The Honeymoon Blues
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Julie Phips, soon to be Julie Crandall, sat at her dressing table, gazing into the mirror at the five-foot eleven-inch woman staring back at her. She looked critically at the long, straight, almost blue-black hair that fell down her back. She couldn't see it from this position, but she knew it went to the small of her back. She had been growing that hair for twenty-two years, in anticipation of her wedding day. That day was tomorrow. She looked at her high cheekbones, and arching eyebrows. In her opinion, she looked like a no-nonsense business woman. Her eyes fell to the deep cleavage exposed by the almost non-existent bra she was wearing. It went with panties that consisted of even less material. She blushed, even though she couldn't see those panties, seated as she was. Julie had spent all her life thinking in decidedly conservative terms about her body, and the mystical thing called sexuality in books.
She had developed early, which brought attention from boys, and later men, that wasn't welcome. It wasn't that Julie didn't like males of the species. She had all the same feelings and emotions that any girl has, growing up. But her mother's choice of men had convinced her that she had to be very, very careful about the men she allowed into her own life. Her mother had made miserable choices ... four or five of them. The first was her biological father. She didn't remember him at all. He had abandoned them when she was only a year old. The succeeding "fathers" in her life were little better. Number three had tried to hit on her when she was in the blush of woman-hood, at seventeen.
She had done a little dating, tentatively, like someone who lived in a cave, and occasionally went outside for short periods, to see what the lighted world might be like. But that world was full of danger and conflict, men who wanted more than she was willing to give, and who offered nothing in return except groping hands and whispered pleas to let them be her first. She had always retreated back into her solitary life, safe in her room, and later her apartment, with her books, and stuffed animals, and dreams.
She was relieved to get to college because that got her away from Hank, number three husband of her mother. But, once there, she soon learned that announcing she was still a virgin, and intended to remain that way until her wedding night, resulted in much the same thing she had suffered in High School. It got her only derision from her female acquaintances, and an attitude of almost attack from men whose single intent was to divest her of that virginity.
Of course she knew that her virginity was only hypothetical, since her hymen had been thoroughly destroyed by both ordinary things that modern girls inserted into their vaginas, and the fingers she used like all other girls used, to take the edge off her wildly aroused body as hormones flowed through her blood stream.
Still, in her view, she was a virgin. Her stubborn hold on that view, she admitted to herself on numerous occasions, was probably why she never had a lasting romantic relationship with a man. Things always got to the point where both of them wanted to do what came naturally. But Julie required the kind of commitment ... before doing that ... that all the men she had met just hadn't been willing to give.
There are many men who want to marry a virgin.
There are far fewer men who want to date one for an extended period of time.
Her degree firmly in hand, she interned at a large corporation, hoping that now that she was going to be around mature men, she might finally be able to find one who would respect her wishes, and be able to commit to marriage.
And, her hopes seemed to be coming true, for that was when she met Roger.
Roger was high up in the company - not quite a vice president yet, but clearly an up-and-comer. He was dashing, and handsome, and suave. He was also quite professional towards Julie as, during his infrequent visits to the headquarters, where she worked, he interacted with her on this or that project.
The rest of the time he was jetting here, and there, all over the world, making deals, and making money, and ... most probably ... making women sigh frequently. He told her, in an off-hand kind of way, he was unattached. He didn't say it like he intended her to change that. It was more of a small confidence, shared with a co-worker, in a moment of camaraderie.
"There are lots of women out here," he had said. "Itís just that the ones I've met so far havenít made my heart sing."
She said she fully understood what he meant.
Somehow, in ways that she couldn't put her finger on, their shared confidences happened more often, and with deeper and deeper intimacy, until it seemed like there was nothing they couldn't talk about as they went over the details of making his latest business score come to fruition. He never had dates, and worked long past the time the family men turned off the light and went home to the wife, their 1.7 children, and perhaps the dog.
It got so that, during his month-long trips, she missed him. He was one of the few people in the company she felt comfortable talking to on an intimate level. He understood how she felt. He complimented her on her resolve, and moral strength. He encouraged her, telling her that a beautiful, intelligent woman like herself would soon have her pick of available men.
