A/N: Hooooo boy, here we go! The dreaded Sunday chapter. I fear this one may upset some of you - and that's alright. I mean, I'm not trying to deliberately upset anyone, but you're entitled to your reactions. There is some strong, graphic stuff implied in here, and I apologize if your senses are offended - but I won't apologize for posting it.
Many thanks to all the readers, and special thanks to the reviewers! You guys make my day.
When the service was over, Gilbert and Anne managed to duck out and keep polite greetings and conversations to a minimum. The Wrights were taking Jem and Walter along for a picnic, this freeing them to go for a walk on their own.
"What will it take?" asked Gilbert once they were alone on the sinewy path, safely out of hearing range. "For you to live under the same roof with our children, to be my wife... what will it take? What more do you need that I haven't given?"
Anne's eyes widened in surprise. She hadn't expected him to be so direct, so demanding. "I do want a life with you. I really do."
The intensity in his eyes didn't diminish. "But?"
"We're lacking in trust." Anne stopped walking to face him. "I want you to trust me again, and I want to trust you."
His eyebrows arched. "And do you think you've merited this trust?"
"Probably not," she conceded. "But without it, there's just no hope for us."
Gilbert found himself at a loss for words: her casual honesty threw him for a loop.
Misinterpreting his silence for reluctance, Anne tilted her chin up in a regal fashion. "Very well, then." She made to leave, but didn't go two steps before he'd caught her arm.
"Hold on! Just - hold on, alright?" he heaved. "You're right: we need trust. I probably haven't done much to make you trust me, but I'm a little in the dark as to what I've done specifically to earn your distrust. Can you please enlighten me?"
Anne sighed. "It's not so much what you've done - it just can't be helped. I know I messed up last night, changing my mind at the last minute, and I'm sorry."
"Are you still afraid it's going to hurt? Anne, you're not a maid anymore: you're different now. Your body has changed. You've given birth several times, and..." Though there wasn't another soul in sight, he still leaned in closer and lowered his voice. "You've enjoyed what we've done recently, haven't you? This week, all the playing, and experimenting... it was all practice, for what would happen after."
"You said we could take things slowly," she reminded him.
"We are! And we can continue to move slowly, we can even slow down - but I've got to know that we're both moving towards the same final goal."
Anne crossed her arms. "The goal might be the same, but it can't end the same way for us both."
Gilbert looked up at the loaded clouds rolling in. "We've been through this before," he said distractedly, estimating the amount of time they had before rain. "And Anne, just because you might get pregnant, just because you might carry the child inside of you, doesn't mean that I won't be afraid. I will be with you every step of the way, I promise."
"You can't, Gil! It's not that I don't want you to, it's that you physically cannot feel what I feel. Even before pregnancy, just the act of... it's not the same for you. It. Just. Isn't."
"So, it comes down to you trusting me. And me trusting you," he echoed her earlier statement.
"Yes." Anne's expression was resolved, but infinitely sad. The sky darkened: they might not find shelter before the storm.
"What if there was a way," he said slowly, "for me to even out the playing field?"
She blinked at him. "What do you mean?"
"If," Gilbert weighed his words carefully. "I could experience it the way you do...would that be enough?"
Anne frowned. "I suppose."
"Then come to my parents' house with me. There's something I'd like to show you."
Gilbert brought Anne up to his room and motioned for her to have a seat at his desk. Though the senior Blythes were out calling on the Bells, he still locked the door before reaching under his bed. He pulled out a book, blew some dust from its cover, and leafed through the pages.
"Here." He handed her the open volume. "Second page."
Bewildered, Anne flipped the open book around in her hands. The cover bore no title, no author, no marks whatsoever. Curious, she turned back to the selected passage and read.
Gilbert watched as her brow creased in consternation, waiting for understanding to descend upon her: he could see the very second the ball dropped, by the widening of her eyes and the small gasp.
"This is... goodness!"
An accurate summary: he added nothing, merely sustained her gaze.
"How would you...? I mean, how would we...?"
He sat down on his bed and averted his eyes to the ceiling. "There's a diagram further on."
