Remembrance

"Get a hold of yourself! It's time to go," she said to herself. She dotted a small dab of perfume behind each ear. She thrust out her hand, taking hold of the door handle.

************

On the patio, George was becoming more and more restless. He thought that he had gained control of events. His play for time only served to banish his quarry behind the locked bathroom door. All possible initiative had now vanished. Only the turning of the handle of the bathroom door, unseen, from the other side, would signal the restart of the evening's events.

He regretted his Pyrrhic victory; he craved action. Her coyness in prolonging the waiting in the bathroom was merciless. He had yet to learn the lesson of the bathroom as the female bastion. He drained the last of the champagne in his glass. He poured himself another, but decided he didn't want it. He stood up to pace, but sat back down, lest Helen suddenly emerge to the betrayal of his anxiety.

He pictured her beyond that bathroom door. She would be disrobing. He pictured her nakedness. He had never seen her without clothes. His mind's eye painted a picture of her. She would be beautiful; he knew it. He would not deserve her. He started to shake. His inner vision of her pure nakedness made him harden under his pajama bottoms. A droplet of slippery liquid emerged from the tip of his penis. He worried that his fantasy might spur a premature response. He must calm himself.

"Was she nervous, too?" She hadn't seemed very nervous a few moments before. How could a woman so innocent and inexperienced so deftly ploy the feminine wiles as she had done? Probably, her already-married friends had schooled her. He worried that her knowledge overreached his. Perhaps she was trying to deal with her anxiety through aggressiveness. That would be typical of Helen. He glanced around the room in search of a task to absorb his nervous energy.

"The lights!" They were too bright. He stood and hopped about the room dimming it to a romantic dusk. He had to hurry ahead of her reentrance from her bathroom lair. It wasn't easy to move quickly with his hardened manhood pointing the way through his pajamas. He dodged chairs, beds and footstools, groping for switches. His task completed, he returned to his chair on the patio, but Helen remained in place beyond the bathroom door.

George's anxiousness returned. He convinced himself to remain seated on the patio until Helen decided to emerge and sit alongside him. He made a plan. He would sit calmly there, waiting for her to take her place alongside him. He turned her chair slightly, so as to leave no ambiguity about his wishes. He would casually offer her a glass of champagne. He would not be over-eager. She would be impressed by his savoir-faire. He remembered her insistence that he assume command. He was determined to do so. It was a good plan, but he wondered why his nervousness would not abate. The raging hardness in his groin intruded on his consciousness, maintaining the telltale tent in the front of his pajamas. He became more impatient. "What was she doing in there?"

**************

A loud click-click from the bathroom door froze him. For a second, his heart ceased beating. George cast aside his well-made plan of suavity. He jumped out of his chair and took two quick strides toward the bathroom door and then stopped himself. He stood silently waiting for the door to open. His pulse raced. He felt his breathing quicken. All day and night he had fought to control his ardor. He could do so no longer. George needed a new plan. In the pregnant moments that turn seconds to hours, he made one. He would shed all pretenses. The cloak wrapped around his emotions would be sundered.

Here, at last, was the culmination of his most cherished dream. It had sustained him, his secret companion. It had distracted him during his long trips at sea; nourished him on steamy Pacific islands; comforted him at the sight of dead and wounded comrades. The dream had been Helen. In it, she was sometimes a wife, or mother. Mostly it was Helen as his lover, waiting for him, desiring him, dreaming of him as he dreamt of her. Sometimes he saw her face, eyes glistening with joy at the sight of him safely home. At times he would see her distant form, waving excitedly to him as he returned to her. Once in a while, he pictured her nude, lying on a bed, her arms reaching for him.

The dream spoke to him. "Release me. I must go now; you don't need me. Seize reality as it stands before."

At that instant, the dream left him and George realized that he was no longer alone in life. He wondered how much life would mirror the dream. What unimagined circumstances would color their lives? He cast doubts aside. His life with Helen was meant to be. It was real and good. It was time to start. He had jumped over the barrier between hope and action, dream and reality. In the most important way he was no longer a virgin.

