THE SEXUALITY QUANDARY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

"My equations have been trying to describe an imperfect world, and the only way to do that is to introduce imperfection into the underlying theory."

In the theory of supersymmetry, fermions and bosons have identical mass. Every particle has its own associated match in the other half, whose spin is only a half-integer different, a known if still speculative quantity. But they share the same mass and internal quantum numbers, and that's what makes them a perfect match. Superpartners is the term.

Sheldon had no doubt Amy was his superpartner, his own associated match. In so much of their relationship, they carried the same mass, equaling each other with their intelligence and wit. Their symmetry was . . . perfectly symmetrical.

But Amy's comment about his bow tie had niggled at his brain since she first said it. And then, when his mother reiterated the same thought, it came to Sheldon with a flash: there was one way, one very important way, in which he and Amy were not symmetrical. It had been there since the initial moment they met: their fundamental sexuality lacked symmetry. Amy had both more sexual desire than he and had sacrificed so much more for her desire.

And yet, as the bow tie around his necked proved, they were still superpartners despite that difference in mass. In fact, the effort it took to level that facet of their relationship made them stronger. They were like two microscopic particles learning to balance on a teeter-totter, see-sawing back and forth on this pivot point, each one adjusting themselves as needed so that they could both remain steady, learning from their missteps and stumbles but never allowing the other to fall. The universe was imperfect, and, although he would only ever admit this to his bride, Sheldon was imperfect. Amy was imperfect. For all his effort and for all her compromise, their sexual relationship was imperfect. And yet it wasn't. It was perfect because it was perfect for them, at this point in their lives. It was perfect because they were both willing to continue working on it, to continue to adapt for the other's sake.

It was even possible that they wouldn't be getting married if this hadn't been a challenge for them. If they'd rushed headlong into coitus, Sheldon may not have seen and appreciated Amy's patience and acceptance. Amy may not have realized how much effort he was willing to put into his love, how willing he was to modify for her. They may have too busy rolling in the hay to roll in their shared commonalities.

And that was exactly what was wrong with the theory of supersymmetry: it completely discounted the value of reciprocal modifications. Nay, the necessity. The universe, and love, were not static concepts. They needed room to expend, room to grow toward and into each other, to support and balance each other. Superpartners were not equal; they each accounted for what the other lacked. Just as Amy had tried to impress upon him during their Christmas trip to Texas. She discovered this before he did, even though she did not understand the implications for physics. Yet.

Sheldon burst into her dressing room almost out of breath. It took two imperfect particles to make perfection. It all came to him on the race across the Athenaeum: he wouldn't be a groom without Amy carrying so much weight and the universe wouldn't be so beautiful without her.

"We're here to celebrate the marriage of Sheldon Lee Cooper and Amy Farrah Fowler."

It felt like the room became a vacuum and the only source of oxygen left was Amy walking down the aisle toward him. Sheldon's entire life had been reduced to this moment, this pinpoint of happiness and contentment that slowly enlarged, approaching him, until she was all he could see. All he ever wanted to see. She was so very beautiful.

She was his bride. He was marrying her. Now. Not a moment too soon. His whole life, from here on out, would be composed of moments that came like her smile - bright enough to blot out an atomic bomb detonation. He couldn't wait for each and every one of them. All the moments of marriage to Amy: moments filled with nothing and moments filled with everything, colliding at the same time.

And another flash came to him.

"Save something for the honeymoon."

"Sooooo, this is it," Amy exhaled softly as they stood at the hotel room door together. "Our wedding night."

"Indeed." Sheldon gulped, fumbling a bit as the key card slid into the lock, and Amy chuckled beside him.

"Nervous?" she asked, her voice light and playful. "Feeling virginal?"

Sheldon smiled over at her as the door swung open. "Do you want me to carry you over the threshold?"

"I don't think we'll both fit with this dress. Maybe when we get home?" He nodded at her reply and picked up their suitcases, flipping the wall switch as he entered, waiting until her full skirt was clear before he shut the door behind them.

Alone now in the quiet for the first time in hours, Sheldon took both of her hands in his and studied her, taking in his wife - wife! - from head to toe and back again. Amy had removed her veil early in the reception but otherwise she was still dressed in her wedding finery. There had been some discussions about changing before leaving the Athenaeum, but Amy said that as she would only get to wear her wedding dress once, she wanted to wear it for as long as possible.

"You look beautiful. I love you so much," he said.

"I love you, too. I'm so happy right now. Everything was perfect, just as I imagined it."

"It was even better than I imagined," he admitted. "I knew I'd get a wife but I didn't know I'd also have an epiphany."