More paper rustling, then a small "oh," followed by a second, higher pitched "oh!"
Gilbert's face burned red: he didn't dare look at Anne's expression. "It should be fairly straight forward," he bit out crisply.
"Gil." There was an awed quality to the way she said his name. "You would do this for me?"
"Why not?" he tried for an easy tone, but didn't quite manage. "You've done it for me. And if it's done right, it's supposed to be... enjoyable."
The ensuing silence felt like it might stretch on till eternity. Gilbert waited in quiet mortification, and Anne made no noise whatsoever.
When she finally spoke, her voice was much softer. "If you'd agree to it - and especially if you think it might feel good - then, I'm all for it."
"Alright." He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "Tonight?"
"Tonight."
Gilbert was nervous.
Mostly, it was a predictable fear of the unknown. What he'd suggested was a bit unnatural, after all - few enough men experienced this at the hands of their wives, and even fewer had published scientific articles. There existed much more literature describing the sentimental aspect of the act, but Gilbert hadn't wasted his time on those, deeming them irrelevant. As long as he was physically prepared, and that Anne had studied the diagram a bit and knew what she was doing, they should be fine. There would never be a lack of sentimentality where he and Anne were involved.
Some of his excitation stemmed from the fact that it might actually be more than fine. To quote the obscure untitled book that had been a pillar in his recent education: "The initial breach may present a moderate amount of pain, as well as burning sensations. This can be avoided if performed by the tongue, which is more pliant, and comes naturally lubricated with saliva: however, it is notably more challenging to stimulate the gland, which is better reached by a finger, or more aptly by-"
Every time he'd gotten up to this point, he'd firmly snapped the book shut: there was a reason why such things were unauthorized. Some of the descriptions went completely against law and nature: there really was such a thing as too much freedom, too much curiosity. The only reason it hadn't been thrown in the fire was its accuracy and lack of sentimentality or bias. Pure, cold facts founded on studies and research: it was science, and science was never explicitly vulgar.
But he could not completely shut down the idea that he might actually enjoy it. All the myths, the rumors regarding this taboo were somewhat familiar to him since adolescence: he'd simply assumed it didn't regard him. One instance of solitary experimentation up in his bedroom had proved to be fruitless, and confirmed that he simply wasn't built for that sort of sin. It was a relief to stand on the righteous side, to be separated from those who indulged in (and claimed to take pleasure) in the most unnatural acts.
Surely, there was less shame in performing such an act with one's own wife. Of course, on a moral stance, the waste of seed was still a sin: yet, if one was working towards planting seed the more conventional way, it could be pardoned. This was just that: an extension of their preparations.
Anyhow, there was no specific rule against his own enjoyment - nor hers, contrary to popular belief. From a scientific point of view, it was not only possible for a woman to take enjoyment, but preferable as well. The chauvinistic scholars who had somehow become authorities in that medical field irked him to no end with their pompous proclamations that women were entirely incapable of drive, want or pleasure. He'd never believed in that old tripe, and there were the studies to prove so - too few, and deemed inconclusive or irrelevant when left into the wrong hands, but it had been proven. Even medicine could not argue with human nature. The truth would come out some day, and Gilbert wished that he would live to see that shift in perception.
Anne entered the room, and his heart started racing. "Are you alright?" she asked.
He nodded. This was fine: it would be alright. "You're still dressed," he noted.
She smiled. "So are you."
Indeed he was. Nightclothes hit the floor, the larger robes first, then the thinner shirt and chemise and stockings, and finally the socks and underthings, all in a puddle of white on the wood. His shaft sprung free half-erect, as if uncertain whether to be enthusiastic or not: for this didn't really concern it. Gilbert encouraged it with a hand, reminding it that its presence was still required.
"Allow me," said Anne, gently brushing his hand away and replacing it with hers. His treacherous limb stiffened the second she touched him, her bold strokes making him hard as steel in a matter of seconds.
