My Beautiful Bride

Sharon and I have been married for thirty, mostly happy years. We never managed to have children, which was our one great disappointment, as it was to both our families. After several years of trying, we sought medical help and were told that Sharon had fallopian tube problems, meaning she could not conceive. Not wanting to adopt, we decided that our lives would go down a different path to the one we planned, so lived our lives for each other, throwing ourselves into our careers and spending our money on holidays, cars and entertainment. All in all, we have had a good life, living for and loving each other.

But, thirty years after our wedding day, something happened which turned our lives upside down:

Sharon told me what happened on our wedding night, revealing a dark secret that had weighed heavily on her since that day.

We first met in school and if any couple fitted the love at first sight profile, it was us. Neither of us felt the need to even look at another person and we were inseparable throughout our teens.

It seemed inevitable that we would marry, and soon our parents became great friends, with strong bonds built between our two families. We had become a couple, albeit a celibate one, remaining at home with our parents while we scraped together every penny we could manage, to save for a house and for our wedding day.

Sharon's religious upbringing meant that sex before marriage was strictly off the agenda, so we restricted ourselves to kissing and what might once have been called heavy petting, fully clothed of course.

Sharon held her sexual desires back, wanting to give herself up to the man she loved and, although I struggled with this, I honoured her faith and longed for our wedding night, when I would finally see my bride naked and waiting for me.

For the few nights before our wedding, Sharon and I spent a lot of time alone in our new house, decorating our sparsely furnished new home, ready for our new life.

On the last night, when we finally collapsed exhausted onto the sofa, we kissed like never before and I thought that this must be the time to take our love to the final stage. But Sharon stopped, looking red faced and flustered, pulling away to re-arrange her clothing, telling me that we must wait. Two more days, she said and we could release the pent up desire for each other.

We sat back down and talked for hours, Sharon telling me how she too desperately wanted to have sex, but was determined to lose her virginity on her wedding night and not a day before.

Her indoctrination throughout her entire adult life had been leading up to that day, the moment when she could finally let go and give herself up to her man for the first time in her life. Only when she was married, could she allow herself that outlet for her sexual passion, a passion that she admitted was massive now, filling her thoughts throughout the day and her dreams at night.

She was becoming obsessed with thoughts: how would it feel to have a man's penis inside her, would it hurt, would she feel dirty afterwards, would she satisfy her man?

So, for the first time, we talked about how we had coped with these feelings over the years. I talked about having wet dreams and of masturbating regularly, particularly after I had come home to my parents house after seeing her, it being the only way that I could cope with the abstinence.

In contrast, Sharon told me that she had never masturbated, which I was amazed at, and that led us to talk about orgasms. Her face was a picture when I tried to describe the feeling of having an orgasm, something which she had apparently never experienced. Nobody had ever mentioned the word to her, let alone described the experience and she was fascinated that she would get a burst of pleasure from the experience.

In today's world, it is difficult to understand that anybody could be as innocent as Sharon was at that time. She knew very little about sex, other than the clumsy discussions and awkward school education, which mainly concentrated on the biological side of sex. She had always shied away from her friends discussions about boyfriends and their relationships, her parents telling her that such talk was dirty and that those girls were bad girls who would go to hell for being so brazen. She eventually mixed only with church friends who had the same attitudes to herself, her parents making sure that she went through puberty well away from predatory boys.

Not interested in sports or swimming, she never encountered the delights of a sweaty changing room, instead being a bookish type, never happier than when curled up with a book at home, isolated from the evils outside.

This was a world I also inhabited whilst we were together, a closeted experience which I never enjoyed, desperate to take her away into a different world, one which we eventually experienced, after I had spent years earning her mother's trust.

The conversation that night made us both realise how intense our desire to finally have sex was. We were both desperate beyond belief to release the years of pent up passion and finally lie in the arms of another, enjoying each other's naked bodies at last.

