Chapter 14: Finer Details
Trusting in her declaration and having no other words to say, I moved my hands delicately and slowly down over the sides of her neck, shoulders, arms, elbows, hands, back up her arms, then down her sides. These were comfortable movements we had done before. Even still, the anticipation of where they were leading added to the moment and I found myself moving even slower than usual taking my time to appreciate the gift she was giving me. When these came to an end instead of stopping I moved around slightly to the front over her stomach and down past her belly button resting on her hips. She shuddered slightly to my touching these spaces with a gleeful smile.
Her movement seemed to indicate pleasure, nevertheless I checked, "You cold?"
Her eyes met mine and she grinned brightly. "Thank you for checking, but my reaction was due to enjoying your touch."
Grinning back at her I declared, "Good to know." Then, after a brief pause added, "If that changes, please inform me."
I had warmed the house a few degrees more in anticipation of her needing warmer rooms if she were to be disrobed for any extended amount of time. Nonetheless, it was challenging for me to know her comfort level, as our actions were all new.
Even though she had expressed to me no preference of room, suddenly undressing her in front of my father's cross seemed crass and disrespectful. Consequently, I moved my hands over to the sides of her hips and picked her up. Like that, being careful of the pressure exerted, I carried her to my room.
Her face held a mixture of fury, joy, pleasure, and fear.
Once we were in my room, I set her down on her feet. "Are you alright, Mrs. Cullen?" I checked.
"Dandy," she replied in a tone that was new and thus confusing to me.
"Shall we stop here then?" I wondered.
Her facial expression changed again to one of disbelief and pleading while she replied her voice quiet, "No thank you Dr. Cullen."
"Want to explain your retort to me changing location?" I offered to her.
She moved her hands to my face and stared into my eyes. After a few seconds had passed she told me, "You are usually so gentle that it is easy to forget you are also as strong as my father. You are usually so careful to ensure my agreement to things, yet just moved us without asking. A part of me enjoyed watching you behave in this way. Another part is scared of it. It reminds me a little of what you told me after our tickling debacle. The qualities in me that your action brought out I did not like. You did nothing wrong."
Examining her carefully, I wondered what it was that she suggested she did not like within herself. Aware that her gaze was nearly begging me to let the topic go and to focus once more on our explorations, I checked with a cheeky grin, "Shall we return to our awaited purpose of the evening?"
Her breathing became slightly more shallow and she answered me with her tone deeper than usual, "Yes, please."
With her confirmation to proceed I let my confusion go for the moment and requested, "Turn around, please."
She did so slowly seemingly slightly nervous and obviously aroused.
Trusting that her nervousness was simply due to the unknown, I let it go choosing to believe that she would keep her word and speak up if she became afraid.
Carefully and methodically I undid her buttons down the back of her dress. Placing my hands on her shoulders, I moved her around to face me. Then, with my right hand I slid the fabric down so that her right shoulder was exposed. I repeated the same motion with my left hand. Holding the fabric against her arms I began to catalogue this part of her. When I felt more confident, I leaned in and ran my nose from her left shoulder, across her left collarbone, around her neck, over her right collarbone, and to her right shoulder. The sensation of her breath in my hair as I travelled across her was tantalising.
Taking in deep breaths, I allowed her scents to fill my mouth and lungs while also allowing her sounds to fill my ears. She was everything surrounding me on all sides and completely enveloping me. Feeling ready, I moved the fabric down two inches and repeated the process. When the material was low enough that the tops of her peaks could be seen, I took extra care of them, kissing the tops of them with my lips closed.
She shivered as I did so.
"That all right?" I asked concerned that the room was not warm enough and that I had given her a chill.
"More than all right, Carlisle. Feel free to continue," she told me her words slurred.
After ruling out the possibility of alcohol consumption, I was forced to consider the possibility that my actions were causing the alterations in her that caused her to behave as such.
"Perhaps sitting would be beneficial?" I asked her concerned for her to remain standing in her present state. "And it would allow me to remove your footwear."
"All right," she agreed sounding a little more together and moved to the bed sitting on the edge.
Kneeling on the floor, I carefully lifted her left foot and unlaced her boot gingerly removing it. Next, I did the same to the right foot. It was something I had done before, which helped calm my nerves. Once more certain I had control over myself, my eyes travelled upwards. Looking up at her and seemingly gaining permission to continue, I lifted her skirt and placed it upon her knees. Her hosiery hid the skin of her legs, which was in equal measures appreciated and irritating. Running my hands along her feet and legs I began massaging them. This activity allowed me to do something that felt familiar and thus more comfortable, while touching the silk of the material added something new. It seemed to also give Esme the same reaction as prior times, except she also looked even more serene.
