Buyer's Remorse Pt. 02

I was shaken by how vehemently the priest was addressing me. "Yes, Father, I understand."

"Then get out. Riley will schedule our next appointment."

When I got home, Riley asked how it went. "Good, I thought. He said you'd schedule our next session," I said. Riley smiled and nodded and turned away.

It was a strange week. We hardly spoke. We never touched each other, not even by accident. While my back ached from the couch, my being ached for my wife. I missed her. I missed her voice, her touch, her smile. She still smiled occasionally, but not for me and not as fully as she used to. I ached, but not for sex. Strangely, I hadn't lost any desire, but it was not the priority of my being that it used to be. I would have settled for a kiss on the cheek, a pat on the head, anything that showed me I was still part of her world.

The biggest surprise in our first joint session was Riley announcing that she wanted us to take classes, to convert to Catholicism. I was surprised she wanted to convert, but told her that I supported her, but didn't need the classes myself. I was raised Catholic.

Father O'Rourke muttered something about how that hadn't really taken hold, now had it, as Riley insisted that I had to take the classes with her. "Besides, if you already know it all you can help me understand." We started classes the following night.

After three weeks, on our fourth joint session, Riley told Father O'Rourke that she missed my touch, and that she wanted me to return to our bedroom. If he didn't think she was ready to resume her wifely duties, then we would forego sex, but she wanted me next to her at night.

I jumped in before the priest could speak. "Riley, you're not the one who needs counseling, or needs to be ready for anything. It's me. It my soul that needs to be untwisted. It's me that needs to respect you, to recognize you as a person.

"I know you still don't think I raped you, but I know I did, and it tortures me. The one thing you do have to learn from these sessions is that no one has the right to your body but you. You give it as a gift, it's not my right or anyone else's. Please believe me. You're pure and perfect. It's me that must learn." Against instruction, I reached out and held her hand. I held it tightly.

Father O'Rourke pursed his lips, considering the two of us. "I agree. I think it's time to move forward. I still think you should wait to engage in martial relations, but even that, I'll leave it to Riley's discretion." He smiled, "It's in your hands. I'll see you next week."

We walked out, holding hands. We held hands all the way home. Riley's smile was for me.

We didn't talk all the way home. I was too choked up.

That night, we lay in bed, side by side. Riley had kissed me, goodnight, before turning out the lights. We were still holding hands in the dark when Riley whispered to me.

"Do you want to climb my palm tree and take hold of my fruit?"

It was wonderful. It was beautiful. It was, in Riley's words, heavenly.

But it was sort of a shame. She could have won the Price Bowl.

In the end, we became Catholics. Riley helps at the church, giving her time almost daily, wherever she can assist. I help Riley, wherever she is, so I'm at the church a lot as well. The silver lining to that was that her mother disowned Riley. My wife had told her not only about the Catholicism, but about her newfound enjoyment of sex. Her mother condemned her as a whore, a scarlet woman, hell bound along with her debauched husband. That made me smile. I thought about having a t-shirt made, but didn't think Father O'Rourke (or for that matter, Riley) would appreciate it.

The final note was Riley's father comes by regularly. The first time, he was timid when he approached his daughter, but wrapped her in a hug that he held for a few minutes. He kissed her head and told her he loved her. Then he hugged me and then shook my hand.

"Thank you. Thank you," he repeated. "I was afraid that Riley would have the same miserable life that I've had. I'm married; I should leave but I can't. And I can't separate my wife from her beliefs. But thank you for saving my daughter."

Riley, my beautiful Riley, was now open to all the sexual experiences I could give her. She had become the most enthusiastic and experimental partner I have ever had. Except she let me know there were no butts about it. She absolutely refused anal.

I thought I'd eventually get her to try it, when one day she came home from a get together with her friends from college. Her old roommate, who still was suspicious of me, had told her about pegging. Riley informed me that it might be fun to be the one on top for a change. She wanted to try it.

We came to the firm, final understanding of our marriage. There were no butts about it.