The gifts he brought her from abroad were small, inconsequential things. He brought her a hand-thrown pot from India. He brought her a native doll from Africa. He brought her a fur hat from Pakistan. The closest thing to an intimate gift he brought her was a small vial of perfume from London, where he went most often.
"I smelled it on a woman I met there," he explained, "and immediately thought of you for some strange reason. So I inquired, and got you some to try out."
She had loved the subtle complexity of the perfume, which wasn't overpowering, but still could be detected, even when applied in tiny amounts. She got several comments on it from others she worked with. It made her feel good.
On her twenty-second birthday, a day she hadn't planned on celebrating at all, she found a card in her mail box. It was from Roger. Neatly handwritten in the blank area were the words: "Hang in there. You're a prize worth the effort, and soon, some man will awaken to that fact. My best to you on this special day."
His signature was formal, and included his last name. That was the first time she did what millions of women do at this or that time in their lives. She imagined his last name, behind her first.
Julie Crandall. It had a nice ring to it.
The next time he was back in the States, they worked long into the evening.
"I'm bushed," he sighed when they finished. "Starved too. You want to grab a bite to eat?"
She expected a hamburger, or sub sandwich. He took her to a restaurant instead, a nice one, where a meal cost more than a young woman on an intern's salary would want to spend.
"This one's on me," he announced. "You work hard to help me succeed," he said, taking her elbow and guiding her to the table the Maitre Dee led them to. "You deserve a good meal."
He didn't treat it like a "date", and the things they chatted about were fun and light.
Somehow, that became more or less a tradition with them. They worked hard, and then he took her somewhere to reward her. He never tried to kiss her, or touch her in sexual ways, though his touch on her elbow began to feel different to her in ways she couldn't quite understand.
Then a night came where, during dinner, he said that a show might be nice.
"Are you asking me out on a date?" Julie asked, her eyebrow arching more than usual.
"Well," he said off-handedly, "I wasn't thinking of it quite that way. But, now that you mention it, I have to admit I'd be proud to be by your side in a situation that might be thought of as a date." He looked at her seriously. "I wouldn't want to make you feel uncomfortable, though."
"How could I feel uncomfortable with you?" she asked, honestly. She was, by now, completely comfortable in his presence.
What made it different was that, like friends, they discussed what was going on between them. She mentioned, at one point, that most men would have tried to kiss her, or paw her by this point in a relationship.
"I have to confess I've thought of that," he said simply. "But you're special. It would be like cursing out loud in an art gallery or something ... wouldn't it?"
She said she didn't know, and he jokingly suggested they should try it ... just for experimental purposes, of course.
That first kissed rocked her to her toes.
Everything on her body tingled. His lips were soft and warm, not demanding. His touch on her waist was also light, the fingertips pressing only enough to let her know his hands were there. His chest touched her so lightly that only her nipples felt that touch. She had somewhat awkwardly placed her hands on his shoulders, but suddenly they felt like they were right where they should be. He increased the pressure on her lips ... just a tad ... and then pulled back, to stare into her wide eyes.
"Wow," she said breathlessly. "We probably shouldn't do that any more."
"I rather liked it." He grinned. "I think I could make that sacrifice again. It wasn't so terrible ... was it?"
"Oh, not terrible at all!" she sighed. "That's why we probably shouldn't do it again. I liked it ... too much."
"You make me feel strange," he commented casually.
"What?" she asked.
"I don't know. I just feel differently about you than other women ... that I've kissed, I mean."
"You've kissed a lot of women," she stated.
"Of course. You've kissed a lot of men too."
"Not so many," she said. "You know how picky I am."
"All the more to be honored that you liked what we just did," he said suavely.
Twice after that, he didn't try to kiss her. She found herself anticipating it ... and when it didn't happen, she felt, somehow, a loss.
The third time he said "I wish I could kiss you again."
"Why can't you?" she asked, tingling already.
"You said we shouldn't," he said simply.
"Oh," she said meekly. "Maybe once more wouldn't be so bad." she ventured.
This time, he held her more closely, in a full body embrace. She felt weak with the power of that kiss.
Before she could say anything, he kissed her again.
"You make me want things I've never wanted before," he said.
"What kind of things?" she asked dreamily.
"I've never thought of settling down," he said, clearly suggesting that he was now thinking differently.