When I perceived us both ready, I stood up and brought her to her feet. I ran my hands down her arms and slowly took out her left arm and then her right from the dress. She held the dress with one arm under her brassiere keeping it from falling appearing slightly apprehensive.
Once both arms were removed, she looked at me in a searching manner. Taking the words from me, she asked, "How are you doing?"
"You are more than exquisite," I uttered reverently. "No masterpiece on earth compares to you."
"Ready?" she asked seemingly unsure on how to answer my flattery.
Smiling at her I checked, "You?"
"Yes, my dear husband," she confirmed.
She twitched like she was going to move.
"Let me," I told her.
As she put her arm down, I took the fabric in my hand. With great exaggeration I moved the dress down her chest, stomach, waist, and then hips. After the hips I let it go, allowing it to fall to the floor. Reflectively I took a step back and marvelled.
My eyes still had not taken her in fully when she asked with nervousness, "Please, husband, come nearer."
I obliged, but said nothing.
Eventually she asked, "Are you displeased?"
Looking at her shocked and greatly appalled I asked, "How could I be displeased?"
"The first time you saw me in my undergarments you stilled completely. I was concerned it was because you were displeased," she explained.
Our miscommunication was appalling. What a terrible communicator I must be as a husband if she had been thinking that all this time. Ensuring there was no longer any confusion, I admitted to her my voice strong and insistent, "No, it was because I was too pleased."
She looked confused briefly before a look of knowing passed over her. Then her face lit up and she seemed to glow.
Had I inadvertently contributed to her melancholy? That would not do. Taking my hands I placed her face between them and drew near, kissing her with more force than I had ever attempted before. Drawing back, I looked at her. Except that her breathing had quickened and her lips had deepened in colour, she seemed well, so I moved my hands down her neck and kissed along her jawline to her ear. My hands and my lips moved covering her and then kissing her down the line from her ear then across her shoulder to the top of her arm left and then right.
Pausing, I examined her again. Her heart was beating faster and her lungs were taking in quick shallow breaths, but the smile on her face, the look in her eyes, and her heavy perfume that hung in the air implied that I could continue. Moving my hands to the sides of her brassiere under her arms, I slowly felt the material and below that each area of muscles pulsing under my fingertips and palms. When I came to her hips I moved my hands to the back and explored up to the bottom of her shoulder blades then back down her spine. Timidly I began the movement around her hips towards the front.
Checking in with her once more and since she seemed to be enjoying my movements, I moved my hands in uncertainty towards the bottom of her mounds. As I drew nearer her eyes seemed to have a combination of excitement, anticipation, and fear. Her arousal aromas deepened and abounded as if calling me home. The pull to rip her clothes, toss her into my bed, and forego the consequences to her was becoming too much, not to mention the fear she seemed to be exhibiting. I was in no state to confirm if her body was also producing the chemicals associated with fear, as I had started to hold my breath. Instead, I took a step back.
"You carry a touch of divinity, my sweet," I spoke. "Words could never express my appreciation for all that you are and give me. I can go no further."
Her smile was slightly sad, but there was relief there as well. Perhaps she too was not ready.
"May I return the favour?" she asked shyly.
Esme's eyes contained that vulnerable yet brazen look that I had yet been able to refuse, so simply reminded her, "Until my shirt and pants. I am not yet ready to have you touch my skin."
Her face morphed into disappointment, but after a second she schooled her features and looked merely serious instead.
"Of course," she assured me, and then after a few moments of contemplation asked, "Will you sit on the edge of the bed, please?"
I complied in a slow exaggeration, giving both herself and myself time to acclimatise ourselves to her present state of undress. Once sat and feeling ready, I drew in the smallest sample of the air. Whatever had been mixed into her scent was no longer heavy, although it was in the sample I had taken in the smallest degrees. There was some adrenaline, but most importantly, for my purpose, a molecule of glutamate. Not once, ever, did I want Esme to be afraid of what we were doing or of me. Perhaps fear was a normal human physiological response in this situation. It was new after all. Nevertheless, I was determined to find a way so that Esme was not afraid when we were together like this. Perhaps it was simple exposure. The more times we explored each other in this way the more comfortable she would become and thus decrease her fear response. I would like to think that would work, but if not perhaps Esme would think of some other solution.
