The Honeymoon
We stayed overnight in the honeymoon suite, and despite my reservations, when I saw Paula in her nightwear, I started to forget that several hours before, she had been unfaithful before we had consummated our marriage.
She was still glowing and had released her blonde hair to hang over her shoulders. She had hung the circle of flowers carefully, determined to keep them as a remembrance.
The nightwear was a simple ice-blue affair that finished just below her crotch. Unbidden, she spun around, revealing that her underwear matched her nightwear.
"Well, Mr. Wilson, am I presentable for our first night of marriage?" she spun around again.
"Very, and how about a glass of champagne to celebrate?" I pointed to the ice-filled champagne bucket and the bottle of cheap champagne the hotel had given us.
"Yes, please!" Paula jumped onto the bed, making no attempt to shield herself from my hungry eyes.
I opened the bottle, not without a struggle. The pop was hardly earth-shattering and then poured us two glasses. We lay on the bed, toasted each other, and then drank.
The champagne tickled my throat and nose. I coughed, and Paula laughed. It wasn't malicious. Paula's laugh was almost musical, light and distinctive, and yet it could carry across a crowded room.
We finished the bottle; it only held four glasses. Paula was the first to finish, and then she waited in what almost seemed amused frustration. So, as I placed my empty glass on the bedside table, I felt her hand on my thigh.
"So, husband, what happens next? A good night's sleep?" Paula teased, giving me a champagne-soaked kiss.
I was wearing a new pair of boxer shorts, and Paula's hand reached to my groin, where she received the expected response; my dick, still excited from earlier in the evening, rose quickly in her hand.
"No sleep for me, it seems!" Paula laughed.
I had hardly said a thing. I wasn't good at banter and just smiled back.
"Well, come on, husband. I can't do everything!" She lay back, spreading her hair over the pillow. I leaned forward and kissed her. As Paula's arms came about my neck, I forgot all about Jeff and drowned in the perfume that was my wife's body.
We made love. Paula obviously did not feel any guilt, and despite what I had witnessed, I was eager. Paula hooked her legs, as she always did, as I entered her.
She groaned. "I need this ..." beginning to match my rhythm with one of her own.
I tried to shut out the thought that a few hours earlier, Paula had been screwing Jeff on the same bed. If anything, the thought made me harder and more eager to show Paula that I was just as good in bed as her boyfriend.
The next day, we left the Hotel and took the short journey to the local airport. There, we caught an across-state flight to LA, and from there, we caught the Pacific flight to Hawaii, the real start of our honeymoon.
We had ten days in a four-star hotel overlooking the beaches, not in the honeymoon suite, which cost a small fortune we didn't have, but still in a good quality suite.
These days were almost the first we had truly spent together, at least the first time we'd spent days in each other's company. In two short years, we had gone from first date to getting married.
It was a time of learning, not that we hadn't been lovers before the marriage or hadn't spent nights together. It was just different and intense.
It could have been a recipe for disaster, but it wasn't. We dozed, awoke, made love, then showered, took in the sights that all tourists do, came back to the room, made love again, ate, sometimes in the room, and every evening drifted down to one of the many bars.
There was one that became Paula's favourite. I was easy about where I drank and, in the intoxication of the honeymoon, only too happy to comply with Paula's suggestions.
The bar was poolside and was open, the latest of all the outdoor bars. It stayed open until the last customer had weaved their weary way home. There was, of course, the bartender, a sun-bronzed Australian trying to earn enough money for the fare open. I thought that his name was Brett, but I have never been good with names.
Of course, I was too blinded by love to see what was coming. I should have seen the signs, but I didn't, and so one evening, after a light dinner, Paula announced she was going for a stroll. I was due a shower, so I thought nothing of the idea, and anyway, we needed our own space.
I showered and went out onto the balcony. It was late; darkness fell quickly, but the hotel was well-lit. There was a huge Hawaii party on the beach, and it seemed as if the entire hotel was heading towards it.
So I dressed and followed, only to spend a pointless evening wandering about looking for Paula. We both had smartphones but had left them in the hotel suite by mutual agreement. We wanted time together without being disturbed, something a smartphone did not allow.
At some point, I gave up and decided to return to the suite. I was crossing the pool area when I heard her musical laugh drift across the deserted pool.
It was Paula. The laugh was unique, and I almost called out, but something stopped me. Perhaps it was a foreboding, a memory of previous events. I skirted the pool, keeping to the shadows and away from the lights and their reflections.
At first, I didn't see her, but then her laugh gave her away. She was standing at the bar, the only customer, and deep in conversation with Brett, the bartender.
There were still more innocent explanations than not, but I had seen her with Jeff and knew that innocent Paula wasn't. I sank on my haunches and watched.
I had been married for eight days; my wife had been unfaithful even before we had consummated the marriage, and now, eight nights later, I knew that it was going to happen again, and once again, I was going to cower in the darkness and watch.
"So, where is he?" I heard Brett ask.
"Who knows, wanking himself stupid for all I know."
I shuddered at her language. She sounded so dismissive of me that it hurt.
"He does that?" Brett laughed.
"Sure, all men do, don't you?"
Brett coughed and then tried to laugh. "Well, only if it's been a barren spell; this is a good spot to find lonely wives."
Paula laughed again. "Lonely wives, are they your speciality?"
"I'm just one of the attractions." Brett grinned and did a false bow. "It's Paula, isn't it?" He asked, straightening.
"Certainly is, Paula with a P."
"Is there any other way?"
"Not that I know of." Paula laughed briefly. "Sorry, this is the first time he's let me out of his sight."
"Possessive?"
"I can hardly take a leak without him wanting to know how long I'll be."
It was a lie. Paula was describing a me that didn't exist, but if she wanted his sympathy, then she had it. Of course, he would agree to anything for the chance of getting his leg over.
"Sounds rough. How long has he been like this?"
"Since the day we married, he was okay before, but as soon as this ring..." She showed Brett her wedding ring. "It was on my finger, and then he changed."
"So, how long have you been married?" Brett was leaning across the bar. He'd taken hold of Paula's hand when she'd shown him the ring, and he hadn't let go yet, nor had Paula fought for its release.
"Almost eight, no, nine ...days."
I had to give Paula credit; the way she delivered that line, she could have been an actress. If Brett had been uncertain before, he was hooked now.
"We are still on our honeymoon," Paula added.
I swear that Brett just gaped, unable to speak. Instead, he freshened her drink, and I heard him almost whisper, 'On the house.'
"Thanks, salute." Paula drained her glass and then glanced around. I was too well hidden, and there was no one else to be seen. "Dead. Is this because of the beach party?"
"Sure, every second Tuesday, I might as well not open up. They'll stay at the party until two or three and then straight to bed." He'd poured himself a drink, something I hadn't seen him do any other night. "Salute."