"Anne," he blew out a low puff of air. "Ah!" his knees buckled when she reached underneath with her free hand to cup his sack, rolling it in her fingers, squeezing the sensitive bits softly through the loose skin. Where in the world had she learned to do that? When her mouth encompassed his tip, he threw his head back and moaned, grateful that he was now sitting on the edge of the bed. He might have collapsed to the floor otherwise. A brief moment of clarity allowed him to glimpse down at his length disappearing into her mouth, bringing him to a whole new level of bliss. Tongue swirling madly about him, fingers groping and squeezing, hands milking him, driving him wild - and then it all stopped.
"The oil," she asked. "Do you have it?"
It took his brain a moment to register the words. "Nightstand," he panted, affected by the abrupt halt. He watched, dazed, as Anne took the flask and poured some of its contents in her hand. The look she sent him then was adoring, and her hand resumed worshipping him. The slick, slippery grip was entirely new, and absolutely delicious. Gilbert let himself fall back on the bed, caught up in the ecstasy, the climb uphill so easy and full of promise.
"Are you ready?" she asked.
Words refused to cooperate with his mouth - all he could do was nod.
"I need to hear you say it."
"Ye-ah-AH," he tried to formulate his assent, but the way she slipped fluidly from his base up to his tip made speech momentarily impossible.
"Gil. Look at me, love, and tell me that you want this."
One heavy eyelid opened, then another, and he was looking into a pool of greyish-green desire. "I want you," he said.
"Have I prepped you enough?" she asked calmly, but with some concern.
"Any more than this, and I might blow." He kissed the back of her oily hand and lay back. "I'm ready."
Anne smiled and touched his member, which had gone a violent shade of purple under the strain of its unfulfilled promise. Her hand moved down, each finger catching the ridge of the head as it slid by, making him groan, and his hips twitched of their own volition. While her left hand went in slow, bold motions up and down his erection, the right held his sack: her index reached below, further, until it reached the crevice. Her left hand steadily working Gilbert into a frenzy, she followed the line of the valley, pushing through well-toned muscles until her finger found the entrance.
Her breath caught, and she observed Gilbert's writhing form, panting and begging incoherently for a release that was suspended by her alternations of fast and slow strokes.
"Here I come, Gil," she whispered, and pressed gently at the hole: the edge puckered up against the pad of her finger.
"Anne," he breathed, tensing up. "Anne..."
At the speed of a glacier, she pushed forward, her eyes trained on the wanton expression on his face. Suddenly, his eyes widened, and his hand shot out to grab her wrist.
"Stop. Stop!"
She obeyed his command at once, alarmed by the horrified expression in his eyes. "Did I hurt you?"
He shook his head. "I can't. I thought I could, but I can't. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, but I just can't."
She silenced his hysterical jibbering with a kiss. "It's alright, darling."
Gilbert found himself pulled into her warm, forgiving embrace. He quivered against her, his heart beating painfully hard. Fear, and shame warred each other in his head, and a profound humility had taken over his chest.
Amidst his own turmoil, he was mortified at how aggressively he'd thrown himself at Anne in the past: little warning, almost no preparation, no understanding of the violence of the act. In his arrogance, he'd dismissed those articles that spoke of the mental repercussions of being penetrated. He'd thought himself impervious to all that romantic sentimentality.
Gilbert could see now how wrong he'd been. As he shook in the arms of the woman who'd so bravely submitted to him, he recognized with a great deal of shame that he would never be able to reciprocate. What he'd done to deserve her love and trust after all he'd put her through, he couldn't say: what he did know, was that he'd never put her through that again.
And thus ends the week, which leads up to the explosive session with Kenneth. If this leaves a poor aftertaste in your mouth, I suggest you re-read the last chapter of OOW, where things are getting better! I might continue to add some sexy anecdotes in this story (that is, if I have any readers left after this chapter).
A brief note: I have nothing against homosexuality, nor sex in its various forms (as long as it's consensual). In trying to keep this somewhat realistic, I've made Gilbert a little bit of a forward thinker, but it seemed inaccurate to have him be cool with everything and anything, especially considering the social/religious background and the time context. I simply couldn't find a reason to make him suddenly so open-minded, when in canon he seems to become more conservative with age. If you disagree, I'm open to discussion!