There was another pause as they studied each other. Sheldon wasn't sure what Amy was thinking, but he was working hard to burn this image into his brain. He'd remember it all, of course, but, as he'd done several times that day, he worked to define the way his memory would surface in the future: the sharpest, clearest, purest version possible.

"I should probably . . . slip into something more comfortable," Amy murmured. Sheldon knew there was a surprise piece of lingerie packed in the suitcase; Amy had been careful to keep it wrapped securely in the pink Victoria's Secret tissue paper so he wouldn't see it too soon.

"Amy, I - Can you save it for, um, tomorrow maybe?"

Her eyebrows went up in surprise. "Of course. If you're not in the mood or too tired -"

"No, not that," Sheldon interrupted. Then softer, "Not at all. It's just that . . . can I undress you? Ever since I first saw you in that dress, I've imagined taking it off of you. I've been so lucky to discover you in my life, first as my friend, then as my girlfriend, then as my fiancée, that I want to discover you as my wife. My greatest discovery is not hidden in electrons or behind an equation; it's under twelve pounds of lace."

It must have been the perfect thing to say, because Amy's eyes softened with the shimmer of unshed tears, a look he recognized from when they exchanged vows. "Oh, Sheldon, I'd love that."

He smiled at her, taking her and that dress in again, and then asked, "I have no idea where to start. How did you ever get it on? Did you apparate into it?"

Amy laughed softly. "Maybe with the tiara? Just pull straight up."

"Alright." He let go of her hands and reached for the little crown, lifting it gently despite the small tug of resistance, and the jeweled circular came up with several pins hanging from it. "Remember when I gave you this?"

"It was perfect. I loved it at first sight, too."

Standing awkwardly in the middle of the hotel room, Sheldon swiveled his head around. "On the dresser?"

"Yes." Amy's gown rustled behind him as they moved together. "And we're - we're right by the bed now." She gestured with her hand.

"Now what?" There still didn't seem to be a starting point.

"The cape buttons in the back." She turned around for him and he now noticed the row of tiny pearl buttons.

"Wow, that's a lot of buttons!" He reached for the top one; it was shiny and smooth beneath his fingertip. "Amy, I - I had another epiphany today, something other than super asymmetry."

"Really?"

"Yes, when you were walking down the aisle toward me." Sheldon paused to gulp afresh at the memory. "I've never told you, but I've always struggled with the exact adjective for intimacy with you. Not what I am, my sexuality; I mean how I feel about making love with you. Every time has been unique and yet there was always a commonality that I could feel, but the word eluded me." The buttons were coming rapidly now, and Sheldon removed the lace capelet with a flourish when the last was released. The neckline of Amy's dress itself was lower than he expected, and he reached up to caress the cervical vertebrae of her upper back, eliciting a shiver from his bride.

"Oh, we should close the drapes," she said suddenly.

Sheldon glanced over at the open window and felt foolish in his eagerness. Quickly, he crossed the room and pulled them closed. Grinning sheepishly, he returned to his bride and her massive dress.

He folded the capelet and sat it on the foot of the bed. Now that it was gone, he could see the narrow placket for a zipper at the back of her dress. "Anyway, I tried to think of words: sublime, majestic, resplendent. Good words, but none of them were right, none of them encapsulated everything I felt." The zipper caught at her waist and Sheldon bent down to inspect it. He pulled the thicker fabric of her skirt straight, all those extra layers providing resistance for the last few inches of zipper.

"And today, I discovered it. Amy, making love to you feels . . . numinous."

"Numinous?" she asked as the dress fell like a pillow around her ankles. "Give me your hand, I'll step out."

Sheldon supported her as she lifted her equally full slip, and a white bejeweled slipper peeked out to step over the moat of lace surrounding her. Only when she was safely clear did she look up at him, still holding his hand. "But that's a religious term. And you're, well, not."

"I know." Sheldon reached down to pick up the dress, holding it carefully by the shoulders. "I said twelve pounds, but this feels more like sixteen." He shook his head gently and turned to drape the dress over the back of a chair, making sure it wouldn't fall. Turning back to look at her, he smiled. "I don't mean it religiously. Let me explain. But first, what now?"

Amy still looked fully dressed. There was the large underskirt or slip or whatever it was called, just as puffy as her dress had been, and she was wearing some type of silky looking white tank top tucked into it. "The crinoline has a tie at the back," she explained as she turned around again. There in the curve of her spine was a perfect satin bow, pale blue with long ribbons falling to her knees. "My something blue."

He took hold of the ribbon and starting pulling, the satin making a faint zipping sound as he did so. "I mean numinous as in on a different and rare plane of existence, something outside of daily reality, like when the Bifrost bridge opens to Asgard and you see a different realm for the first time," he continued explaining as the bow came free, and he tugged to loosen the drawstring waist of her skirt. "That first time we made love I was so nervous -"

"Really? You didn't show it."