Sharon's interest in my orgasms made her wonder what it would feel like for a woman and I could see that curiosity in her eyes as we talked, her mind clearly turning it over, before she finally admitted that she wanted to have sex then, if only to rid herself of the questions in her mind and the feeling in her loins, but that we must wait.

Looking at the dim light of dawn coming through the blinds, we realised that we had talked until morning, so had only one more day to wait, Sharon creeping into the bedroom to sleep for a few hours, while I slept on the sofa, our dreams taking us forward to the consummation of our marriage.

As you can tell, we were firmly dedicated to each other and always had been, so this made Sharon's story particularly upsetting, even after thirty years.

******

Our wedding day was wonderful and, at the time, everybody told us that it would stand out as the best day of our lives.

It was a church wedding of course, Sharon's family choosing their local church, set in a rural English village at the height of summer. The sun shone, the bride looked truly beautiful in her pure white billowing wedding dress, her blonde hair beautifully styled and bedecked with flowers. She was truly the epitome of the virgin bride.

The wedding reception was filled with family and friends, all of whom agreed that it was the best wedding they had ever attended, except for their own of course, and complimented the beautiful bride. Most of our friends knew how close we were and that we had kept ourselves pure for each other and there were some whispered remarks and giggles at what was about to come that night, making Sharon blush with embarrassment, only making her more desperate to burst the dam of frustration, built up for years.

So, with joy in our hearts, we set off early on a summer's evening for our honeymoon hotel, to finally consummate our marriage.

This was when the day started to turn sour.

The hotel, paid for by Sharon's parents, provided the limousine and driver that whisked us away to the hotel. The driver was well dressed, well spoken, very polite, very good looking, (according to my new bride), and very black. That was unusual in the rural area where we had been brought up. Neither of us had any black friends, nor worked with and rarely saw black people. We were white middle class kids, brought up in a closeted world.

Wary of him at first, we soon warmed to him as he chatted easily whilst putting luggage in the back, complimenting Sharon on her dress and congratulating us both on our marriage.

As we drove away, he was the epitome of discretion as we kissed and cuddled in the back, sliding the window across to give us some privacy and turning on some suitable music (Barry White, as I remember).

On arrival at the hotel, he told us that he not only worked at the hotel, but was a partner in the business, was resident there and would therefore be available for any assistance should we need it during our short stay.

Sharon invited him to join us in the bar for a drink, which he happily agreed to and, as soon as he garaged the limo, he strode in and sat next to me, lifting his drink with a smile and wishing us both a long and happy marriage.

At this point, I should mention that Sharon was still dressed in her wedding dress, only ditching the veil and long train before we departed for the hotel. She had this dream of consummating our marriage in that dress, which made her look amazing, a tight bodice pushing up her tiny breasts and acres of fabric billowing out below. She was a true princess that day and I was immensely proud of her.

During the speeches, Sharon shocked me by whispering to me that she had decided not to wear underwear and had only her white stockings and suspender belt under her skirt. When I looked back at her, she gave me a look which set my groin on fire. Her eyes burned with desire and I only then realised that this days events were turning her on. She went on to whisper how she expected me to lay her on the bed, turn off all the lights, pull up the multiple layers of silk and lace and to very gently make love to her amongst the frothy fabric.

She was also insistent that we do it in the dark, despite my desire to see my bride naked for the very first time, but it was clear that she was as horny as hell and I was in no mood to argue. She winked and took a sip of champagne, licking her lips at me, her demeanour suddenly changing as the speeches neared an end, her chest flushed, her hand constantly searching out mine as if she wanted to make sure I was still with her.

As we rose to toast the bridesmaids, I noticed a large wet patch that she had deposited there, a sure sign of her arousal.

Not wanting to embarrass her, I put a napkin on her seat and ruffled her dress to hide the stain upon it, thinking of how expectant she must be, to be aroused already.

I was disappointed at the thought of having sex in the dark, but Sharon insisted that the pleasure of seeing her totally naked, would have to wait until after, when we could slowly explore our bodies and learn the art of lovemaking in our new home.