These thoughts stopped as soon as she moved towards me. Immediately, she enraptured my full attention. To my surprise, I was afraid. I could feel my natural response to fear: to either flee or attack. Instead, I locked my muscles in place, remembered to move my shoulders so that it appeared that I was breathing even though I had stopped, and told myself it was only Esme and that she would respect my wishes. Then it dawned on me that perhaps her fear response was for the same reasons as mine: vulnerability and trepidation of the unknown. Quickly putting that thought aside to consider later, I focused on Esme and appearing human.
She moved slowly towards me and I revelled at how she looked in her undergarments. When she came in front of me she placed her hands on my knees and put the most slightest amount of pressure on them as if she were moving them to the sides. I shifted them in the direction she was indicating, but doing so increased my sense of apprehension. Once my legs were spread apart, she stepped into where they had been. Her heat radiated and when I measured it there seemed to be three quarters of a degree increase in comparison to her normal temperature. That was certainly within acceptable limits, but I did not know what the information told me. Certainly I had experienced that a human female's lower regions increased in temperature due to increased blood flow when giving birth. Was there some connection?
Before my mind could give it any more thought her heat moved beyond my clothes and began to penetrate into my skin doing strange things to my loins. Where in the previous activities it had simply hardened, it began to twitch in a way I had never experienced before, as if it were its own being attempting to suss out the source of the heat. I tried to ignore it and hoped that Esme did not get close enough to be aware of what my body was doing. The bed's footboard stopped her movements and, given where I was sitting in the bed, gave her core and my member a good four inches of distance. It was not a lot, but I hoped it was enough.
"Lean forward, please," she instructed.
I complied in relief, as doing so nearly guaranteed to maintain the distance between us.
She leaned in forward slightly and put her hands around my neck in order to lift my collar. The motion was both intensely pleasurable and fearful. Intellectually I knew that she did not have the strength to remove my head and kill me, but it was the first time anyone's hands had been in that position. Fortunately it did not last long, as she moved her hands around to the front near my adam's apple and unloosened my tie. She untied it completely, lifted it from around my neck, and then gently placed it on the bed to my left.
Once the tie was on the bed, she moved her hands back to my neck and undid the top two buttons of my shirt, the only ones visible prior to my knitted vest.
My eyes opened wider responding to my sense of being exposed in front of her.
She then moved her hands slowly along my shoulders inching her warmth towards my arms and then down them. When she got to my hands she lifted one and explored my palm. Certainly she would have noted my lack of a lifeline and swirls on my fingertips and thumbs, but she said nothing. Before moving on she undid the cufflinks at my wrist, placing them next to my tie.
Once both of my hands had been explored, she moved her hands down slightly to the bottom of the vest, which lay on my pants. She did so at my sides and then slowly lifted the fabric. When she got about halfway up my torso she commanded, "Hands up."
I abided by her request, allowing her to fully remove my vest. It was the most unclothed I had ever been with her and it was unnerving.
"How are you my husband?" she asked in hushed tones.
"Nervous and apprehensive, but I trust you. It has given me greater appreciation for your courage, my love. I have no idea how you stand before me in your undergarments without the tremors I feel," I confessed.
She tilted her head to the side. "You do not seem to be trembling," she noted.
"I am holding myself still so that my weakness does not show through," I divulged.
She smiled kindly. "Well, my dear husband, would you allow me to touch you on the outside of the garments you still have on?"
Smiling shyly I conceded, "Just please not near private parts."
"Perfectly understandable." Then she added, "I promise," at a whisper. After taking a moment she requested, "Would you stand, please?"
While doing so she took my hand and led me in a half circle so that I ended up facing the bed, then she stepped behind me.
Her hands started at my neck again, as she put my collar back down. She then moved them to the centre of my back, and with just her fingertips traced my spine. When she got to my pants, she moved her hands further apart and placed her palms on my back. She then moved upwards to my shoulders. Once her hands were upon my shoulders, she moved them further apart again and moved downwards till my pants, then up again, repeating the same process until she came to my arms.
At my arms she went down them, feeling the outsides of my hands and then rested her palms on my waist. Then she shifted slightly right and placed her hands side by side on the back of my leg moving from where it met my rump down with exaggerated slowness. When she got to my heel she shifted herself to the left and repeated the process with the other leg.
At the left heel she said, "Turn around please."
Upon my compliance I found her staring at my stocking feet.