"I was, though. But I was also fascinated by the whole experience, by you. I didn't anticipate many of your reactions, but they were all so beautiful, Amy, everything about your body. And, then, after that, when I started to look forward to it again, I was still surprised every time." The crinoline dropped suddenly, and they repeated the action of stepping over it. Sheldon swallowed hard at Amy's stocking-covered legs, two solid milky lines from her fancy shoes to her frilly garter. And beyond. "I'm so attracted to you but also awed by your power over me. I felt - feel - overwhelmed and inspired every time I think about touching you intimately."

A tear was making its silent down way Amy's cheek, and Sheldon brushed it away with his thumb. "Amy, you humble me. And make me stronger at the same time. Like Mary Jane did for Peter Parker in Spider-Man but better."

He reached for the bottom of her little top, and she raised her arms so that he could pull it over her head. This, too, was folded and added to the capelet before he turned back. "How many layers are you wearing?"

Even after all that, she was still wearing white lace underwear, something lacy around her waist that strapped into the white stockings over her thighs, and that garter just above her right knee. "Penny and I went shopping," Amy explained. "I wanted the entire bridal experience. Do you not like it?" Another tear fell and Sheldon was afraid it was suddenly the wrong type.

"No! Yes! I mean . . I love it. You look beautiful." Sheldon took a deep breath. "I look at you now, in only your most private of undergarments," he took in the plunge and swell of her breasts behind the white lace bra, "and I am so grateful to you."

Amy was crying in earnest now, one tear following another down and dropping off her jaw, and he reached to hold her face with reverence between his palms, hoping he would get the words right. "This is the vow I couldn't say to you in front of anyone else, because it is a profoundly personal experience to be shared only with you: falling in love with you has been like undressing you. You peeled me back, layer by layer, and revealed my true self, even to me. Amy, I know I'm not sexually normal -"

She made a squeaking sound of protest, but Sheldon continued, "Shhh, it's okay. It is. We both know it. It used to be something I didn't even like thinking about. At first because I thought it was a waste of time and then because . . . it was painful. I thought no one would ever want to be with me if I were asexual, so I decided I didn't need anyone. I think I closed my heart and mind to the idea of companionship. But what I want to say is that you taught me that it was perfectly fine to be that way, that you would love me regardless. And because I knew I could trust you, I found the courage to try something I didn't think I ever would. I don't know what the future holds or if I'll ever discover a more average libido. But I know that you'll always be there for me, whether I'm asexual or graysexual or demisexual or something else entirely. I know that I am loved, and capable of returning that love, no matter my sexual orientation. And I owe that knowledge to you."

A sob exploded from Amy's throat, and Sheldon pulled her in close to him. Only now did he realize there were tears on his face, too. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you cry . . . or me."

"Happy - tears," her voice rattled. Sheldon reached up to smooth her hair, but it was still twisted and crusty from whatever product she'd put into it. He settled for patting her back. Amy's tears seemed to calm with a sniff, and she pulled back. "Thank you, Sheldon, that was so beautiful. I'm sorry I ugly cried." She reached up and wiped what appeared to be the last tear away, smearing her makeup in the process. "Can I go wash my face? And maybe brush my hair? Do you mind waiting?"

"Not at all. Take your time." He licked his lips. "And, um, will you come back wearing the underwear?"

"All of it?" Amy looked down at herself. "Maybe it is too complicated."

"Oh, I think it will be like a puzzle box to reach you! Just when I thought this day couldn't get any better!"

With a blush and a chuckle, Amy left him for the bathroom. It took her less time than Sheldon expected, because he had just finished folding his tuxedo pants and pulling down the covers when she came out of the bathroom. Her face was clean, all the earlier makeup gone, and her hair was full around her head, as though they'd already had coitus, not that they were preparing to do so.

"You look beautiful," Sheldon hushed, as his eyes skimmed along the top of her lace bra again. Then he looked into her eyes. "My bride."

Amy stepped closer and smiled. "My husband. Shall we?"

Sheldon stretched toward her and took her hand, helping her into bed, weaving his fingers through hers as she settled next to him.

Neither of them could tell the future. Perhaps, with time and Amy's love, Sheldon would find he desired a more frequent coitus schedule. Or perhaps not. All that mattered was that he knew that their marriage was a marriage of love and acceptance.

And joy. True, other-worldly joy. Daily, from Amy's smile and her beautiful mind. But also here, on their wedding night, when Sheldon gave himself over to her in every sense of the word, because what he really desired - perpetually, continuously, on every occasion, without exception - was the combination of acceptance and awe only she could give.

To be continued . . .

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