So, seated in the hotel bar, and with our driver making pleasant and humorous conversation, I decided to check with the receptionist that our room was ready, with flowers and champagne on ice, as we requested.

The receptionist, a very good looking older woman I knew as Vanessa, had impeccable manners and couldn't have been more helpful. We had met previously when we were choosing venues and I found her very friendly, chatting for hours after the initial tour of the grounds, inviting me up to her personal apartment for a drink after. Her living area was most impressive, laid out on two floors, with a short marble stair leading to a mezzanine bedroom area laid out with expensive furniture, a separate luxury bathroom and a changing room full of expensive looking clothes. She had taken great delight in showing me her wardrobe and I noticed some very revealing dresses which I tried hard not to imagine her slipping out of.

We got on well and as I walked out of the hotel that day, I felt as if I had made a new friend, which made the venue decision easy for me.

The friendliness and the ambience of the hotel was so warm and professional that I felt safe here, so had no problem leaving my beautiful bride with a strange man whilst Vanessa escorted me to the honeymoon suite via the spa and pool area, to once again familiarise me with the various facilities available, something which I thought unnecessary, as I was by now familiar with the place.

This took longer than I expected, mainly due to Vanessa being a little overly helpful in showing me the amenities. She was going above and beyond her duty in that, when we were wandering round the empty spar area, it became obvious that she was flirting with me, saying that my bride was lucky to have found such a good looking young man and that she wished she were in her place that night.

My mind at the time was full of sexual thoughts and I was beginning to find her sexually attractive, briefly considering taking her up on that offer of being in my bride's place, when her skirt rode up as she bent over the spa reception counter to pick out a leaflet, her shapely legs being revealed all the way up, giving me a glimpse of the forbidden fruit for the briefest of moments, getting me aroused, but also nervous at the thought of being close to this mature, sexually charged woman.

My libido was in overdrive at that stage, given that Sharon and I were about to finally lose our virginity, and if Vanessa had given me a tiny bit more encouragement I'm sure I would have disgraced myself there and then, especially when she made some salacious comments in the hotel suite when turning down the bed. I felt massively guilty though, having a massive erection as I watched her bend over the bed, sensuously smoothing the sheets that were, as Vanessa sexily said, "All ready to receive your wet and willing bride.".

I smiled nervously as she smiled and winked at me, turning to brush past me, the scent of her driving me to distraction.

On arriving back to the hotel bar, nearly an hour after I left her, I found Sharon and the driver sitting next to each other, laughing uproariously. Sharon was clearly drunk, not being used to excessive drinking, and I noticed that there were several empty wine glasses in front of her, whilst the driver was still nursing a small beer.

Ever the gentleman, the driver stood up as I approached, shook my hand and wished us both goodnight, leaving Sharon smiling like the proverbial Cheshire Cat, with an empty glass waving precariously in her hand.

I couldn't help but laugh as she wobbled to the lift on my arm, struggling to walk, on four inch stiletto heels. Sharon giggled for no reason and I laughed with her as she lifted her dress slightly at the driver as we passed him in reception, the sexy receptionist winking at me with a seductive smile and blowing me a kiss.

Finally in the room, with the door firmly closed behind us, we readied ourselves for what was to be a defining event in our lives.

Sharon lay back on the bed, lifted her dress and sexily parted her legs giving me the first sight of the prettiest and sexiest thing I had ever seen: Sharon's tight untouched pussy, freshly shaved and perfumed for the occasion. Just as the receptionist predicted, she was very wet and very willing, her wetness showing in the dim light of the bedroom.

I desperately wanted this moment to be perfect, so decided to use the bathroom first, disappearing as Sharon called out for me to slip on a condom, something she would later insist on for months after, as she had only just started her birth control regime, only wanting to start a family when the time was right.

As I walked into the bathroom, turning on the lights, the bulb blew, fusing the entire suite and plunging us into darkness.

