Open Sores

"A condom?" I suggested. "That should be pretty safe when I'm not having an episode."

Oliver's gaze shifted upward, and to his right. For a few moments he stared into space, then his head moved twice in a slow nod. Grinning, he turned back to me. "So you want me to bring one of those little circular things next time?"

I issued a slight giggle. "Little round circular things?"

"Yes." Oliver's grin turned into a full smile. "Do you want one?"

"Fine. I want a little circular thing."

"Ok. I'll bring one tomorrow."

Brows high, I nodded. "We could go get one tonight?"

He issued a servant's nod. "Tomorrow will be better."

"Ok," I agreed with a similar nod. "Tomorrow."

In preparation for our anticipated tryst, I left work early and went lingerie shopping. Forced to analyse my reflection as I modelled the skimpy garments, I could not help but notice how the girl in the mirror had a much softer physique than even she had imagined. I also could not help but notice how she smiled just the same.

I settled on a black set with lots of lace. Wearing nothing else, I waited for Oliver, imagining what the look on his face might be when I opened the door.

He features did reveal the pleasant surprise I had hoped for, however my own expression must have registered nothing less than shock. Instead of something casual, Oliver wore a coat and tie. In his right hand were a dozen roses. Tucked under his left arm was a box of candy.

"Did I misunderstand something?" I asked at once.

"That depends. What were you expecting?"

I took a single deep breath before responding. "Sex."

"Well, perhaps we should see if the little circular thing I brought meets with your approval first?"

My head fell to one side. "What?"

Ollie's brow bounced upward. "May I come in?"

Without a word, I stood to one side.

Oliver marched past me straight to my kitchen table, depositing the flowers and the candy before turning back to me. "Oh?" he mused, looking down. "What's this?"

I didn't see anything as he knelt, but when he looked back up he had the circular thing in one hand. His other hand found the fingers of my left. Before I could breath, the little golden band was poised at the tip of the third digit.

"Tonya, my love," he began. "I want nothing more that to share everything with you, for the rest of our days, if you will have me as your husband?"

My lips quivered as I tried to form words, but I could not. My chest was rigid. I couldn't even breathe. My knees wobbled a bit. For fear of collapsing, I knelt.

Oliver's brows went high the moment our eyes locked upon one another. With a sniffle, my head bobbed the exuberance my mouth was still unable to utter. He flashed a smile, then eased the ring onto my finger.

My fingers clenched at once, as if to preclude the precious little band from ever leaving my hand. A second later, I threw my arms around his shoulders, hugging him as I did my best to control my weeping.

"You're wrong," I whispered in his ear the instant my sobs began to subside.

"About what?"

I pulled away, looking into his eyes. "These are definitely tears of joy."

Oliver grinned. "As much as you cry, I hope so."

"You've made a mistake though," I announced in my best monotone. "I can't be your dream girl."

Ollie closed his eyes and shook his head. "We've been over this already. From what I read, I might have it already and not know it. Even if I did catch it, there's a better than average chance I'll never develop symptoms and even if I do, the symptoms are treatable."

He paused to swallow, opening his eyes as he continued, "And even if I was sure to get it and there was no treatment, you underestimate what a special person you are if you imagine for an instant that I still wouldn't want to be with you."

I smiled. "No. I'm not talking about herpes. You see, I favour Mozart to McCartney." I paused until I saw the results of my jest register on his face. "And I don't have a fucking clue about the blue line."

"Are you sure?" Oliver inquired. "Looks like I'm the one dressed for Mozart and you're the one dressed to pick up a hockey player."

I looked down at my negligee, and then to his suit. "True," I admitted with a bounce of my brow. "You are overdressed for what I had in mind."

Oliver blinked a few times, then shook his head. "What you had in mind will wait."

"Wait?" My mouth fell agape. "Why?"

"Because it wouldn't be special."

"Not special. Why not?!"

"Because tonight it would be about a couple of pigs rutting in the spring mud. After our wedding, it will be about a couple confirming their commitment to one another."

My ever-moist eyes overflowed again. "You're right," I agreed in the most solemn whisper. "That will be special."

Although I didn't initially grasp that it would have that effect, Oliver's insistence that we wait until our wedding night expunged the last shred of a doubt I had regarding whether I could trust another man after being betrayed by one I loved so deeply. As Oliver and I continued to snuggle on my couch, I often felt his hardness against me. He could have had me anytime, any minute, with but a word. But he never said that word. Knowing he wanted me that much, yet still resisted, assured me more than words that no temptation could ever lead my Ollie astray.

