was open and smiling.
"Come love me, Donald," she said. "Come give me your magic."
Donald could always read her thoughts as they marched liberally across her face, and this evening they were spirited, and unwittingly provocative.
Her simple dress revealed a womanly body which filled the bodice with full, round breasts, while glimpses of white flesh peeked out from the depths which lay beneath the skirt, hiked up and stretched tight across her thighs so she could sit thusly. Her long mahogany hair draped in rich waves over her shoulders, inviting Donald's hands to stroke it.
Donald rose from the chair where he had been sitting after the evening meal, and Rachel's eyes followed him to his full height, as it towered over her.
She admired the strong lines of his face and body as he stood before her. His jaws, his eyebrows, his nose stood out like bold strokes in an artist's sketch on the tan canvas of his face. The prominent eyebrows were raised with anticipation; and though he was smiling, his eyes, which often crinkled and danced with humor when he laughed at something she said, looked darker and deeper than usual.
The rough-hewn muscles of his shoulders and chest rippled beneath his peasant shirt, and balanced with Doric grace on the sinewy pillars of his hips and legs, camouflaged in loose brown trousers tied at the waist.
Rachel noticed how blond his hair looked, after many hours of basking in the sun. It was as golden as his skin was brown; it fell carelessly in long ringlets around his face, and she wanted to touch it.
But what drew her more than that were his lips, thick and red, curved up in a knowing smile, waiting to be tasted.
He knelt on the bed and clasped her hands, feeling the energy in his body shift into a lower octave, gathering its power and stowing it for the moment.
He pursed his lips gently against the soft skin of Rachel's face and neck, moving her down onto the bed. Her lips answered, meeting the firm line of his jaw and brushing against the evening bristle of his beard.
She pulled lightly on the blond curls at his nape as his tongue flicked across her cheek and nose, finding her mouth warm and inviting. She sucked his lips into her mouth one at a time, fed by their succulence.
They sighed in unison, allowing the natural tension to ebb out of their bodies, so it could return on a deeper plane to take them down to the hidden meeting-place.
Rachel wondered at the strange transformation taking place in her. It was as if some buried chest had been opened within her, revealing secrets to her body she didn't know she knew.
Donald slipped his hand under the yoke of her dress and stroked her neck and shoulders, sending little shivers down her back. He deepened his kiss, holding her neck tighter and moving his tongue in and out of her mouth with an insistent rhythm.
The cadence excited her, launching sensations of pleasure into other parts of her body. His tongue moved deeper and stronger, as his breaths grew long and laborious. His whole body felt suddenly heavy, as the weight of it pressed against her.
Rachel moved slowly out of the narrow box of her body and into the expanding world of feeling which was echoing around her, drawing her into the place where she and Donald merged into one.
His hands slid up to cup her clothed breasts, squeezing them lightly, and massaged the nipples with open palms. It sent sharp sensations of pleasure rippling through her, and ignited a warm hunger in the floor of her body.
Her arms tightened around him in response and clasped his back, molding the strong muscles of his arms and shoulders, finding that as she massaged his flesh, it began to feel as if it was her own. Her desire for him increased as his mouth moved over hers, intense and hard, and her muscles grew taut like his.
He sat up to pull his shirt over his gleaming brown torso. She watched him, her chest heaving with panting breaths, and felt impatient at being separated from him.
He unbuttoned her smock with warm fingers, and buried his face in her breasts. He moved his restless mouth over their satin hills and down the valley of her shifting belly.
She drew her breath in sharply as his mouth closed over her nipple, sucking ravenously, and he ran his powerful hands down her sides to clasp her hips. Holding them with both hands, he felt as if he could move mountains, and their bodies undulated with a motion that seemed to come from the earth itself.
He pulled her dress down to expose the bare beauty of her shoulders. With trembling fingers, he caressed them and found her mouth once again with his hungry lips. She moaned softly and melted into his hard body as it pressed upon her.
She began to understand what he had meant about magic, and the sensations she was feeling urged her deeper into the river of passion which flowed out of his hands.
They were strong and probing as they slid smoothly down her side and over her hips, taking the material of her dress up with them as he rubbed her thighs, kneading them insistently. Her body answered with a rhythm that matched his moving hands.
She felt the pressure of his erection against her leg, but this time it exhilarated, rather than frightened, her.
Donald took her hand and pulled her to a sitting position, slipping her dress off her arms. She shivered in the cool air, and he laid her down again, covering her with his heated chest. As he pulled the dress down over her legs and feet and placed it on the bed next to them, a curtain closed around them, sealing them into the Holy Place.
He gazed with wonder at the naked artistry of his wife's body for the first time. He eased his breath out in a sigh that ended in a low whistle. His eyes fixed on hers, and the adoration she saw in them banished all embarrassment. Her body was a shrine, and he the only supplicant.
He untied his trousers and laid next to her, placing her hand meaningfully on the manhood which pushed against their coarse material.