"You can stop if you wish, Esme," I encouraged her, as she seemed unusually hesitant. "You have given me more than I could have wished for."
She nodded in acknowledgement, but said nothing. Her hand moved to my right foot and began moving from the toes up the sock, under the pant leg, up to the ankle, and back again.
"Do you think it is normal to be afraid?" she asked quietly after many long minutes.
"I am afraid," I admitted.
She looked up at my face. "You are?" she wondered with a tone like she did not believe me.
"I am afraid of a great many things when it comes to you Esme," I disclosed.
She looked back down and sighed, her hand this time moved up my pant leg over my shin. Her motion looked like it was almost unconscious. "A part of me is excited and is enjoying being able to explore you in this way. The other part of me is terrified of what could happen. I have no brothers and although saw a few of the neighbour boys without their shirts in the field; they were a fair ways off. I know nothing of men."
My mind captured the truth of her conclusions and then quickly realised that she might react to her fear how she had having her bone set, something that was abhorrent to me. With the slightest growl in my voice I commanded, "Do not ever do anything you are not ready to do."
She bristled under my tone.
"Please," I softened instantly aware of how harsh my tone had been, but was still insistent. "I could not bear the thought if you did anything only because of what you believed would please me, rather than what you wanted to do. You are not here to satisfy my wants."
"But my mother …" she started and then trailed off.
"I am going to join you sitting on the floor Esme. I abhor this position of me standing over you," I revealed, explaining further, "I have too many memories of my father over me before he struck me."
Her eyes grew large and she scooted back.
Sitting down I crossed my legs over each other and reached out for her hand.
"Are you all right?" I asked concerned. "I did not mean to frighten you."
"You have never spoken to me in such a way. That is all," she stated sounding like she was downplaying her true feelings.
"I only meant to impart the seriousness of my words, nothing more," I said attempting to assuage any emotions that my tone seemed to have conjured within her.
She nodded. After a few moments she looked up at me nearly pleading. "Carlisle, these garments are not very comfortable. Would you mind if I went and changed into my nightgown with robe?"
"Please make yourself comfortable," I insisted. Although I considered suggesting reconvening this conversation somewhere else, I suspected that she would have mentioned that as well if she had needed a change of location, and it made no difference to me.
It took her longer than it would have normally to return. Her noises in her room made no sense, as it sounded like she was sitting at her table brushing her hair over and over again.
"Esme?" I called out.
"Coming," she answered in a distant voice.
When she entered she looked distracted.
"What is it?" I asked concerned.
"I did not finish my exploration," she stated.
"Yes," I agreed confused about how her statement related to her apparent distress. "What about it?"
"I feel bad," she confessed. "I wanted to finish, but my fear stopped me."
Stopping my desire to repeat my prior statement, I instead continued to look up at her and offered, "Come down and sit on the floor as we were. We can talk and if you want, there is always later or tomorrow or a week from today or a month or a year to do those things. Please, my love, hear me, there is no rush. Please tell me what is running through that beautiful mind of yours."
Sitting on the floor facing each other, it hit me how quickly this aspect of our relationship had changed and its deep impact on the connection between us. Perhaps it was because of me, or due to what she was about to say, or maybe it was the combination of her and I together, but watching her decide if she wanted to talk about whatever concerned her, it dawned on me that this past year could have been an entirely different experience if either of us had been more transparent.
Yet, even having the advantage of looking backwards and evaluating my choices, I would not have changed a thing. From my vantage point the pace of this last year had been exactly ideal. It had been a wonderful opportunity for us to get to know each other in ways we had not before. We had not courted in the regular sense and the year gone had given me a chance to learn her better.
At the same time, what we had agreed before we had wed was that we were going to be essentially roommates who presented ourselves as a married couple. By admitting to her that I wanted more, I had also requested for us to become more than roommates. For the first time it dawned on me that she might have agreed to my pre-wedding terms for her own sake, and not only as a condition of marriage that she accepted. What did I really know about being a woman of this era? It dawned on me that prior to our recent conversations much of my beliefs about Esme came from a combination of assumptions and listening to nurses. However, she was not either. How much of her was still a mystery to me? While mulling over these possibilities and chastising myself, she sat clearly in her own inner turmoil.
