The Little Voice of Doubt
Nine days of absolute bliss. Over a week since the wedding and everything had been absolutely perfect. Jean had never been happier in all her life. She'd never been so doted on, so loved, so satisfied.
But all good things, as they say, must come to an end.
That little voice of doubt in the back of the mind, the one that the strong and confident among us can bury and ignore, was starting to grow louder for Jean Blake.
Every time her husband kissed down her neck and his hand wandered between her legs, the voice would whisper at her, but Lucien's ministrations would quickly make her mind go completely blank, forgetting all about the doubts and worries that would otherwise plague her.
Late that night, as Lucien snored beside her, his naked body draped over hers, Jean lay awake, thinking. She had worried, many months earlier, that Lucien with his passionate and ambitious nature, might lose interest in her after they were married. That theirs would be like so many other marriages, where after the excitement and newness of sex wore off, the husband's ardor would cool, and the wife's own desires would go dormant. Of course, the Blakes were only nine days into their marriage, hardly time for their love life to go stale, so perhaps that might happen when they returned home to Ballarat after the honeymoon.
But it seemed to Jean that the exact opposite had been happening. Not only was Lucien still interested in making love to his wife, it seemed he scarcely wanted anything else. All those months and months of restraining themselves, putting up barriers to ward off the temptation of a physical relationship…none of that was necessary anymore. Jean had very much enjoyed finally giving in to the passion and lust she'd felt for Lucien for years. He'd made sex more exciting and fun and electrifying than she'd ever imagined it could be.
Even so, that little voice of doubt kept quietly repeating: maybe this is all he wants you for, maybe this is all you have to offer him now, maybe this is what he believes the marriage should be, maybe this is all there is now.
Jean huffed to herself, forcing the voice into silence as she snuggled into her husband's embrace and eventually fell asleep.
The next morning, Lucien awoke to an empty bed. He rolled over to where Jean had slept and breathed in her scent on the hotel room sheets. As he sat up, he noticed the sound of running water. His contented smile turned into a curious frown. Jean rarely took showers. He knew from living with her for years that she treasured her relaxing baths. And since travelling on their honeymoon, he'd not witnessed her take a shower.
But an idea popped into his head. Maybe he could join her in the shower. Just imaging her naked and dripping wet, the hot water pouring over her, was starting to make him hard. He threw the bedsheets off and went into the bathroom. "Jean?" he called.
"Yes, do you need something?" she called back over the sound of the water.
Lucien pulled back the curtain to the steamy shower. "Just you, my darling," he growled.
"What are you doing!?" she shrieked, immediately covering the more intimate parts of her body with her hands.
He faltered. "I thought I might join you," he replied in a small voice.
"Get out!" she shouted.
Lucien immediately retreated out of the bathroom, closing the door securely behind him. He found his dressing gown and put it around him before sitting on the edge of the bed, feeling sick to his stomach. He couldn't remember the last time she'd yelled at him like that or had that look in her eye directed at him. She'd always had a very expressive face, and anyone would have seen the shock coupled with disgust and even fear. And he had caused that. He had obviously grossly overstepped. He couldn't bear the thought that he'd upset her so much. She was his wife, and he'd…he wasn't sure what he'd done, but he done something very, very wrong.
The water shut off a moment later. There were sounds of the shower curtain being pushed aside, a towel taken off the rack, various movements around the bathroom. Lucien stared at the closed door, dreading the moment she'd appear and he would have to see her look at him like that again. He needed to beg her forgiveness.
Jean stood in the bathroom, clutching her dressing gown closed with one hand while the other rested on the doorknob. She had overreacted and needed to apologize. But apologizing meant explaining, and she wasn't sure she was ready to broach that subject with her new husband just yet. The little voice of doubt in her head was one thing. To allow it to speak aloud was quite another. And if the little voice of doubt was right, did she really want to know? Wouldn't it be better to just enjoy his skilled and attentive lovemaking? It wasn't as though she wasn't happy with his performance. Perhaps she was just being silly. Yes. Of course she was. No need to go into all that now.
With a nod of feigned confidence, Jean opened the bathroom door to go back to the bedroom. Lucien was sitting on the edge of the bed with his face in his hands. Upon hearing the door open, he lifted his head. He looked as though he was going to stand, but he stopped himself, remaining seated where he was.