It was like a whirlwind. In the next few minutes Julie somehow found herself holding the man of her dreams. His whispered confessions about dreaming of taking her home each night ... his claims of fighting it, and losing, and then dreaming about it for hours on end ... melted her and caused emotions in her that threatened to overwhelm her completely. When he finally dropped her off at her apartment, his hand only strayed to the side of her bra-encased breast as he kissed her one last time. She didn't feel threatened at all.
Still, though, when she woke up the next morning, she didn't know exactly where they stood. She had a hard time remembering everything he had said the night before. When she went in to work, and he was there, waiting for her, she looked at him wondering what she should say.
"I missed you," he said softly.
"Last night?" she asked.
"Yes." He frowned. "I've always liked travelling. I have to leave later today, and somehow it's not the same any more. Missing you last night, as I lay in my lonely bed ... it made me think of the next two weeks, and how much I'll miss you then too."
The thrills went on and on for Julie, as the next month brought them closer and closer together. Upon his return, he requested their first 'formal' date. From there she felt like she was on some kind of theme park ride. The dream continued until, one night, he opened a box and displayed the ring he begged her to accept.
She had no one to share her unbounded joy with. She spoke to her mother only when she had to, and the women she had decided to call her friends were shallow party girls, who never thought about anything further out than their next date, and the bedroom that would lead to.
She accepted his proposal. He wanted to be married soon. His reasons were expected. His hands now strayed to various places on her body, inflaming her desire, his own quite pronounced and easily detected as he pressed his stiff manhood against her.
But he never tried to get her to go further than some heavy petting. Had he asked, she might, this time, have succumbed to her inflamed lust. Still, something in her insisted that she live her whole dream, and she promised him she would be ready for him on their wedding night.
There was, of course, some bitter with the sweet.
He insisted that she tell her mother about the wedding, and of course, her mother insisted on 'helping' her plan the event.
He said he didn't care when, or where, or how it happened. His only desire was to add his last name behind her first. What harm could it cause if her mother got to help with her only daughter's wedding?
"Make her happy this one time," he said. "You never have to see her again after that if you don't want to."
That was how she found herself, suddenly on thirty days of paid vacation that most interns never got, back home, making wedding plans with the help of her mother.
"Finally going to let a man between your legs?" asked her mother conversationally, as she suggested the caterer serve bar-b-que.
"You know why I've waited, Mother," said Julie, defensively.
"Damn waste of time, if you ask me," said her mother.
"That's why I didn't ask you, Mother," said Julie shortly.
"Well, at least you landed one with some money, and a hot future. Funny about his name, though ..."
"Why? asked Julie. "What's wrong with his name?"
Her mother's eyes went out of focus for a few seconds, and then cleared again.
"Never mind. It doesn't matter. Wear something slinky for your honeymoon," her mother leered. "They like slinky. It'll drive him wild."
"He's already wild," said Julie.
"And shave your pussy," said her mother coarsely. "That drives 'em crazy too."
It was all Julie could do, to endure her mother's constant gutter comments and general attitude. She called Roger, almost nightly, complaining about having to deal with her mother's insistent demands for a garish wedding.
"It's just a few weeks, Darling," he said soothingly. "And I'll whisk you away from all of that forever."
"All right," she sighed. "But I'm only doing this for you."
"You only get to do this once," he said. "I want you to remember that day for the rest of your life."
"My mother's done it five times," she said jokingly. "That's why she thinks she's so good at planning weddings."
"You know what I mean," he said. "YOU are only going to get married once. I'm so proud to be the man you've chosen. I promise you you'll never even think of getting married again."
"Why can't we just elope?" she begged.
"My mother would never forgive me," he laughed. "She's been begging me to get married for years. One time she even threatened to cut me out of her will. At last I can get her off my back too. Though then I suppose she'll start hounding me for grandchildren. I'm looking forward to that, though."
That sent a tingle through her that made her flush with happiness. She had told him she wanted lots of children. She had lots of love in her heart, and had no one to give that love to. He had agreed that a big family was something he'd always dreamed of too.
"We'll start that very night," she breathed into the phone. "I'm not going on the pill .. is that all right?"
"Perfect, my darling," he said. "I can't wait."
