The Honeymoon Ch. 02

It was her first real experience with delayed gratification, with wanting something and having to resist that want, and it left her antsy. Despite the beautiful environs, despite the tasty and creative cuisine, despite the gorgeous moon-lit beach which she and Patrick strolled along, her mind was elsewhere. It was so hard to focus when something she wanted was just out of reach! Kerri must've seen, or maybe even Winston, because the two of them retired early; but it wasthenthat Patrick insisted on the beach-walk. She should've been delighted.

"What's going on, honey?" Patrick said to her. "Ever since we got back from golf you've been just on the edge of your seat."

Oh, go figure that he would choose this moment to suddenly become observant.

"Winston had some more ideas about how to... Ease you into things," Patrick said.

"So did Kerri," Amanda said.

"Oh," he said. "Did any of them seem like they would work out?"

"You mean, of the ones I tried while you were gone?" she said.

He stopped short and stared at her.

"I mean, why do you think I've been edge-of-my-seat this entire time?" Amanda said.

"I, umm. I take it you'd like to head back to the room." He was grinning.

"About time!" she said.

For the first time, she was an active participant in the kissing, the undressing, the eagerness. It felt good to be active, to be a part of it, to not be at his mercy. Not that she thought he would abuse his power over her, over her body. But it was nice to be in the driver's seat. It was nice to feel that, for once, she had some control over her fate. Proudly, she presented her breasts to him, and settled in to await that tingling feeling of excitement.

It never came.

"Umm, honey--"

"Keep going!" she said.

But it was no good. He suckled at her breasts, and she tried to make herself relaxed and open, but all she felt was empty. His mouth, his lips, his brassy hair--they did nothing. She even opened her legs and bade him work below, but all she felt was that intense over-stimulation. And then gradually she felt nothing at all, and she realized there were tears burning on her cheeks.

"Baby?" he said. "Baby?"

"It worked earlier," she said, her voice shaking. "It worked earlier but it's not working now and I don't know why and it'snot working--" And that was the end of speech, as she flung herself over, face first into the pillows, and wept with rage. She felt his hands gentle on her bare back, and his kisses, and knew that he still loved her--and yet his touch made her feel worse, and she gave an inarticulate roar and felt him jolt away.

Finally, she had cried herself dry. She was cold now, bare in the air-conditioned room. She could hear from his breathing that he had not left her side.

"Well," Patrick said, "if they're listening at the door, they'll have a hell of a time interpretingthatnoise." It was a lame shot, but she laughed a little. ...And then some more, remembering the noise that had torn loose from her throat. "WhatdidI say, anyway?"

"I'm... not entirely sure. There were vowels, but I'm not sure which, and some of them might have been imported from foreign countries."

She laughed again, and then turned her head back. Patrick was still there. He sat at ease, one knee up, the other arm down to support his upper body, like a statue of some reclining Greek god. A wave of remorse ran through her. He deserved so much more than this. "Baby, I..."

"Shh," he said. "It's okay."

"You probably wouldn't've married me if you'd known it was gonna be like this."

"I told you to shut up once, lady, don't make me do it again." He smiled, and then opened his arms to her, and gratefully she came to his embrace, and felt his heart beat against her breast, and his warm arms around her, and knew that she was the luckiest woman on earth, to be this loved.

"Thank you for having so much patience with me," she said.

"Honey," he said, laughing, "what did I just tell you about--"

"No, sweetie, let me finish," she said. "I... I love you so much. Even if I didn't enjoy it, I would do it for you. But now I can't even dothat." She grimaced. "I think I'm defective."

"No," he said, "not defective. Just a woman--a beautiful, normal woman, who is facing some... challenges."

"Chyeah, 'challenges.' More like 'defective training.' God, and I was so sure that Kerri and I had this figured out..."

"What did you guys talk about?"

She outlined the basics of the explanation. Patrick nodded. "That makes sense. There's this weird... assumption going on in American culture that you should just, I dunno, naturally know how to have sex. And, I don't think that's true. I think itissomething you have to learn."

"But, shouldn't everything at leastwork," Amanda grumped. "I mean, getting... aroused and all that."