"Jean," he croaked. His voice was full of emotion, which took her by surprise. He cleared his throat and started again. "Jean, I am so sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I shouldn't have assumed you were ready for anything like that yet, I'm sorry."
His apology was heartfelt and sincere. His apologies always were. But Jean heard the words he used and instead of feeling guilty for her overreacting causing him such distress, she got angry. Very angry. "Yet?" Her voice was low and dangerous.
"Oh, no, of course. No, I understand. I just thought that…" he stammered.
Jean interrupted him, her eyes flashing with a bubbling rage. "You thought that you could have me however you want now that I'm your wife. That even if something makes me uncomfortable now, eventually you'll wear me down and get me to give in to you. Because I'm your wife, and that's how it's supposed to be, is that right?"
His jaw dropped, appalled at how incorrectly he'd phrased things. "No, I…"
She cut him off again. This time, the little voice of doubt came pouring out of her in angry shouts. "That's what marriage means to you, isn't it? You married me to get me into bed because you figured you couldn't have me otherwise. Well, congratulations, Lucien. You jumped through all the hoops to get a ring on my finger. I'm lawfully yours and obviously I'm never meant to refuse any of your desires, is that it?"
Lucien quickly got over his shock and was offended that she could ever think such a thing of him. "Jean, you cannot believe that! I…Jean, I love you!"
"You've mentioned that, yes." Her explosive anger was simmering to a cool defiance, which had the potential to be even more dangerous.
"Do you really think so little of me? That I value you only for my base pleasures?" he challenged, standing up to tower over her.
She shrugged, holding her ground and refusing to allow him to intimidate her. "If our marriage thus far is anything to go off, yes, I'd say all you want me for as your wife is to satisfy your sexual appetite until you fall asleep."
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Lucien realized this was their first fight as a married couple. Most couples might fight about leaving a wet towel on the floor or having cold feet in bed or something silly. But just as with everything that led up to their marriage, Jean and Lucien couldn't manage to have anything normal or simple in their relationship. "After all the horrible things we went through, Jean, after all the months and years of struggling to be together, to find our way to each other through all the obstacles in our way, you think this is all I want you for?" he asked in sheer disbelief.
Jean searched his eyes and saw the pain there. The little voice of doubt was egging her on. "Yes," she replied. The hurt and insecurity that created the little voice of doubt came crashing through.
"Jeanie, I love you," he said softly yet emphatically. "I want to spend every moment of every day as your husband showing you that. If we were at home, I'd bring you flowers and help wash the dishes and rub your feet by the fire. But we're in a hotel on our honeymoon. We haven't even been married for two weeks yet. I've been dreaming of making love to you for as long as I've known you, and I can see now that I've come on too strong. Too eager. But I never want you to feel like you have to give in to me ever, if you don't want to. I want to bring you pleasure, Jean. And if it would make you happier for me to not touch you, I swear I'll stop. I love you so much," he added, barely above a whisper.
"I know you do. I just…I've never had a honeymoon like this. I worried that…that this is all there was for you."
"Not at all. But as I said, anything you want, I want to give you."
Jean finally believed his words. The little voice of doubt was wrong. His assurances had effectively crushed it. She'd been silly, of course. But it was nice to have that confirmation.
"What do you want, Jean?" he asked, almost begging.
She noticed that through their shouting match, he'd remained at arm's length away from her. His hands were fidgeting. He was desperate to touch her, she knew. And not just sexually. He was tactile. He showed affection through his touch. He always had. But he didn't feel free to do that now. She'd scared him off. That wasn't what she wanted at all. She had to fix it. Later, she'd reassure him of her love for him, apologize for overreacting, explain that she'd been thinking of these worries when he'd come into the bathroom and he'd not really done anything wrong. There would be time to tell him all that later. For now, she knew she needed to show him. "Get in the shower," she commanded.
"Oh, no, we don't have to…" he protested. But he saw the steely look in her eye that gave way to a turquoise sparkle he'd learned quite well over the past nine days. "Are you sure?"
Jean insisted again, "Get in the shower, Lucien."
The corners of his lips ticked upward. "Whatever you want, Jean."