And so she endured the leering remarks of her mother and number five, who was just as coarse, and made must as many crude remarks on what she should do on her wedding night. He even bought her what he called "a getup" for her to wear, saying "That'll give him a mammoth boner, sweet thing! You want to model it for me?"
Her mother had been there, and had slapped the horrid man on the arm. But she had laughed too, telling him that what was between his legs was for HER, and not her virgin daughter.
It was that 'getup' she was wearing, as she sat, staring into the mirror. Unsure of what else to do, and having no experience at being "sexual" around a man, she reluctantly took her mother and step-father's advice. She had carefully shaved off the raven mat that grew between her legs, until it looked obscenely bare. She had never seen the split of her sex without that hair above it, and now it looked like it bulged from her loins, screaming to be fondled and ... whatever else went along with having sex.
She knew about oral sex, of course. No girl can grow up without hearing lurid descriptions of that, but of course she had never done it, or let it be done to her. And she knew about intercourse too, by virtue of the same lurid descriptions of her friends, as they tried to convince her it was the best thing in the world, and that she should jump on the bandwagon and get her cherry popped.
She had to admit that, at least in her own opinion, she looked sexy. She stood, and let the transparent jacket of "the outfit" gape open. The crotch of the panties had sunk between those fat lips again. She couldn't seem to get it to cover them for more than a few seconds. It looked ridiculous. Her nipples were almost showing too. She could clearly see the dark rim of her areolas, the coral colored tiny nipples barely hiding behind the cloth of the bra.
She sighed. Roger would either love it ... or hate it. She had no idea which would happen.
But she couldn't think of anything else to do. She didn't even know what to pack for the honeymoon. Roger had gleefully said he had everything planned, but that it was a surprise, and not to worry about anything.
"I have an uncle." he'd said." I haven't seen him for years, but when my mother told him I was finally getting married, he offered to take care of the honeymoon. It's a big secret, but I know you'll love it Just pack a few things to get by on for a day or two. I'll buy you all new clothing when we get there."
Then he'd had to get back to work, and hung up.
She turned sideways. She'd always thought her breasts were too big. They stuck out like big firm melons. She'd heard about "the pencil test" somewhere, and, when she accepted Roger's proposal, had tried it that very night. The pencil dropped like a stone, her breasts not sagging enough even to hold it temporarily. At least she didn't sag, like her mother's over-used mammaries.
She looked at her watch. It was time to put on her wedding dress. She felt a lurch in her stomach, and had a terrible, sudden fear that she was doing the wrong thing. She took off "the getup" and slipped the tiny bundle of cloth into her carryon bag. She had a pair of running shorts and a tank top in there, along with some sandals and the minimum of personal hygiene products needed for an overnight stay. Roger had said he'd take care of everything else.
She was just shrugging the dress up over her shoulders when her mother barged into the room. She stopped short, staring at her daughter.
"My baby ... getting married," she sighed. She wiped at her eyes with one finger each, being careful to avoid the heavily applied mascara above them.
"Am I doing the right thing?" asked Julie, apprehensively. "I feel all jittery and nervous."
"You always feel that way," said her mother sagely. "I felt that way all five times."
That didn't help Julie's feelings of dread at all. Her mother had screwed up all five times.
"Don't worry about it, baby," crooned her mother. "You just get yourself good and laid tonight and you'll forget all about being nervous."
Julie tightened her lips, but prevented the frown that wanted to furrow her brow. She submitted to her mother's primping and pulling and tugging, but drew the line at the heavy makeup the woman wanted to smear all over her face.
"Just a little eyeliner, and some powder to smooth out my cheekbones," said Julie. "Maybe a touch of lipstick."
"At least let me put on some eye shadow," whined her mother. "You look like you haven't eaten in weeks."
"I'll have you know I got on the scales this morning and I've gained five whole POUNDS!" said Julie heatedly. "I weigh a whopping hundred and thirty-five POUNDS, Mother!"
"Humph" said the woman, who weighed fifty pounds more, and was three inches shorter. "A man likes some meat on your bones," she said smugly. "Something to hang on to while he makes you squeal."
"I do not intend to ... squeal, Mother," said Julie, her voice dignified.
"You need to loosen up," said her mother affably. "When you get your ashes hauled tonight, you're going to wish you'd given it up YEARS ago. You won't want to do anything else on your entire honeymoon. You mark my words, baby. Do you need any pointers? I know how to make a man squeal too!" She leered again.