Eventually the silence between us was interrupted and she started to speak, "My mother told me to expect that you would want to touch me and place your organ within me on our first night. She told me it was painful, but that I would need to grin and bear it, as it was now a part of my job as your wife to ensure that you were pleased in these ways, least you believe me inadequate and find someone else who would satisfy these matters for you." Then she looked up at me cautiously, obviously embarrassed by admitting these things. "Naturally, I knew our agreement, so her words held no meaning for me. I know what you said about fluids, but I have to admit great ignorance in these matters, and I do not know how to reconcile her words with these new things we are trying. Any fears that I had dismissed have returned tenfold."
"How I wish your education held some information about these things," I ranted.
"They taught us our female body parts," she defended her eyes concerned at my tone.
Softening my voice, I explained, "I did not intend to say otherwise. I apologise. It is a widespread national cultural policy in which I am disagreeing. See, I think that if young men and women were taught some of the basics of copulation there would be much less fear."
"That makes sense," she agreed easily, "But you are quite knowledgeable, I assume, given your occupation. Why are you afraid?"
"Afraid that I will hurt you, as I am quite strong; afraid I will inadvertently contaminate you; afraid that you will not like what you see or in this case touch; afraid that my inexperience in these matters will result in misunderstandings or hurt feelings; and afraid of my own impulses."
"Are they strong?" she asked meekly.
Unsure of her meaning, I queried, "Are what strong?"
"Your impulses," she clarified.
"Yes, sometimes I feel like I am a stranger in my own body," I disclosed.
"As do I," she acknowledged.
"You do?" I asked baffled.
"Yes," she agreed with a little sad sigh. "The feelings in my body when you touched me or when I touched you were so strong. That feeling is of just wanting more, but simultaneously feeling as if I were hurling towards a cliff, and it frightened me. And I did not understand my mother's warning, except to say that she was trying to pre-emptively comfort me and give me wise advice as she saw it."
"Perhaps," I suggested slowly loathed to be the one to explain such things to her, "she was warning you about the fact that there is a barrier, a membrane really, within your inner parts that must be broken for a man and woman to be intimate in that way."
She nodded, but looked like she was trying to puzzle it out.
I wanted to elucidate, but the words were caught in my throat. Usually a nurse explained these matters. I had no practise with conversations with young wives. Instead, I took the coward's way out, "However, the fluid in my organ would be in contact with the fluids in yours if we were to do such a thing, and as such almost certainly too risky for us."
She looked down embarrassed before she spoke quietly, "What about those rubber things some people talk about? I overheard some of the looser women say they prevent pregnancy."
Surprised she had overheard such talk, as it certainly was not a conversation for polite society, I nevertheless answered her enquiry. "Yes, they are a sheath to cover a man's organ, which when worn are reputed to protect him from diseases carried by women of ill repute. According to the medical journals I have read, the Germans distributed them widely to their soldiers during the Great War, and some US Military Medical Advisors recommended the Allies do the same, but it was not done. Thus, the evidence of them being able to do what is claimed is mostly in Germany and little is known about their effectiveness here in the United States."
"Could that work for us?" she asked curiously and bashfully.
"I could not say," I answered after some careful thought. At her disappointment, I added, "But perhaps they would be worthy of one of my experiments?"
"Perhaps," she agreed timidly.
When she appeared to have nothing more to say on the matter, I mentally reviewed all the questions that were important to me to have answered before we parted company.
"Did I hurt you in anyway when I touched you?" I asked watching her carefully.
"No," she replied quietly.
"Was there anything you did not like that I did?" I pressed.
"I liked it all fine, Carlisle," she said without inflection.
"Explain your tone," I demanded upset at her keeping this from me, and then gathered myself and added after a pause my tone gentle, "Please."
She looked a little taken back by my insistence we speak talk about this and how I had spoken to her. Nevertheless, she collected herself and thought a while. Most of the time we was frowning and appeared irritated.
Finally she stated, "My body did not want you to stop, but I was afraid, so I was glad you stopped where you did. It is irritating to be split in two like this," and then huffed.
Her answer comforted me and allowed my frustration to be released. She was not upset at me or what had happened, but in how her body had responded. Knowing so eased my concerns.
Sensing she might also need assurance, I admitted, "I am also torn in two. Perhaps it is simply because it is new to us."
Silence descended between us as she ruminated over my admission. When she spoke it was with hesitancy, "Did you like my touch?"
Without pause and with conviction in my tone, I admitted, "Very much."
The edges of her lips turned up like she enjoyed my answer, but her eyes and features conveyed that she was deep in thought.
After a few minutes she enquired, "Did you want me to continue?"
Trying to keep the urging out of my tone, I told her, "One day, when you are ready."