*************

The bathroom door slowly opened. Its light pierced the semi-darkness. The shaft of illumination isolated their space from the universe. Helen, with tiny steps, emerged into the open. The brightness framed her as she stood silently and motionless on display. George beheld the sight.

Her hair, which she left undone, cascaded around her shoulders. Her countenance was serene, and her eyes looked straight into his. They glistened a little bit, perhaps with passion, or maybe emotion.

Her shoulders and arms were bare except for the tiny straps that held up the lace bodice of her gown. Her delicate features were displayed; they were perfect, as if carved in white marble. Below, the lace bodice cradled her breasts as they hung naturally beneath her shoulders. As the line of the bodice plunged to her middle, it revealed the upper portion of them. They were round, but not pushed up. Her slender waist trailed down from the bodice and ended with the flare of her hips. The gown hugged them and outlined their feminine details. It draped from them like a waterfall to the floor. The flowing of it accentuated her virginal slenderness. Her bare feet, just visible under the hem, added a tone of earthiness to the otherwise classic scene. It was a lovely vision.

George's eyes feasted on the sight before him. At first, they devoured the picture in its entirety. They found a young woman, eager for her lover. She had a nubile quality, coupled strangely with a virginal innocence. Then his eyes moved to each perfect part which he savored in its turn. His eyes lingered at the outlines of hardened nipples that announced her excitement. She watched George's eyes engulf them. It did not shame her.

He would have liked to continue his grateful inspection, but it occurred to George that he must respond to the presentation. He searched for eloquence, but found no words adequate for his purpose. He struggled and groped for them. Finally, he exhaled a muffled "Oh, my!"

Helen's brow furled with concern. She whispered at him, puzzled and insistent, "What?"

"Helen, you can't know how beautiful you are right now! I don't know whether I want you to stand there as you are, or to peel that gown away." Helen smiled, and he knew that his words had pleased her.

Without speaking she stepped forward and leaned into him. Standing on her toes, she cast up her face, her lips brushing his. He congratulated himself. He had selected the right words. They had reassured her. George softened himself for her kiss that he expected in gratitude for his compliment.

"I think that I know the answer," she whispered.

With that, she tugged the drawstring of the pajamas to untie them. There was no kiss, but a pulling of the waist band over his erection. George stood without moving and allowed the loosened pajamas to fall in a heap at his feet. She moved backward half-dozen tiny steps.

He felt a coolness on his lower body as the pajama trousers fell off him. He started to shiver slightly, but not from the cold. Her aggression stirred him. He had passed control to her yet again, but this time his instincts drove him to revel rather than resist. He opened his senses. He wanted to feel all of it, to be swept into her current, riding all the way from the source, through the rapids, over waterfalls, finishing in the delta mouth.

Helen watched the pajamas fall down George's lower body. She gazed for a moment at him, hard and aiming straight at her. She spied a drip of clear fluid oozing from the tip, reminding her of her own moistness. Before George could speak, she slowly lifted her right hand to the tiny strap on the left shoulder of her negligee. Slipping her thumb under it, she pushed the string just slightly so that it tripped down her shoulder onto her bare arm. A little more roundness of her breast emerged, but the strap on the right kept the gown from falling.

George stood, naked, staring, and frozen in place. He could only watch and wait. Two more drips emerged from his hardened penis. The breeze drifting through the open patio door cooled the liquid. He did not care. He bathed in the sensation of it.

Helen gave him a few seconds to appreciate the small, yet provocative, revelation. She saw his dripping erection and listened to his hurried breath. She formed a faint smile and hooked her thumb under the remaining strap and pushed it over her shoulder to match the first.

George gasped with anticipation, expecting the negligee to fall for a sudden revelation of the treasures beneath it. The gown, however, remained in place, held by her crossed arms. He puzzled, yearned for more, naked. His pajamas lay crumpled at his feet. His penis was dripping again on them.

Helen looked directly into George's gaze, crossed arms holding up the bodice of her gown. The mysterious smile remained. It was playful, challenging, passionate, insistent, knowing. She watched him pant with growing desire.