Julie almost shuddered, remembering all the times she'd heard the banging and thumping and moans and groans coming through the wall between her bedroom and her mother's, over the years. Seeing her mother's lipstick smeared face after such episodes hadn't helped to make her think anything pleasant was going on during them either. Her mother always had a stupid grin on her face after loud sex, almost a smirk ... the same smirk that some of her girlfriends had on their faces as they spun tales of what had happened in the back seat of Jimmy's or Frank's car after the game Saturday night. Julie wanted tenderness and love, not some rampaging bull molesting her pale body.
She caused her tense muscles to relax. Roger had been nothing but tender during their courtship. She smiled. She was sure her honeymoon would go just as she had dreamed it would for so many years. She was lucky beyond measure to have found Roger.
Yes, all would go well.
The wedding went better than she had expected. Her side of the family filled more than half the church, and included all of her mother's ex husbands except her biological father. No one knew where he was, and therefore couldn't notify him of the event. Roger's family were, of course of a much higher social caliber. They held themselves more aloof, drinking wine rather than the beer her own family gleefully swilled. The reception line was a trial, as her uncles and cousins enveloped her in their arms, lips that smelled of beer seeking hers, flushed faces, some already glassy-eyed from drink, and wished her well while pressing their groins against hers. She pasted a smile on her face, and moved them along. Her mother bawled openly, her makeup running like dark rivers down her cheeks. Julie had the humorous vision of her mother as a native of some kind, maybe from Africa, where her little doll had come from, with face painted that way intentionally, to celebrate her daughter's joyful day.
But her mother had been drinking heavily too, and made a scene when she groped husband number four while they danced. Husband number five took offense, and there was almost a fight. Four of her male cousins boasted about how they had "done up the getaway car to the max" and laughed. She had visions of "Just married pussy" scrawled across the back window of the car. That was the kind of thing they'd think was cute. She'd been to one family wedding where her cousins stapled together packets of condoms, and draped them in long strings over the vehicle, and through the open windows. "Just married - Just about to fuck" had been painted on another car. And, of course, there would be the almost endless string of beer cans tied to the bumper. In fact, Julie had warned Roger that he might want to get a rental car to leave the wedding in, just so his beautiful BMW wouldn't get trashed by her loutish relatives.
When the time finally came, and Julie was standing in her dressing room, now dressed in her travel clothing, clutching her carry-on bag nervously, Roger eased the door open and grinned at her.
"Come on!" he whispered. "Let's make our getaway!"
But, instead of turning toward the front of the building, he pulled her toward the back. The best man was sitting in the driver's seat of a car Julie had never seen, and Roger ushered her urgently into the back.
Thus, they completely escaped the throng of people who waited to wish them well with the obligatory, and environmentally friendly bird seed. When her relatives learned that a back-door exit had been pulled on them, they simply started throwing bird seed at each other. Most were too drunk already to be all that unhappy about it.
"What will happen to your car?" asked Julie, concerned, as the best man sped away.
"I didn't bring it." He smiled. "I borrowed one to park out front, and let them see me get out of it. I arranged for Jeff to use this one to actually leave in, though, and he's going to drop us off at the airport. He'll pick us up when we get back too, won't you Jeff, buddy?"
"Sure thing boss," said the best man, grinning into the rear view mirror. "Especially if I can give a welcome home kiss to the bride."
Roger laughed and leaned back, his hand going to Julie's thigh and caressing her there. "We'll see. I plan to have her so satisfied she won't want to kiss another man ever again," he crowed.
Jeff handed a flask back over the seat back. "Cheers!" he laughed.
Roger took a deep pull out of the flask, and the smell of hard liquor wafted to Julie's nose. He offered her the flask, but she shook her head. A sip of wine, now and then was enough for her.
During the ride, she finally wheedled out of him where they were going for their honeymoon.
"Uncle Bob has a resort down in the Bahamas," he said happily. "He apparently got out of the stock market before the tech bubble burst, and retired down there. He has graciously offered us the honeymoon cottage at his resort for the week. We've got sun and surf and great food to look forward to, darling. Everything is arranged."