Her lips tightened, and then she asked with a tone of trepidation, "Sure you are not disappointed?"
"What is there to be disappointed about?" I replied curious about her insecurity. "You are giving me an indescribable amount more than I expected."
She appeared glad that I was pleased, but then almost immediately upset.
Eventually she gained the courage to confess, "Maybe one day I will not be afraid for you to touch my bosom."
Smiling at the strength it had taken her to admit to such a thing, I put my hand on her face agreeing, "Perhaps," then pausing so make my point clear I added, "but next time Esme, and please, I cannot say this strongly enough, I need you to say stop when you are afraid. You are not my concubine. You are not my toy. You are my wife and never do I want you to be afraid. Never do I want you to ever do anything you are not one-hundred percent sure you want to do."
Over and over her eyes moved from mine to my hand back to my eyes. Then without warning she stopped at with conviction keeping eye contact told me, "All right."
"All right?" I confirmed a bit surprised that she had not needed to speak about it more.
"Yes, all right," she grumbled trying to sound playful and smile. "It is not a bad thing you are asking of me. I will do it." Frowning she paused and then asked, "Would you do the same in return?"
"Yes, I will," I vowed and then allowed my hand to return to her knee.
"So, what have we decided exactly?" she asked after a moment's silence between us.
"I have been thinking over the past days that we have agreed to be more than housemates," I told her.
She smiled like my answer pleased her.
"Are you sure?" I pressed concerned her mother's words were pressuring her to be intimate when she was not interested herself. "Having a taste of this and then stopping might be worse than simply denying ourselves," I pointed out. "And hopefully I have already shown you this past year that you not need worry about me continuing my fidelities to you. It is critical that you are making decisions on your own wants and nothing else."
She put her hands on my knees. "I vow to you, my husband, that I do want us to touch more than we have this last year. I cannot deny the expectations society has of me as your wife, but I promise you that my decision is based on my own mind and heart."
Smiling softly at her, I let it go, "Thank you for those assurances." Pausing briefly, I then told her ensuring my tone was gentle, so she might feel free to disagree, "I do believe perhaps it best if we continued the touches we have tried tonight but no more in the coming weeks and when either of us is ready to receive more we shall tell the other."
She thought it over and many long minutes passed between us before she agreed, "Seems fair enough." Silence stretched on between us with her running her fingers in small circles on my knees on top of my pants. "Thank you," she whispered.
"For what?" I checked slightly confused, although grateful she was appreciative.
"For being a true gentleman in every sense of that word," she insisted with force. "I am truly blessed to be your wife."
"You are welcome, but it is I who is blessed beyond measure," I contented with conviction.
"Then we shall have to agree to disagree," she stated playfully.
"With that I can agree," I told her. Pausing briefly I questioned, "Would you be willing to speak more about what arose in you when I picked you up and moved you, especially anything that displeased you?"
She frowned clearly disliking my question. After many minutes had passed she admitted, "I am concerned that you will think less of me or wish to change our agreement if I were to speak these thoughts. Yet, I do not want there to be lies or even omissions between us."
Realizing what my question had asked of her without being willing to repay her in kind, I considered my words carefully. "There are a great many things I am keeping from you, and plan on keeping from you, so that you will be better protected from the dangers that knowledge possesses."
For a moment she was caught off guard and then mumbled under her breath, "Your infection."
"Are you implying your wish to also renegotiate these terms of our pre-nuptial agreement?" I wondered apprehensively.
She looked at me with such a complex array of emotions flittering through her features that I could not even guess was she was feeling let alone thinking. Many long minutes continued and the silence between us grew into being slightly uncomfortable. However, I simply sat with my thumbs and fingers touching her knees and making small motions intended to assure her of my presence.
Eventually she told me, "I cannot deny that a part of me is curious and thus wishes to know. I also cannot refute that continuing to abide by our agreement requires me trusting your judgement completely on this issue, despite in every other matter you ask me to form my own opinions. Nevertheless, I took your warnings seriously and will continue to do so. Given that and even though I can see how you might make that connection, I was referring to all the other things about us. We have agreed to become more intimate, but have never spoken about what we wish for or might desire. I was taught these are unbecoming conversations for a lady. In fact, many of the conversations we have already had would make my mother would be mortified and she might possibly even consider me a harlot for speaking about such things."
Wanting to object, I went to say something, but she put up her hand in a stop motion.
Smiling apologetically and nodding for her to continue, I swallowed my words.