"Well... Forgive me for trampling on Kerri's theory, but I think there might actually be three phases," Patrick said.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. The first one was to relax and get comfortable with your self, right? And the second was to play with yourself and see if it all worked."

"Which it did, so I don't get why it didn't work for you."

"Well, that's just the thing. It didn't work, forme, because... I dunno how to explain it, I went to boot camp instead of college. But... It's one thing to be sexual with yourself, and another to be sexual with someone else. I mean, there's all this... I mean, you take off your shirt, and you're like, 'Oh, god, is she gonna judge me, is she...' "

She touched his bare chest, a comforting gesture. "I would never judge you."

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. "I know you wouldn't, darling. But I know that intellectually. Insecurities, on the other hand..."

"Yeah. Maybe that's... One of the nice things about waiting until you get married. Then, at least, you know you're with somebody who isn't gonna just judge you and then walk away."

"Well, that I don't know about," Patrick said. "One marriage in two ends in divorce nowadays. But that's besides the point. The point is that... I think that's the third step. The first one is being sexual, the second is being sexual with yourself. But the third is learning to engage all that with someone else. Learning to... To overcome all those nerves and insecurities and relax--completely, totally relax--in the company of someone else."

She grimaced. "And you've been telling me for years that I never do that to begin with."

"I can tell you something, my love. Out of the, you know, vast annals of my experience." They sometimes joked that he was some sort of Casanova, having lost his virginity during his first tour of duty, but the truth was that it had been with a prostitute overseas, and of the girlfriends he'd had since, only one had slept with him, and then only a few times, before the break-up. "You can have sex, sure, where, you know, it's an activity. Where you're just doing it for the sake of doing it. But it's when two people are really... Are really open to each other, and are sharing, and don't have any walls up.That'swhat it's supposed to be like."

"So that's step four," she said. "God, I have a lot of work to do."

"No, maybe more like step three-and-a-half," he said.

"At this rate, it's gonna be, like, months before we get there," she said, feeling tears in her eyes again. Months before they could do it? Months before she could give her body to her husband fully? "I feel so defective."

Patrick was silent for a long moment. "Well..." he said finally. "If... If it's that important to you, thereareother ways, you know."

Had it been any other time, she might've accused him of trying to take advantage of her fragile emotional state. Today she merely said, "What do you mean?"

"I mean that... There's other ways to share our bodies with each other. To give each other pleasure. To have sex."

"And you want me to..."

"Hon, it's totally up to you. I love you, and I will support whatever you decide is best for you."

Itwasa set-up. But she felt too wretched to look the gift horse in the mouth. If he was going to offer her a way to redeem herself, she would take it, no questions asked. "Tell me what to do."

"Well... You probably noticed that... While we were trying to make things happen... I would sometimes put my mouth on your... Down-there."

"Okay, and... You want me to put my mouth on my down-there? Umm... I don't know if I'm flexible enough."

"No, that's not what... I wanted you to put your mouth onmydown-there."

She decided not to think about the hygienic aspects. "Okay, umm... To what point? Is it just like kissing you in another place?"

"No," he said, "if... If you do it right, I might... Have an orgasm."

She frowned: "Great,anotherthing for me to fail at."

"No, not at all. First off, Amanda, you need to stop getting down on yourself like that. Haven't we talked about relaxing?"

"That involves you not judging me."

"That involvesyounot judging yourself either," he said.

She said nothing.

"And second... Well, I don't know why this is, but it's easier for men to have orgasms than women. It's something you can probably learn pretty quickly."

"And if I can't?"

"Then I'll teach you," he said easily. "You're already learning about your own body; you can learn about mine too."

"Aren't I just... Supposed to know?" she said; but even as she said it, she knew it was foolish. "No, of course not. I don't even know howmybody goes, and it's my body; there's no way I should be able to know yours."

He smiled. "See? You're learning already."

There were about a thousand things she would rather talk about than her lack of sexual prowess. "So what do I do to you and your thing?"

"Well, you should..." He shrugged. "You should feel free to explore."