"What about clothes?" asked Julie. "I packed the bags you told me to, but I didn't put in a swim suit, or things for the beach!"
"I wanted it to be a surprise. I'll get you a new one, and new clothes too. I thought about asking your mother to get some things together secretly, but I listened to you when you told me all those stories about your relatives. I thought you were exaggerating, really, but your mother actually tried to French kiss me in the receiving line!" He chuckled. "Besides, you won't even need a swim suit. Uncle Bob's place is a nude beach! Doesn't that sound great?"
"You'll need a bodyguard," said Jeff, laughing. "I'll be happy to come along and guard you both while you swim." He leered into the rear view mirror and Julie felt herself blush.
"No way, turkey," laughed Roger. "She's all mine. I've been waiting for almost a year to see her naked, and it's finally going to happen tonight!" His hand slid up her thigh and she instinctively blocked his goal with her hand.
"Come on, darling, we're married now," he almost whined.
"Not in front of Jeff!" she whispered hotly.
"Hey," came the call from the front seat. "Don't mind me ... I can't see anything at all." He was adjusting the rear view mirror the whole time, looking directly into Julie's eyes.
"I'll be ready when we get there," said Julie, blushing harder. "You just be patient a little longer."
Roger gave an exaggerated sigh of frustration, and took another hit off the flask. To her dismay, he finished the flask on the way to the airport.
"Hey, take it easy, there, Tiger," she joked at one point. "I want you in good shape tonight." She had never seen him drink this heavily the entire time she'd known him.
"I'll be fine," he said, waving the flask. "I wouldn't miss tonight for anything."
In fact, they made it through check-in at the airport with no trouble. Roger pulled himself together quite nicely. Julie felt better when they took their seats in first class. It was the first time Julie had flown, and she was nervous about that. Veteran flier that he was, Roger pooh poohed her worries and slurped thirstily at the drink the flight attendant placed in front of him.
"Have a drink," he said. "That's what I always do. It'll relax you just fine."
He insisted that she sit by the window, telling her she'd enjoy the view. She did too, watching in awe as the ground dropped away as she was pressed firmly into the seat back. Her stomach did flip flops as things got smaller and smaller, until they were absolutely tiny. Her face was pressed to the window constantly, until they entered a cloud bank and the beautiful view was cut off.
Roger continued to nurse a drink all the way to the islands.
They flew out of the clouds, but Julie soon got bored with the unobstructed view of nothing but water. The boats she thought she saw were so small that she couldn't tell anything about them, and there really wasn't much else to look at. She tried to engage her new husband in conversation, but he nodded off, napping in fits and starts, waking only to drink more whiskey.
"Sorry," he slurred. "Guess the big day took more out of me than I thought. That's some family you have." He grinned, and his eyes slid closed. "I need to save up my energy so I can make you squeal tonight."
Julie frowned, remembering how she had denied to her mother that she intended to "squeal".
By the time they disembarked, Roger needed her steadying hand on HIS elbow to navigate the terminal. She waited patiently while Roger sank into a seat, at the baggage claim area. When the other passengers had claimed their bags, the only ones left were not, according to an attendant who examined their claim stubs, theirs.
Inquiries brought no helpful information. The airline's apologies for whatever mix-up had happened didn't help. Their offer to deliver the bags to the resort were thoughtful, but, for now, Julie and Roger had only the clothes on their backs. Well, Julie had her running gear ... but then she hadn't planned on running on her wedding night. Of course, she also had "the getup". She decided she was very, very glad she had stuffed it into her carryon. That would take care of tonight. If their luggage was found by tomorrow morning, things would be fine.
Julie poured her weaving husband into a cab and realized she didn't know the name of the resort. Roger was dozing again already, and shaking him didn't seem to help.
"I know the owner's name is Bob," she offered to the smiling cabby.
"Ahhhh Missy ..." he grinned. "You mean Paradise Cove". I take you there most quickly, Missy."
The drive was gorgeous. The sun seemed like it was just inches from the horizon, huge and red, staining the clouds pink and purple. It was like something from a story book. She tried to wake Roger, and got him to blearily open his eyes to see the sunset.
"Nice," he said, closing his eyes again.