* * *

I suspect the experience of my wedding was little different from that of other brides. The first couple of days, you spend staring at the ring, as if it might disappear at any moment. Then you settle into this happy delirium, and begin envisioning the perfect fairy tale wedding. Next the financial reality rears its unwelcome head and you settle for something far more practical.

Just when you think you have it all under control you realise the day is approaching like a runaway train and there are a million things you put off or forgot about. Checklists and a whirlwind of activity rule your life. Finally, just when you think it can never all come together, it does and you're standing there listening to the words.

"For better or for worse, in sickness and in health."

And you repeat them. You share that first kiss as husband and wife. Everyone throws rice at you. The wedding party travels to some special site, Fort Garry in our case, for the photographs.

Afterward, there's the reception; the dinner, the toasts, the applause, and the dancing. One particular couple gets to dance first, of course. At my wedding, she was a short blonde pixie of a girl who never quit smiling. He was a man so common anyone could miss him- ordinary in every way except the special way he made her feel, a way she'd become all too used to feeling.

By the time that dance ended there was only one thing I wanted to feel that I hadn’t already, my husband inside of me.

Oliver had barely carried me over the threshold when we set about disrobing one another, kissing in between as the opportunity presented itself, leaving a trail of crumpled clothing in our wake.

I don't know if it's a tradition, but my husband carried me over the bedroom threshold as well, all the way to the footboard where he tossed me onto the mattress.

As my body bounced on the springs, my focus bounced back and forth from his rampant cock to his smiling face, before finally settling with reluctance upon the latter.

Ollie gave me a playful wink. "Close your eyes."

I pivoted my head to look at my man slightly sideways. "What are you going to do?"

"You'll see," Ollie whispered. Then he bounced his brow twice. "Or more like, you won't see. Now close your eyes."

I nodded. "Ok." With a sigh, I dropped my head to the pillow and turned my closed eyes to the visions in my head, trying to imagine what my lover had in mind. There was a moment when I heard a slight rattling and imagined it to be the sound of a condom wrapper. Smiling, I waited, picturing the rubber rolling over his member.

My first solid evidence of my husband's intentions came from the warmth I felt on the backs of my thighs. A moment later I realised he had slid his hands between my legs and the sheets. Cupping my thighs, Oliver pulled my legs upward. I assisted as soon as I understood his plan to pin my limbs to my torso.

My mouth curled upward. I'd been fucked in this position before and it had always been most intense. I breathed a sigh of selfish anticipation, awaiting the feel of his latex-clad crown at my entry. But this was not what my lover had in mind.

His palms still on my haunches, Oliver brought not his cock, but his tongue to my crease, giving my nether lips a full, slow lick.

My eyes bolted open. My head popped upward. "What are you doing?" I gasped. "Stop." My hands found his scalp. "You can't."

Oliver smiled. "I beg to differ. I most certainly can." As if to prove his point, he again drew his tongue along the length of my sex.

"No!" I protested, wiggling against his pressure, pushing against his head. "You have to be careful."

"Careful of what?"

"Haven't you been listening? I'm contagious all the time!"

"Yes," Oliver said. "I've been listening. Have you?"

"Yes!"

"Remember when I proposed, did you hear when I said I wanted to share everything with you?"

"Uh huh," I grunted, my thoughts drifting back to that moment.

"This is part of that everything." His face dropped again and for a third time I felt the velvety softness of his tongue bathe my pussy. Slower he went this time, setting of a tingling in my loins that spread as a series of shivers throughout my body. I inhaled a sharp breath, my hips bouncing from the mattress to push against his still-sliding appendage.

"But I'm still dangerous," I whimpered. It was the last semblance of opposition my psyche could muster. My fingers curled within his hair. Had he licked me again, I could not have said a word.

Oliver's head popped upward. Wearing a smile that made me want to scream, not the least of which because seeing his mouth meant his tongue was no longer upon me, my husband crawled up my form until his face was above mine. "So now my mouth is dangerous too. Are you still willing to kiss it?"

His meaning started to sink in. I nodded. "Of course."

"Even if you knew you'd get mouth sores," he pressed, "would you still?"

I closed my eyelids, squeezing out a portion of the moisture that had pooled there. "Yes. I'd kiss you no matter..."

