In the days after their wedding, Wil was finding that it was a completely different prospect being married than being just friends who happened to bunk up together. Their first few times being together were wonderful. Making love with Mavis was like nothing he'd ever experienced before—it really did make a big difference when you loved and were married to the person you slept with! He found himself craving her, going out of his way to spend time with her, watching her when she wasn't looking, and getting embarrassed when she looked up and caught him at it. He felt like a schoolboy with a crush! Which was ridiculous, he told himself firmly, because he knew she loved him, and he was already married to her! He also found (to his chagrin) that he was self-conscious about his aging body—especially contrasted with Mavis's firm, smooth, 24-year-old one. He knew he was still in pretty good nick for his age, but his age was more than twice hers, and it definitely showed.

Mavis had vowed never to push him into anything, and his self-consciousness held him back when he wanted to move forward. They ended up at an impasse sometimes. He also wasn't used to physical affection yet. Sometimes when her hands wandered, or she surprised him with a kiss, he stiffened up and backed away. She would apologize for being "pushy," and withdraw completely. For his part, he kept on stifling his urge to initiate their lovemaking, no matter how much he wanted to, because of his self-consciousness about his body.

And he did want to. It was like a dam had burst—all those years of celibacy, and his newfound love for her, combined to make him positively hunger for her. She was almost like an obsession; he thought about her all the time, but was still too embarrassed to act on those thoughts. The last time he had been "active" had been years and years ago, and it had been nothing like this. None of his previous experiences had been anything like this! Getting lost in Mavis, with her taste on his tongue, her scent in his nostrils, and her silken skin under his hands, was new and utterly addictive.

It was getting to that point that was the difficulty. He had no problems with the execution, only with the approach.

It was starting to become a problem, and Will didn't want any problems between then. He had no idea how to address it, though. Each time he opened his mouth to speak of the issue, he'd close it again, awkwardly, and silently hope it would work itself out.

Mavis, with her usual innocent candor, faced the issue head-on. She had been putting clean sheets on their bed when he came upstairs to change into his work clothes, and she met him at the bedroom door with a kiss and a quick hug. She dropped her hand and gave his bum a quick squeeze, which made him squeak and back away quickly. Silently she watched him collect up his denims, work shirt, and the new canvas waistcoat he'd got for farm work, and take them into the en-suite to change.

He was just in the middle of buttoning his waistcoat when he heard her knock on the door. "Mr. 'Umphries! Will you be wanting the bed to yourself tonight?"

He threw open the door and stared at her in consternation. "What? No, why—what—what would make you think that? And why are you calling me 'Mr. Humphries,' again, Mrs. Humphries?"

She nodded at his other clothes on the floor. "Well, it seemed for a moment as if you'd forgotten we were married, and we've already seen each other with no clothes on. You don't have to run away and change clothes behind a closed door no more!"

She dropped her gaze. "An' then I was wonderin' if I'd gone and been too pushy again, an' if you'd want me to sleep somewhere's else for a while." She turned away and busied herself pulling up the blankets and smoothing the corners of the bed. "I'm sorry for touchin' you when you don't wanna be touched. An' you don't 'ave to change in front of me if you want privacy." She darted a quick, miserable took at him, and then started briskly plumping the pillows.

"Oh, Mavis," he said, his heart breaking. He went to her quickly, and took both of her hands in his, turning her to face him. "It's not that I don't like the touching," he tried to explain. "It's just that I'm not used to it. And also...er, I guess I'm a bit shy."

"Shy? Why?"

"Well, it's like I told you before. You're very young! And you're beautiful! And I'm more than twice your age. My hair's been grey for ever so long, but now I'm starting to get wrinkles. You sit on my lap, and all the rest of me loves that, but my 50-something legs can't hold up to much of it. And I want to be the man you can be proud of, and lean on, but if you lean too hard I might fall over! It's made me a little, uh, self-conscious, I guess you could say."

"I guess I understand," she said. "But when I touch you, like I did just now, you often flinch and shy away. So I know you sometimes like bein' touched and sometimes don't, but I don't know when those times are! I don't wanna push you, like I said, only I don't know when I'm pushing and when it's okay, until after you back off. It's confusin'."

"Oh, I'm sorry, dear," he said, remorseful. "I don't mean to be confusing. And I promise you, I like it every time you touch me. Like I said, it's just that I'm not used to it. Being touched—and kissed—by someone who loves me, and who isn't trying to take advantage of me—it's all new. I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm not a very big man."