The cabby drove as if he were trying to get them to a hospital, veering this way and that, until she was tense all over. Roger slumped against her, occasionally opening his eyes and saying something like "Hello, gorgeous," before slumping back into what seemed like a nap.
Paradise cove was, at the same time, everything she could have hoped for, and everything she was afraid it would be.
It was secluded, at the end of a long, winding road that cut through what seemed like primeval jungle to Julie. With only half the sun left to see, they pulled into a small cleared area, where something Julie might have called a shack stood. A sign above the front door said, simply, "Welcome to Paradise Cove". The cabby helped her get Roger out of the cab, and into the front door.
The reception desk was vacant. There was a sign on the desk that said "Gone Fishing". It was weighing down a sheet of paper. Julie looked at the paper.
"Roger," it said in neat script. "If you get here while I'm still gone, I'll catch up with you later. Whoever brought you here knows where the honeymoon cottage is. It's unlocked. We don't have to lock anything around here. Have a wonderful night and I'll see you tomorrow."
It was signed with a flourish that read "Uncle Bob".
The cabby had been standing patiently, waiting to be paid, and Julie showed him the note.
"It says you know where the honeymoon cottage is," she said hesitantly.
"Sure thing, Missy." he grinned, his teeth brilliant white against the black of his face. "I take you there."
He helped get Roger back into the cab and they drove off the road, across the sand, to another smaller clearing. The honeymoon cottage was also a mixture of what Julie had hoped and feared for. It looked like a native hut from the outside, but was almost right on the beach. When she manhandled Roger through the door, she was delighted to find that the inside was completely modern. There was a large bed in the center of the wall away from the door. It was draped with mosquito netting that had been artfully gathered to drape here and there from the four posts that supported it. In the wall to the right of the bed was a series of windows that could be opened outward, letting in the sea air, or closed. Wooden slatted venetian blinds could be lowered to cover them. The bathroom had a shower big enough for six people, and a Jacuzzi as well. There was a tiny kitchenette, with a fully stocked refrigerator.
Julie heard a noise and turned to see that Roger had recuperated and was handing the grinning cabby a wad of American cash.
"Thank you, my man," he slurred.
"No problem, mon," said the cabby. "You want to see the island, you call Teddy, right, mon?"
"Sure thing, mon," giggled Roger.
Teddy left, waving cheerfully, and Roger took in the room.
"Nice and cozy," he said, wobbling a little on his feet.
"You want me to make you some coffee?" asked Julie, thinking that would perk him up.
"What I want to see you buck naked!" He grinned.
She blushed, feeling an unfamiliar thrill shoot through her body.
At last, the night she had been waiting for all her life was here.
It was actually harder for her to get naked in front of her groom than she had thought it would be.
"I feel so strange," she explained. "Before this there have always been ... limits. It just feels so odd to think that I'm finally going to ... do it."
"Oh, baby, you're going to DO it a lot!" sighed Roger, sidestepping to the wall. He held himself up while he tried to take off a shoe without falling over.
"I brought something to wear for you," said Julie timidly.
"Well let's get TO it," said Roger, working his other shoe loose and kicking it across the room.
"OK, I'll go get changed, and then you can see me," she said shyly.
"I'll be here, ready and waiting," he mumbled, working at his belt. He sidestepped again, and his hip hit the kitchen table. There was a container with ice on the table, a bottle of champagne stuck firmly in the ice. He grabbed at it with both hands. "Oops ... don't want to knock THAT over."
Julie grabbed her carryon bag and ducked into the bathroom. She nervously dropped her clothing to the floor. She worked the tiny panties on, and shrugged into the bra as she heard the "POP" of the cork exiting the champagne bottle. She put the jacket on, and then decided, with a thrilling feeling, to leave it off. She dropped it on top of her clothes. Standing tall, and thrusting her chest out, she opened the door and walked into the main room, more naked than any man had ever seen her.
She was just in time to see Roger tipping the champagne bottle back down. He had been drinking from the bottle. He set the bottle down hard on the table, and leaned toward her.
"Ohhhh baby, you look so hot!"
"You like it?" she preened. "I got it just for you." She felt a stab of guilt. She didn't want to admit that another man had gotten it for her to wear for him.
"Ohhh honey, you have no idea how long I've wanted to see you like that."