"However," she continued, "I have done so because it is important in our relationship. For me to remain uninfected and us to proceed with having more intimacy it is clear to me that what we have spoken about requires conversations. You asking me to share my thoughts and feelings when you carried me in here from your office is more than a requirement. You are asking me to speak of things that are taboo. They embarrass and shame me."
It was like she had lain out breadcrumbs and asking me to put the pieces together. It did not take long before it dawned on me that she was speaking about fantasies of a sexual manner.
Wanting to ease her discomfort, I assured her, "I too have thoughts reflecting desires that are far beyond what we have agreed."
She smiled broadly seemingly pleased with this knowledge.
"I apologise if my question implied my request for you to speak on such images," I offered to her. "Rather your expression baffled me and I was curious while also concerned."
She smiled relieved. "Thank you for clarifying. I should not have doubted your intent."
"An easy mistake," I insisted. Clarifying I explained, "It appeared that you were equally furious, joyful, pleasured, and fearful."
She smiled in understanding while she uttered, "Ah."
"Care to explain?" I pressed.
Her smiled turned to being indulgent. "Furious at how easily you moved me and that you did not ask. Joyful to see you behave so impromptu along with how you looked at me with adoration and reverence. Pleased that you were expressing through your actions your thoughts and preferences as well as that you seemed excited. Fearful at what would come next a little, but mostly that the realization that I have no knowledge of how strong you are. The way you moved the furniture implied stronger than even my father or cousins, even though you do not do the hard labour that fuels their strength. And even though I trust you to never hurt me, it places me in a vulnerable position that is intimidating. Then, from these thoughts bore the images that I would rather not share."
Appreciative of what she had divulged, as it allowed me to understand her better, I told her, "Thank you for your honesty." Pausing a moment, I disclosed, "Strength without hard labour is a side affect of the infection."
She gasped and her mouth opened. When she closed it she asked, "For both males and females?"
Wearily I answered, "I have met a few females infected and yes to your question."
She studied me with a barely veiled jealousy before schooling herself and carefully asking, "Could one day you demonstrate the limits of your strength?"
Sighing I answered, "Doing so would cross too far into the dangers I wish to keep you safe from."
Frowning, but with a look of understanding, she told me, "That is fine. I am just being curious. I trust in your judgement."
"Thank you," I uttered surprised at how easily she dropped the topic.
Kissing her knuckles, I stood and offered her my hand. She took it and when she was also standing I wrapped her in my arms I whispered in her ear, "My words of gratitude would never convey the honour and privilege of what you granted me this evening. You are astounding. No man could ask for a better wife than you my love."
Unexpectedly, more than our exploration, our talk seemed to have settled us both. Even though over the next couple of days we were touching each other slightly less than the days before her unrobing, we both seemed to be growing in comfort and confidence. Without doubt our next year would not look like our last.
We had decided to allow our first anniversary to pass with little fanfare, although I did take her out to eat at a high end restaurant and purchase her a small necklace of pearls. As expected she protested on the contention that she had nothing for me in exchange, but I insisted that she allow me to spoil her a little, pointing out that as a doctor's wife such items were expected and that her marrying me was a far greater gift than some small token.
It we were therefore as a couple more content and satisfied than we ever had been when we faced Mrs. Martin. Even though in my letter I had mentioned that Esme would be accompanying me, she seemed slightly surprised to see her with me.
"Dr. Cullen," she greeted me, "and Mrs. Cullen, please let us speak in my office."
Appreciative of the privacy we followed her.
After polite enquiries had been made I asked, "What do the upcoming school year positions look like at this time?"
Beside me I could sense that Esme had tensed, even though her tells were probably invisible to Mrs. Martin. Despite Esme's reaction, she said nothing. It was doubtful she would say anything at all, since she had insisted that she knew nothing about these aspects of working life, but had nevertheless agreed with my point about the value of her presence.
Frowning, Mrs. Martin answered, "Much like they were in my letter. We have hired a number of the returning men."
Nodding I pressed, "And my wife's position?"
Looking at me seriously, she divulged, "Truly, no one wants to lose her. The children respect her, the parents speak highly of her, and her colleagues also have given her flowering reviews. For my sake it is an easier sell to the board of trustees than say if it was a math position."
"So, what is the stumbling block?" I urged.
Her eyes roamed briefly at Esme before she asked, "May I speak candidly?"