Oliver's mouth found mine, terminating my sentence. My head bounced from the bed, pushing into his kiss, and all the germs, microbes, and viruses therein. His hands began to roam my body as our lips roamed one another. My hands joined the writhing bundle of passion that we had become.

Then I felt it, or more like him; the raw tip of his member probing my sex. My head fell to the pillow. I looked into his eyes and lay still.

Ollie's crown found my entry, and waited there. Neither of us said a word. We just looked into one another's eyes. He leaned. I heard my own ragged inhale as I felt his unsheathed cock slide within me. A second later my body trembled as I savoured the feel of his fullness there, where a man is meant to be, how a man is meant to be. My chest shuddered as well, but a whimper rather than a moan issued from my mouth.

It is one thing for a man to say he loves you; it is so much more for him to show it in a way that leaves no doubt. Imagining no one could be worthy of the amount of love it took to do what he had just done, I broke down. All the emotions, both good and bad, poured forth in a torrent of salty rivulets that ran down both of my cheeks.

Oliver withdrew at once. "Am I hurting you?"

"No!" I wailed. "Don't stop! Fuck me; fuck me hard." My voice subsided to a whimper. "Whatever you do, whatever I do, don't stop."

My lover entered me again, but in a tentative fashion, as if he doubted my words.

"Yes," I gasped. "Harder."

He did. Long, even strokes. Within minutes, my whimpers became moans. My body began to squirm, writhe even, beneath the pounding.

Oliver picked up the pace as if to match mine, seeming to touch with each lunge a new portion of my body, and a new portion of my soul as well.

I heard a yelp, and realised I had dug my fingernails into his flank. In that moment, my lover altered his rhythm. I moved my palms to his hips and tried to urge him back to his previous motion, to no avail. Looking up, I saw his eyes closed, a grimace across his face. I understood why he had felt so good only moments before.

"Oliver?"

My husband's eyes blinked open before he steered the glazed orbs down at me.

"Share," I whispered. "Share it with me."

With an enormous breath my Oliver responded with an even more enormous thrust, one that buried my ass in the mattress. I grunted my approval through clenched teeth as he withdrew for the next plunge.

Other noises emerged from my mouth with each of the dozen or so strokes that followed. Although each utterance was louder than the previous, none were intelligible until his last thrust, the one where he drove his masculinity into my very core, and there began rooting as if he could possibly be any father within me.

"Yes," I said with a wanton snarl. "Give it to me."

Oliver whimpered. His body shuddered. His neck curled back. A grimace again seized his face, but this I knew was a look of fulfilment rather than frustration. My legs quivered as I felt his fullness pulse inside of me.

I cannot say I felt the warmth of his seed spreading within me, that would be a lie- but I knew from the way his body stiffened that it was there just the same, deep inside of me, exactly where it was meant to be, instead of in some pathetic latex sleeve.

My lover collapsed upon me as the final throes of his culmination subsided. I arched my neck, moving my mouth to meet his. Our lips collided, triggering something akin to an aftershock in my loins. It wasn't a true orgasm, but it was a portent of those that would follow.

"I know what love is now," I whispered the instant his lips freed mine.

Oliver pulled back and cocked his head to one side. "What?"

I smiled. "When the heart and head agree."

My husband's eyelids began a rapid, though futile, flutter. A moment later a tiny droplet fell to splatter upon my cheek.

"Oh," I teased. "Did I make you sad? Surely those can't be tears of joy."

Ollie sniffled twice. "That look on your face. It makes me feel so alive."

I paused to consider the broad smile that graced my features. "It should," I said. "You put it there."

My husband doesn't get teary-eyed anymore at the sight of my just-fucked glow, but perhaps that's because he sees it most everyday. I, on the other hand, still weep at the drop of a hat, or the drop of no hat. Yet, no matter the time or place, my tears always flow over cheeks spread wide with a smile.

True love may be when the head and heart agree, but the heart is a place where the normal laws of the science do not apply. In that realm, two average beings can add up to something extraordinary simply by sharing all that they are, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health.

THE END
Open Sores
Copyright 2005 by Penelope Street
Posted with permission at Literotica.com
All other rights reserved.

Special thanks to Patricia, Richard, and Ron for their editing assistance.

This is a work of fiction. To the best of the author's knowledge, none of the events depicted ever occurred. All of the persons portrayed are fictional characters. Their views, opinions, and experiences are invented as well and are not meant to promote anyone's personal beliefs or agenda, nor should their words be taken as sound medical advice regarding sexually transmitted diseases.