"Explore what?" It was a little more caustic than she'd intended.

He shrugged. "Me. Hon, of course there's all this stuff about how a man comes into ownership of his wife, and his body belongs to her. You know that angle of it really well. But the woman becomes the master of her husband's body as well. That's one of the reasons infidelity is such a mess: you're giving to someone else that which isn't really yours to give anymore. We're married. My body is yours, just as yours is mine. Don't you want to get to know what's yours?"

"I'm having enough trouble getting to knowmything," she grumbled, but he had a point. All their explorations had been one way thus far, focusing exclusively on her. It would be a lie to say that getting to know his body was a particular priority for her... But it would also be a lie to say she was indifferent. Shewascurious. And since they couldn't seem to accomplish anything by exploringherbody...

"Is there anything specific I ought to know?" she asked.

"If anything occurs to me, I'll be sure to mention it," he said.

"Well, I mean..." she said. "Can you give me instructions?"

"Do you want me to?"

"Well...Yes," she said. "I mean, what doIknow about you?"

He gave her a twisted smile. "Now you see how hard it is formeto have to fumble around blind?"

"Could we maybe not rub that in?" she said, letting real irritation color her voice. "Could we maybe not harp on the fact that it is practically impossible for me to be a good wife in this manner?"

There was a short, tense silence.

"...I'm sorry," she said, "I shouldn't..."

"No, I'm sorry too," he said. "I won't make fun of it anymore."

"We've been focusing on you, and maybe rightly so, but, you're not the only person frustrated here."

"I know," he said, smiling. "That's what we're fixing tonight."

The reference escaped her; in any case, she decided she had more important things on her mind than to decode his slang. Explore her husband's body? All right.

"...Is... there any specific thing you want me to start with?"

She could see the effort it took him to retain patience. "Just... Trust yourself. Do you trust yourself? I trust you."

And what could she say tothat?

She started by kissing across his chest and ribs--at random, letting her lips wander where they would. She had never experienced the texture of his chest before--his skin was tight across his muscles, firm over them in a way she herself, 5'5 and 140 pounds, could not hope to personally achieve. She had always loved his physique, the strength there and the gentleness in his demeanor; to her, he was a man's man, strong without need of posturing, endlessly respectful. She was very lucky to have him, and it occurred to her that she had been taking him for granted all this time. Never again, she decided.

She speckled kisses across his pectorals, his ribs, his shoulders, while he lay docile to her touch--except for one hand, which held hers. On impulse, she decided to kiss his nipples; after all, he'd spent so much time doing the same to her. She wasn't entirely sure what to expect; and so she was surprised at his reaction: a sigh of contentment as he resettled himself on the bed, and letting go of her hand to cradle her head against his body. (Wasthiswhat he was expecting from me? God, no wonder he could tell it wasn't working.) She groped with her other hand until she had found his. She wanted to be connected to him for this, to know that she was doing it right.

At a loss, she tried sucking on his nipples, the way he had done to her; she was surprised at his response. He seemed to like it. How could that be? He wasn't a woman; he couldn't give milk. But the simple fact was that he seemed to like it: he made encouraging noises with his breath, and raised his chest to her mouth, and squeezed her hand. When she switched to his other nipple, she noticed that it was hard and distended, as though in cold weather; she remembered her own nipples doing that when she had played with herself, and wondered if this was normal for men and women both. A glance south confirmed that, yes, maybe it was a sign of arousal: his manhood was stiffening, bobbing up and down in time with his heartbeat.

She knew it was going to end up down there eventually, but it still felt wiser to ask. "Do you want me to touch your..."I mean, he could say no.

"Only if you want to," he said. "It's all about what you want."

"Honey, don't bullshit me," she said. "It's about whatyouwant."

"Okay, it's about what webothwant," he said. "What do you want, Amanda?"

To make up for the fact that I suck at sex."I want to please my husband."

"Well," he said, "it would please me if you would touch me there," he said, "but that's just my point. If that makes you uncomfortable, we'll find some other way."

"No," she said. "I'll do it." And--before she could second-guess herself--she put actions to words and reached down to grab him.