Realizing she was expecting that her words would offend Esme, I agreed, "My wife is here because I believe it important she learn this aspect of acquiring a job as a married woman. The world will not always be as it is presently, and I wish to give my wife every opportunity to be as independent as she wishes."
She smiled slightly. "I would not have opened this school for girls, especially as it does not board, if I was not a forward thinking woman. Times are changing, and even though our soldiers are returning home, women need an education."
"Could not have said it better," I agreed.
She smiled a bit more with a glimmer in her eyes. "You, Dr. Cullen, remind me in many ways of my late husband, God rest his soul. He too believed that women should know how to navigate the working world. What I learned over our years of marriage made this school possible."
"Since you are being frank, so will I be," I told her. "What do you need to convince the Board of Trustees?"
She paused and clearly pondered the question. Without doubt she would have already considered her asking price, so I had to wonder what she was debating.
"Would you be willing to be a trustee?" she asked.
Her question surprised me, so it took me some thought before I answered, "I would be honoured. However, my position at the hospital is the night shift and there is some chance of being offered a position at another hospital. Consequently, attending meetings and the responsibilities of a trustee would be challenging at this point in my career. What if I offered the financial investment of a trustee without a vote instead?"
Esme grew tenser beside me. Even though she knew my approximate net worth, I suspected she was struggling to agree with me doing this on her behalf.
"I could see the board agreeing to such an arrangement," she offered even though she sounded uncertain of the words. Finally after long minutes she elucidated her tone, "However, it would require an unanimous agreement, as it would fundamentally alter the role of trustee."
"Understood," I permitted allowing her to know that I had been fully aware of the implication of what I had offered prior to my utterance.
She looked at me in an evaluation fashion, took a moment, and then informed me, "I shall send you a letter once they have decided."
"Good deal," I agreed please at the outcome.
"They will not meet until the end of the month, so do not expect a notice from me until after then," she warned me.
"Fair enough," I agreed.
After taking our leave Esme continued to stay quiet.
Later that evening she finally asked, "Why would you offer such a thing?"
"Money is easier than the politics," I explained.
"You know what I meant," she retorted her tone slightly irritated.
Sighing I divulged, "Remember the organization my accountant set up to fund your education?"
"Yes," she answered, but sounded slightly unsure.
"I need to close it or do something with it. Giving funds to the school without my presence, will hopefully allow my foundation to function and offer the incentive necessary for you to retain your job that you love and they want you to keep."
She eyed me carefully. Then, she confessed, "Even if you teach me the mechanics of finance, I do not think I will ever fully understand the political parts."
Considering this I told her, "I was both raised in a family, albeit different to how it is done here, where these types of deals were commonplace, and I have had my whole life to practice them. As I had told you previously, she needed to sell keeping you to the Board, and money usually is the way wheels get greased. It might not be right or fair, but it is how this world works."
Her eyes down she professed, "I do not like it. It creates a world where those without money to spare are at a disadvantage."
Putting my hand on hers, I agreed, "I too wished the world was more fair."
Her entire being looked sad and for a moment she almost looked child-like.
It dawned on me how easily my wish to protect her could keep her in an infantile state. However, I wanted her to be my equal in every way that was possible. To do that, she was going to encounter how unjust the world could be. She would get hurt and upset. She might even have to voice things she had been taught all of her life were taboo. Either way she would not remain in the dominated state of many women of the higher classes.
For a moment my instinct roared at me to put her in a glass case where none of those things could touch her, and she could remain as she was. Instantly, I swatted it away. She was a strong woman and her being so was a quality I admired. Protecting her from the world and thus limiting her growth as an individual was worse by my estimate. The question was how to support and love her through the bumps and bruises she was bound to encounter as she became more exposed to the less admirable aspects of human society. I had no quick or easy answers. My only thought was to have faith, something that thankfully was becoming less strenuous over time.
AN: So, originally the story was about 15 chapters. I wrote the outline of the story over two years prior to when I started posting. And then I realised while working on edits that I was missing content about Esme's job renewal, especially with the war ending, and and and. Suddenly, my story has grown by 4 chapters, and looks like it might add even more. ;-) lol Also, as I have been working on it, I had come to realise that when I originally wrote it I was in such a rush to get them to what happens next, that I left out critical plot developments. I'm beginning to see the gaps and fill them. The good news, is that the story is not ending soon.
In the mean time, thank you for sticking by me as I grow as a writer. Each of your notes, thoughts, and comments have inspired me and allowed me to refine my skills. You are so much appreciated.