Wedding Night Blues

They stood in the middle of the floor smiling nervously at each other. He removed his jacket and hung it over the back of a chair. He slid his braces off his shoulders and unbuttoned them.

"Stephen, would you mind averting your eyes so that I may disrobe?" she asked timidly.

"You're my wife now!" he reminded her gently, "Can't I see you?"

"No," she shook her head slowly. Her past was too painful. How could she tell him she had never seen a man naked before?

He strode over to the table lamp and flipped it off. Then he returned to where she was standing in the middle of the floor and embraced her tenderly. He pressed his lips to hers softly. With the darkness of the room hiding them, he carefully and considerately caressed her. Her eyes snapped shut and she held her breath, not knowing what to expect.

"You're trembling! I'm sorry, Betty, I don't mean to frighten you," he nuzzled the crook of her neck, "Mmm…I love the way you smell."

"I don't know if I'm ready for…um..." she cleared her throat uncomfortably, "intimacy. I guess I never gave it much thought that that might come up…so to speak!"

He chuckled and pressed his lips on hers, "I won't put any undue pressure on you. We don't have to do anything until you are completely ready for it. I want you to be comfortable with me," he reassured her, holding her tightly.

She curled her fingers into the hair at the back of his head and rested one hand on his chest. He sighed contentedly.

This marriage thing is going to take some getting used to, she thought.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he slipped his pajama bottoms on, one leg at a time. He pulled on his pajama top and buttoned up the front. Betty stood motionless, unsure what to do next. For almost 40 years, she lived alone. It was only the last 4 months that she shared a room with anyone. She wasn't comfortable to get dressed or undressed in front of Miss Brahms, instead electing to tend to that behind a secure washroom door.

"Are you alright, dear?" he inquired, concerned.

She nodded, her pained expression deceiving her.

"Do you want me to leave the room so you may get dressed?" he suggested.

She smiled tightly and nodded again. He stood up, strode to the door, and stepped out into the hallway.

Betty quickly peeled off her cream colored skirt suit, folded the skirt over a hanger, then threaded it through the sleeves, and hung it in the clothes cupboard. She shimmied into her ankle-length blue satin nightgown, buttoning it to her chin.

He rapped on the door,"All clear?"

"Yes. It is now," she replied.

He ambled into the room. She stood expectantly and he padded up to her, taking her in his arms. She gazed into his eyes, smiling uneasily.

"You're going to have to learn to relax, Betty," he whispered, "I'm not going to hurt you, really I'm not." His eyes were soft and pleading. He smiled urgently and began to smooth his moustache.

She nodded. His hands traveled to her hips and he sighed as he caressed her full curves through the slick fabric of her nightgown. He slid his hands to her thighs and she flinched as his hands explored her.

"I'm sorry," he recoiled, pursing his lips, "How about we start with something like this..."

He curved his arm round the back of her neck and leaned in to kiss her. His lips pressed lightly against hers and she leaned in toward him and returned his kiss. His lips lingered on hers. He didn't dare try an open-mouthed kiss for fear of frightening her. His heart thumped in his chest and he brought his hands up to capture her face in an ardent kiss. She stroked his cheek delicately, her hand resting on his hip. His hands moved along her sides and he embraced her, stoking her soft curves. He felt her stiffen as he ran his hands along her form.

"You can touch me," he whispered invitingly.

"Where?"

"Anywhere you fancy. Here," he coaxed, guiding her hand to his shoulder. Her breath hitched as her palm rested on him.

He chuckled.

She withdrew her hand from him and rested it against her side.

He reached for her hand, captured it, and brought it to his lips. He pressed his lips into her palm.

Why is this so difficult for her? He thought. Then a thought occurred to him:

"Have you ever done this before?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

She looked down at the hardwood floor and shook her head. His eyebrows shot up and he looked at her incredulously.

Well, that explains a few things! he thought. Then he bristled at the thought of Maurice Moulterd's accusations and snide remarks and he frowned.

"Let's go to bed," he said flatly.

"I'm not ready," she admitted, almost in tears.

"I'm not expecting anything. You can hold me in your arms, can't you?" he hoped.

"Yes," she smiled and exhaled, relieved, "I can do that!"

"Come on, then."

The next morning:

Betty awoke in Stephen's arms.

She looked around the room bathed in bright sunshine. His eyes fluttered open and he smiled.

"You're still here!" she said sounding surprised.

"Of course I'm still here; you're my wife, where would I be?" he whispered, hoarse with sleep.

"I don't know. We didn't do anything last night," she sheepishly admitted.

"Well, I did something last night," he confessed.

"What'd you do?" she asked suspiciously.

"I fell in love with you," he smiled shyly, "I lay awake for a long time; I watched you sleep. I felt you breathe and I listened to your heartbeat. You held onto me all night. It was lovely."

He sighed and settled back, melting into her embrace.