Slowly Helen relaxed her arms loosely to her sides. The gown, which had been so nobly served her beauty, clung for the moment, the lace temporarily impaled on her hardened nipples. She flexed her shoulders slightly, initiating the gown's cascade. It fell to her waist, revealing her breasts. It paused at her hips. She stood for a second like the Venus, bare to the waist. George remained transfixed. She drew in her belly and her round cheeks. The gown fell away to the floor. She remained motionless, unveiled to him.

His eyes traveled to her rounded breasts, tipped with the hardened rosebuds, downward to the flare of her hips, and finally to the moistened triangle pointing to her woman's interior. He saw the glistening moisture that told him of her body's response that mirrored his in the donation of their slippery ointments.

At last their eyes met and locked together. He groped for words. He would not flatter or cliché. Only truth would suffice. How to capture his surging emotions? He pushed out the words, "Helen, you are beautiful. I love you. I want you."

The giving up of virginity is the crossing of many barriers. In her unveiling she stepped across the most important of all, revealing that which only her eyes had beheld. Now, the hymen was unneeded, a superfluous dam, serving only to block their physical union. They had already surmounted the higher peak. She had neither fear nor reluctance of the hymen's piercing.

As she stood silently exalting in her nakedness, looking into the eyes of her naked husband, she said calmly, in a clear voice, "George, if you desire what you see, then come and take it. It is mine to give. I give it to you. It is yours."

************

They strode to each other, arms extended, melding into an embrace. He kissed her lips tenderly; she responded in kind. He kissed her again. She slipped her tongue between his lips, probing. He gave back, and then bent lower. He stroked his lips over her neck and throat. Her senses thrilled. He caressed her bare back, around her shoulders, at first, then drifting lower to the small of her back. She relaxed every muscle, letting every new stimulus reach into her totally. She let her senses fill, holding back no reserve. She opened her legs slightly, feeling the air refresh it. Her sweetness oozed more fluid.

George reached down further from the small of her back and stretched his powerful hand around her perfect cheek. He felt her involuntary clench, continued to hold it, then appreciated the firmness underneath its smooth covering. He pulled her center against him. She spread her legs a little more. Instinctively, she rested her mound against his muscular thigh. She leaned against it, discovering the first traces of a new pleasure as she gently rubbed it against him.

She felt his hardness pressing against her belly. She leaned her body back a little and her small hand circled the shaft. He gasped in the sudden warm pleasure. A slippery fluid leaked from him onto her hand. She wanted it on her and wiped it on her flank. She tilted her head upward for another kiss. Her arms wrapped around his neck. George reached down and caressed the soft down of her mound. Then he probed lower. His fingers found her slit, filled with her wetness. He gently probed deeper.

Under her breath, Helen murmured a quiet "hmmm" as she responded to yet another new pleasure. She leaned into him, drawing his finger in further. "Ohhh", she breathed, as she learned how her actions could deepen her pleasure. She rocked slightly and sighed again as her body responded even more intensely.

She reached again for George's penis, determined to make his pleasure match hers. Helen's rocking continued as she stroked and caressed his member until his low-pitched groans let her know that his gratification, too, was mounting. He reached with his free hand to gently hold her breast. He bent his head lower and kissed it, then rubbed his thumb against the hardened nipple. A tiny squeal of delight escaped as she absorbed yet another new sensation.

They lost awareness of all except their bodies responding to newly-welcomed pleasures. They could continue for hours. It was so new, so exquisite, how could one stop? George felt urgency emerging inside him. He knew the meaning and he thought of the double bed with the turned down covers across the room.

He glanced down at his bride, lost in her throes, rocking herself against his thigh, holding his erection. He kissed her once more. He released her breast and her buttock. He swept her up, cradling her effortlessly. He felt her wetness on his thigh and relished it. They gazed at one another with a knowing look of agreement as he carried her to the bed and laid her gently on it.

Her head rested on the pillow, her hair forming a halo about her face. She smiled serenely at him. He looked down at her, taking pleasure in her beauty. She bent her legs at the knees, and then spread her thighs open in preparation for him. Her eyes widened in anticipation. He felt a surge of lust sweep though him in response to the invitation. She stretched out her arms reaching to him. Her tongue grazed over her lips waiting to taste him. Her welcome re-stirred his love for her. Feeling beauty, lust and love altogether, he climbed onto the bed and between her legs. His manhood pointed to her opening, not yet upon it. He knelt over her, his arms supporting them. He bent down, planting kisses around her breasts, then her nipples. Feeling the hardness, he suckled; she moaned in delight.