He fumbled furiously with his belt, side stepping again as he lost his balance. He hit the edge of the bed and fell onto it, kicking until his pants fell off his feet. He wasn't, she saw, wearing any underwear, and she got a curious look at her first erect male organ. It was impressive, though she had a hard time seeing it clearly because his gyrations made it flop this way and that alarmingly. She had expected it to be stiffer ... longer ... but it looked about like a half-cooked hot dog, bending a little as it flopped back and forth. He sat back up and tore at his shirt until all he had on was his socks. He reached for one of them and missed, almost falling off the bed.
"I'll get those for you, darling," said Julie, rushing to him.
He lifted his head and stared at her breasts.
"Yummy," he giggled.
"All for you, darling," she cooed, kneeling to pull his socks off.
He flopped back on the bed and raised his feet to help. She took the opportunity to stare at his phallus, which now lay, flat on his stomach. She knew about circumcision, and decided his must be that way. The tip was purplish, and shiny, and went from a stubby tip to flare out and then dip back in. From there it was a fleshy column that went down to a surprisingly pink set of testicles with sparse hair on them. When she got one foot bare, it poked at her breasts while she tried to capture the other foot. He couldn't judge the distance, and his foot hit her right breast hard, instead of caressing it as he intended.
"OUCH!" she yipped, standing back and rubbing at her sore boob.
"Sorry." He grinned. "I'm just too anxious."
"You're drunk!" she said heatedly. "THAT's what you are."
"I'm not drunk," he whined. "I'm in-n-n-n-ibreated." He giggled.
"Roger, honey," she pleaded. "I wanted this night to be romantic."
With an obvious effort, he pulled himself together.
"Sorry, baby," he said more clearly. "Come here. I'll be romantic."
She left the other sock on, and went to the bed. He pulled her over him and rolled. It was a water bed, she realized, as she bobbed up and down and there were sloshing noises under her.
He WAS more romantic, too. His embrace was tender, and his kisses along her neck were electrifying. When his lips got closer and closer to her nipples, her body began to tense up with the anticipation of feeling something for the very first time.
But then he reversed, and kissed his way back up to her lips, while his hand covered the breast she had been ready for him to bare ... and suckle.
His kisses, though alcohol tainted, were also warm and inviting, and, this time, when his hand slid across her flat belly, her own hands just fluttered and went to his back. His fingers slid onto the cloth that was already trying to suck itself between the lips of her sex, and she groaned.
"Can I touch you?" she asked, breathing harder.
"Yeah, Baby, play with it and get it hard for me," he breathed into her ear.
Her hand hit his prick, and she fumbled to grasp it. It felt warm in her hand. He also felt big, and long. She had no way of knowing he was only half erect due to the effect of all the alcohol on his system.
"Ohhhh, yeahhhh," he groaned, rolling away from her to lie on his back. "Rub it for me, baby,"
"I don't know how," she said meekly.
His hand came to help her learn the stroke, and he told her to grip it tighter, and then not so tight as her fist clamped down hard.
"Ohhh fuck that feels good," he moaned. "You do that so nice, honey. Get it nice and hard and I'll pop that cherry for you," he panted.
Julie felt the thing in her hand stiffen significantly, and was amazed that it got even bigger. She also felt the glow of satisfaction as she made her new husband feel good. She stroked him rapidly and arched her neck to be able to actually see it. She watched in amazement as the tip of it disappeared into her hand, and then flashed back into view.
She was just in time to see, quite suddenly, long strings of milky white spurting from the tip as it popped out of her hand.
"Ohhh FUCK!" he grunted, arching his hips up.
Julie jerked her hand away as warmth splattered on it, and stared at it to see that milky white stuff dripping from her fingers. Roger's own hand darted to his prick and grasped it, jerking it fiercely as another long string of spunk flashed into the air.
"Ohhh fuck," he groaned again softly. His hand grew limp, and fell to the bed beside him. His head lolled sideways, his eyes closed.
"Roger!" squeaked Julie.
He didn't respond.
"ROGER!" she said loudly.
She reached her sperm-covered hand out and shook him, gently at first, and then more violently. He started to snore.
"DAMN YOU!" she shouted. "DON'T YOU FALL ASLEEP ON ME NOW!"
But nothing she did roused him from his drink-induced slumber this time.
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