April's Wedding Night

April's Wedding Night June 15, 1956

April brushed the last tangle out of her hair. She examined the result in the bathroom mirror. You're stalling girl, she thought. She backed away and checked the nightgown. The plunging neckline exposed the creamy landscape of her flesh. The swell of her breasts showed at the edges of the lacy fabric. Damn, it's see-through. She bit her lower lip. OK Sister Anna. I waited ... now here goes. Truth be told, April didn't know what to do next. Sister Anna specialized in don'ts. Phoebe, the thrice married Englishwoman April worked with, hadn't given any hard information when asked, only encouragement and a tidbit of Victorian humor.

In the room, Joe stood at the open window that overlooked the Pacific. Waves thundered onto the rocks. A chill breeze embraced her.

"Oh, it's cold," she said.

"Sorry honey," Joe said and closed the window. She saw in the light of the candles that he wore striped pajamas.

The candles were Grandma's idea. "Put a candle in an ashtray. This is an important night. It won't do for either of you to trip in the dark and break a leg. And," she winked as she said, "you will look lovely by candlelight."

April sought her reflection in the dresser mirror. The nightgown caught the candle's glow enveloping her in a diffuse amber. Thank you Grandma.

Joe stood in front of her, head bent, forehead-to-forehead, nose-to-nose.

"We have champagne," he said.

"I've already had too much champagne. What I want is my husband." A hot flash like the Santa Ana wind washed over her. My husband. This the first time I called him my husband.

Their lips met, teeth parted, and tongues embraced.

Joe carried her to the bed, set her down gently as crystal.

He stroked her cheek, her ear, her hair. She took the hand, kissed the palm, and slid it down her open neckline. My God what a hussy I am.

A bit of dried skin on his palm, a scratch from a stuck latch on a suitcase, dragged across her bare flesh leaving behind a trail of fire.

Joe followed the track of his hand with his lips laying a trail of kisses. He gently worked her breast free of the nightgown. His lips marched towards the summit. The nipple waited proud and hard for the lips' embrace, the tongue's caress. An urgent need to curl her toes came over her.

"Ow, ow, oh damn. Cramp in my foot," April said.

Joe was at her feet. "Left or right?"

"Right. Ow."

Slow, gentle, Joe uncurled the toes. He massaged the ball. He kissed her instep and her ankle.

April sighed. "Don't waste any more kisses down there. My lips are lonely," she said.

Joe's lips were on hers. She entwined her fingers in his hair and rocked his head side to side. His one arm was under her neck. His other hand was ... where?

On her leg. Moving up bit at a time pushing the bunched up nightgown before it. Up, up until it reached her crotch. His finger made a circular motion. Her pubic hair curled around it.

His hand slid down trying to get between her thighs. Her thighs were petrified wood. Damn it, Sister Anna. We're allowed. We're married. Her thighs were resolute. Phoebe said it would be a great voyage of discovery. These ain't explorer's thighs, they seemed to reply.

Phoebe said ... look at the ceiling and think of England. The thought, springing unbidden into her consciousness, made her giggle.

Joe pulled back. "Are you all right?"

Without Joe's tongue in her mouth, she giggled again. "Just fine. Take me husband."

She spread wide.

Now it was Joe who encounted difficulty. His first thrust missed its mark as did the second. He reached down to steady his aim. In spreading the lips of her vulva, he touched a magic spot. Like a pinball machine being turned on, lights and bells sprang to life in her.

Joe worked into her slowly, carefully, tenderly. How did I get all wet down there? she thought. He thrust. Pinball. The plunger shot a ball onto the playfield, into a bumper. Lights flashed. Bells rang. The scoreboard chunka, chunka, chunka tallied points.

He withdrew and pulled his body higher up on her. She didn't like that. She had been full of him, now she was empty. Another thrust. Another ball. Bing, bing. Flash, flash. Chunka, chunka, chunka.

She locked her arms low on his back and raised her knees. Her thighs locked on his hips. When he rocked back, she went with him.

Back and forth. Bing, flash, chunka, chunka, chunka. Her toes curled. Buttocks clenched. Bing, flash, chunka, chunka, chunka. Back and forth.

Joe pushed hard and held. Liquid heat washed over the solid heat of him in her. All the careening balls converged on a hidden bumper. Unfamiliar parts of her insides twitched and spasmed. The cacophony of bells, lights, and chunka, chunka, chunka faded into a black fog.

She woke to gentle kisses on her eyelids, her cheeks, her nose.

"Are you ok?" said Joe.

She raised her face to his and ran the tip of her tongue over his lips. She felt satisfaction -- maybe even triumph -- as he shuddered in response.

Her head fell back down to the pillow. "Oh yeah, I liked that."