"I've noticed. We're the exact same height!" she grinned. "Makes for very convenient kissin', if you ask me!"

"Well, other people larger than me have found in the past that it makes for very convenient other things, too," he said. "So I'm not used to being touched by someone whose hands are actually welcome. Promise me you won't stop touching me, even if it takes me some time to get used to it?" he begged, his eyes searching hers, trying to convince her of his sincerity.

"But you get all stiff and uncomfortable every time I do," she argued.

"I do get stiff, but not uncomfortable," he explained.

His eyes met hers just as he heard the words leave his mouth, and an instant later they were both giggling.

"Well, I'm glad to 'ear it's not uncomfortable!" she said through her giggles.

Wil opened his mouth to reply, and then closed it again. Then he did it again. Finally he said, "There's no response I can make to that, that isn't completely filthy!" he said, still chuckling. "Except this one." He pulled her close, and kissed her. He kissed her slowly, with a breathtaking thoroughness, in a leisurely way as if he had nothing to do but spend the whole day with his mouth fused to hers. When he finally ended the kiss, and their eyes met again, there was no laughing. "Promise me you won't stop touching me? Even if I shy away at first?"

"I promise. But you 'ave to promise me that if anything I do makes you uncomfortable, you tell me, and I'll stop right away."

"I promise—but if I don't say anything, then don't stop. All right?"

"It's a deal."

He got a twinkle in his eye. "Shall we seal it with another kiss?"

She kissed him this time, and it was not slow or leisurely. It was, extremely thorough, however. At the end of it Wil's legs felt wobbly and he had to sit down on the edge of the bed. Mavis started to sit next to him, but he tugged her down onto his lap instead.

"But I thought you said your legs were too old for this?"

He smiled. "I may have legs in their 50s, but for the sake of a beautiful wife in her 20s I'm sure they're up to the task." He gave her a flirtatious eyebrow-twitch.

She leaned close and whispered, "I 'ope you'll let me know if anything else is, too."

His eyes went wide and he pursed his lips in a moue of shock. "Why, Mrs. Humphries, what kind of talk is that?" he flirted.

"Oh, you want me to spell it out, then?" she asked, eyes dancing.

"No!" he exclaimed in alarm. "I think I get the general gist!"

"Well, actions speak louder than words, anyway," she said, and turned so she was straddling his lap. She started undoing his shirt-buttons. As soon as he was shirtless, she pushed him gently down on to the bed, and proceeded to strip him down to his skin in a very methodical manner.

She was still dressed, and he was completely bare. He reached for the blanket, to cover himself with, but she sat down on it. "Oh, no, you don't," she said. "You've already seen me, but now it's my turn to 'ave a good look at you!"

Wil discovered to his delight that she was one of those people who looked with her hands. By the time she'd finished her (thorough!) perusal of his body, he was gasping and reaching for the buttons on her dress.

After they were finished, she studied him from top to toe, and for once, Wil didn't mind a bit. He even stretched a little, to show off.

"Now, then, don't let me hear you complainin' about your 50-year-old body again," she scolded him. "Or I shall 'ave to take 'arsher measures! You don't hear me complainin' about your body, do you?"

Unable to speak, he shook his head.

"I should 'ope not, 'cause it's very 'andsome an' I love it. I love all o' you, Wilberforce 'Umphries."

He summoned enough energy to kiss her tenderly, and then fell back, still breathless.

"Wha' about mine, then?" she asked shyly. "Is it... all right?"

He huffed a laugh. This magnificent young goddess was insecure about her body? He brought her hand to his lips with a fond smile. "It's not just 'all right," he said. "Ancient Greeks would have battled to the death for the right to sculpt you in marble. You have the loveliest figure and the most beautiful face I've ever seen."

His reward was another breathless kiss, and he fell into a light doze, completely happy.

That is, until Captain Peacock rapped on the door and called, "Mr. Humphries! We're all waiting for you! I thought you just needed to change!"

"Oh, blimey!" he squeaked, and leaped to his feet. "I'll be right out, Captain Peacock!" He threw his clothes back on, pressed a quick kiss to Mavis's mouth, and headed out the door.


[Author's Note: Yes, even very well-matched couples can sometimes have misunderstandings in the early days of a marriage. Best way to handle them is with open communication. "Happily ever after" endings are never the endings; they're just the beginning of a new chapter in a new book.]