I cursed, but figured that we could continue in the dark, just as Sharon wanted, but it was so dark that I couldn't find the toilet, let alone the wash bag containing the condoms.

There was no option, I would have to call down to reception to get the power back on.

Eventually finding the bathroom phone I picked it up, finding it was also dead, so fumbled my way back to the bed, whispering to Sharon that I would be back in a few minutes and would leave the door ajar so that she would have a little light to see by. My parting comment was to cover herself up, as I opened the door and slipped quietly out, deciding to take the stairs as the lift was busy.

That is the last that I remember of that night, because the next memory I have, is of waking up in a hospital bed.

Apparently, I slipped and tumbled down two flights of stairs, rendering myself unconscious. I was taken to hospital and spent the night under sedation and observation as the doctor thought I might have a brain or spinal injury. The next thing I remember was waking to see Sharon in tears at the foot of the bed, talking to a consultant, who was reassuring her that all the tests and X-rays were normal and that I could probably be released the next day.

Sharon was clearly shaken by the accident as she couldn't stop crying for a week and, due to me having severe headaches from the head wound and concussion, we had to wait a further week before we could finally consummate our marriage and start our new life together.

That was thirty years ago and my memories of that night have faded as the years went by. That is until we arrived at our Caribbean hotel to celebrate our thirtieth wedding anniversary.

Our room was wonderful, overlooking a beautiful bay with clear blue seas and silver sand beaches. It was perfection, but Sharon's mood was down.

She had been less than keen when I finally told her at the airport that the surprise holiday I had planned, was to a Caribbean island.

Starting out for the airport, she had been happy and excited, constantly asking where we were going. I wanted it to be a surprise for as long as possible, but eventually had no choice, telling her as I checked our bags in.

She instantly looked concerned, becoming silent, her face grey and drawn. I was concerned she was ill, but she assured me she was OK, just worried about the long flight ahead of us.

The first day was horrific, as she started crying as soon as we got into the taxi, the friendly driver looking concerned for her as he lifted the bags into the car and expressing concern to me throughout the journey. Things got worse when we checked into the hotel, Sharon intermittently bursting into tears throughout the entire day.

Eventually, after turning down our invite to a special event dinner, making the excuse that we were both jet lagged, Sharon sat on the bed in our room and, with red eyes and a tear streaked face, finally told me why she was upset, telling me that the thought of being amongst so many black people was disturbing for her.

Incredulous at that thought, I asked why. She then took us back in time, to reveal the truth about our honeymoon night.

Sharon started by telling me that she was very drunk that night, so some of her memories are hazy and that I should know how much she loved me then and how much she loves me to this day.

After some more tears, she eventually took a deep breath and started her tale.

She said she recalled us getting to the hotel, me leaving her alone with the driver and then being offered drink after drink by him. She also remembered feeling drunk and me helping her to the lift and the receptionist winking at me, feeling rather jealous.

She remembered feeling intensely passionate as I lay her on the bed, desperate to let herself go at last, to finally experience the sex that she had always dreamed of.

Pulling her bridal dress over her face, she opened her legs as a signal that she was ready for me, finally showing me what I had longed to see, exactly as she had long planned.

It was a moment I vividly and lovingly remembered, my last memory of our honeymoon night.

She didn't remember the lights fusing, or me leaving the room, assuming that she passed out briefly, only waking when I re-entered the room.

I stopped her at that point, saying that I never came back to the room that night, falling down stairs after leaving her. So who had come into the room after I left?

At this, Sharon started weeping again, blurting out the rest of the story, between sobs.

She remembered laying on the bed, legs apart as she slipped into a dreamlike half sleep, knees bent in anticipation. Some time later, she woke alone in semi darkness, light coming in from the corridor through the partially open door. Thinking I was still in the bathroom, she closed her eyes and waited for me. The next she knew, light briefly flooded the room as the door opened and then quickly closed again, plunging the room into inky darkness. She then felt me kneeling between her legs, gently spreading them further.