The perfume that she had dabbed behind each ear now fumed with the heat of her body. The scent aroused him further as it mixed with the musk she emitted below. He shifted forward, face to face with her. He hovered above her, his weight supported on his locked arms, hands planted on either side of her. She threaded her arms underneath his outstretched ones, placing her hands on each shoulder blade, embracing him. They kissed, long and slow, all eyes open. She thrilled to his powerful physique. Inching forward, he touched her essence with his own. The contact point was wet and warm.

He eased ahead slightly more, feeling the mushroom head slip just inside her labia. It was warm, full of a pleasure that he had never known. He steeled himself to stave off an eruption. She felt him inside her lips, so close to her barrier. It was a new sense of fullness. A trace of pleasure whispered to her as his gentle pressing caressed her clitoris.

George eased forward a little more, now engaging her hymen. She drew a breath at the pressure; he backed off. He pressed ahead gently again, then repeated his retreat. With each movement, Helen's new-found pleasure intensified. Each tiny trip to and from the barrier engendered a yen for its repeat. Desire accumulated. She felt a building sensation that she sensed would eventually overfill her vessel.

George sensed her pleasure, and delighted in it. Thus distracted, his urge to pour forth abated. His gentle in and out rocking had more purpose than the bestowal of sensual gifts. As he bumped against her maidenhead, he searched for a way to gently bypass it, so that he could explore beyond. It puzzled him. He refused to crudely surge ahead, to roughly puncture her to sate his carnal appetite. He wouldn't allow her to be broken; rather she would be opened. To do otherwise would have violated the tenderness with which he regarded her.

Through the haze of intensifying pleasure, Helen sensed his reluctance. The pleasure of him, softly caressing her clitoris, in and out, was easing her into a rapture that she was hesitant to surrender. But this sweetness delayed the completion of their union, now nearly accomplished. How to embolden him without hurting his feelings? As she searched for a solution his partial penetration continued to work on her. She gladly accepted a slight delay, savoring the sensations continuing to inundate her.

Helen moaned in pleasure, hooking her feet behind George's knees. It reassured him that he was pleasing her. The new feeling of her feet on the backs of his legs was a welcome new contact point. Her tender thighs brushed his flanks. As George started a new mini-push into her opening, Helen resummoned her boldness. With an equally gentle upward thrust she met his advance. George moaned his approval as he perceived her endeavor to share back her pleasure. He started a new push ahead, and she re-responded ("one")-her senses bulged with pleasure; another push, a gentle push back ("two"); she found that each quenching surge spawned a thirst for the next. Her anticipation peaked every nerve ending. George started anew expecting his bride's tender reply; but ("three") Helen overtook him in one motion. Locking her ankles more tightly around him, she thrust her pelvis sharply upward. She felt the rupture, his manhood sliding through her.

******************

She held him tightly, halting any immediate movements. Since the tiny steps forward from the bathroom door, much had now transpired. She drank in all that her senses spilled into her cup. Helen felt the soft skin of George's sack resting against her bottom. She formed a satisfied smile at the completed journey. She assessed the fullness inside that stretched her vagina, more than she would have imagined. It throbbed. She accepted the endurable pain. It was good pain, like an athlete's soreness at the start of a season's training. Her mind's eye formed an image of George's rigid shaft waiting within her, pointing at her womb. She imagined that she felt its pulse, tapping its feet like an impatient suitor. She wanted to hold it, squeeze it, cradle it, rock it, bathe it in her woman's ointments. She required no hands do so. She now possessed her new-found means, better suited to the task, opened for her by her new husband. At each future coupling, she determined, would be a chance to learn to do so more perfectly.

She cast her eyes up and found George looking down softly at her. "Just hold still for a minute, George, so that I can get used to you." Lying there, she borrowed more time to savor her new condition. She felt her breasts crushed under his chest as her arms grasped him to her. Her hands wandered over his strong masculine frame resting atop her. It all served as a reminder, along with the fullness now stretching her, of the differences between their bodies.