She hadn't realized it would be so warm.

"Okay," she said, "this is one of those cases where you have to tell me what to do."

"Well," he said, "if you just move your hand up and down, it will feel good."

She heard the comma. "But...?"

"But... If you use your mouth... It would be even better."

Right. They'd discussed this already, though she'd hoped they wouldn't get to it. He'd said that if it made her uncomfortable... But she'd already committed to doing this. She might as well do it right. "What do I do when you... squirt?"

"That's, um... That's up to you. If you want to just back off and let it go on my stomach, you can."

She didn't even say it this time, just looked at him.

"But... You could swallow it too."

"Let it go in my mouth, and then just swallow it," she said.

"Yeah."

She didn't waste any time with silly 'why' questions. "What's the difference to you?"Since we're doing it for you anyway,she thought, and this time he didn't bother to protest.

"Well... When I'm coming, it feels better if you keep stimulating me."

" 'Coming'?"

"Having my orgasm."

"How will I even be able to tell? Besides, you know, suddenly something squirting in my mouth."

"I'll tell you, of course," he said.

"You'll say something?"

"Yeah, like... I dunno, 'Honey, I'm about to cum.' "

Straightforward enough, she supposed.

She moved south down the bed, positioned herself kneeling between his legs. She had never noticed just how much leg hair he had; but it was nothing compared to the thicket between his legs. She was expected to stuff her face inthere? But then she remembered that he had done the same thing to her down-below, and with nary a complaint. That was the whole point, wasn't it?--that he was setting the example which she should try to follow.

Still, it was good to seek his hand. And when she did, she saw him look down at her past his body, and smile at her, and she saw that he knew this was hard for her. And he squeezed her hand, and she felt his confidence in her. And, suddenly, it didn't seem quite as daunting.

One of her hands was in his; the other was free to explore. Gently, she took hold of his shaft. It was a little floppy now (she knew that wouldn't last), and a lot softer than she expected; his skin there was like that of a baby's. She felt its spongy texture, the slickness of the circumcision scar, the little bumps and nodules under its surface. Even as she handled it, it began to grow warmer, firmer, harder. She was surprised that she could have so much impact; she'd barely done anything.

As if he could hear her thoughts, he said: "It's because I love you so much. Anything you do, it's good for me."

So I could mess up and you'd still like it?she thought; but then she decided that there was too much at stake for pride.

He was pretty hard by now, his erection standing proud above his belly; it wasn't perfectly straight, but slightly curved downwards. It wasn't perfectly smooth either; the tip was redder than the rest of it, and bulbous, like a little helmet, with a V-curve underneath and a ridge leading down towards his testicles. She could see a little slot in the tip, and realized that this must be where urine came out--and, unless she was mistaken, semen too, eventually. That was her challenge for the evening: to make semen come out of that little slot.Doesn't sound so difficult. ...But then, neither did all that other stuff.

She brought her mouth closer to the tip of his penis, feeling a moment of hesitation. Would it taste foul? It had been all sorts of less-than-sanitary places. Urine came out of it, for instance. And it had been insideherless-than-sanitary place too. For a moment she merely hovered there, her mouth open, breathing. Then, steeling herself, she moved her mouth down and closed it, ever so delicately, around the tip of his cock.

In the end, she was almost disappointed: it didn't taste like much at all. Salty, a little, with sweat, and the slightly reddish taste she had always associated with skin. But the effect on her husband was desultory and immediate: he gave a breathy little moan, as if he really liked what was going on, and his hips came up a little off the bed. And, best of all, the hand she held gave an involuntary twitch. Yes, he did indeed seem to like what she was doing.

Slowly, she worked the ring of her mouth further down his shaft, expecting him to ejaculate at any moment--what would happen, exactly, when he did? But nothing came, and eventually she reached the point where as much of him as possible was in her mouth. She was dismayed to note that at least half of it would not fit, perhaps as much as two thirds. (She didn't know it, but her husband's endowment had been the envy of everyone in his barracks.) Still, he seemed happy--especially when her tongue came up to touch the underside of his shaft. He actually groaned then.