It was the expected norm; it was how things were meant to be -- or so I thought, so I was led to believe. My parents were strictly religious and although I didn't agree with their beliefs, I respected their wishes and guarded my virtue throughout my difficult teenage years.
I found a man to love, the son of family friends and although my love was not immediately apparent, I knew that it would grow and blossom given time and the right nurturing. My wedding had been arranged for me and while I remained apart and sheltered in the months leading up to the big event, my husband-to-be felt no such compulsion, exploring his sexuality and, as I would later find, other vices.
The wedding service and reception went without a hitch and late into the evening my chief bridesmaid took me to my room to help me prepare for my husband's arrival, leaving me alone with my thoughts to wait nervously. She had chosen for me the long flowing gown that I wore, gossamer fine lace that shrouded me from neck to toe, covering me entirely, but hiding nothing. And I waited.
I awoke with a start; there was a rattling at the door and drunken curses from without and John my husband staggered into our room holding a bottle of beer and barely able to stand. I had no idea of the time, but ran to him, standing before him, seeking his approval and without a word he tore away my night dress and groped my breast as an uncaring shopper may grab a joint of beef to test its freshness, squeezing so hard that I whimpered and pulled away. He pushed me backwards onto the bed and roughly began sucking and biting my breasts, absently spilling icy lager over me and the bed without any thought of my pleasure. I closed my eyes, enduring in silence, grateful for the brief rest bite when he stood to undress, flexing his muscles and strutting like a peacock. But despite his bravado, when he joined me on the bed and lay between my legs, his cock remained flaccid and unresponsive. I wasn't sure what I should do; this eventuality had never been considered, but I reached down and began to gently massage him. But still he remained limp.
In shame and frustration John grabbed his beer bottle and thrust it deeply into my dry vagina and I cried out as my muscles instinctively contracted and resisted, protecting my innocence from this ugly violation. He threw away the bottle and struck me across the face, so hard that my nose bled profusely. I screamed and jumped up, but he grabbed my arm pulling me back and wiped my face with a white cotton sheet so that the following morning he might show everyone evidence of my virginal submission. He released me and I ran sobbing and crying to the bathroom, sitting on the floor with my back against the door and my face buried in a damp towel.
My fears of what he would do when I returned to his bed went unanswered as he'd passed out long before I emerged from my haven and I spent that wedded first night sitting naked in an armchair wondering whether I'd made the biggest mistake of my life.
The following morning I showered early and dressed for breakfast, trying to convince myself that John had acted through drink and he was really nothing like the man I had seen the previous night. When he awoke John came to me and kissed me, apologising and begging my forgiveness, swearing that it would never happen again -- and of course I believed him.
"Here." He reached into the bedside drawer. "I was saving this surprise until this morning."
I opened the envelope and two airline tickets fell out. "Paris?"
"I heard you tell my parents that you'd always wanted to go. We fly this afternoon."
And I threw my arms about him, all memory of my ordeal the previous night forgotten.
That night we sat drinking champagne whilst watching a show in a club adjacent to our hotel, though I counted my husband's drinks and felt a growing dread as the evening wore on. As the second half of the entertainment began John excused himself and told me to enjoy the performance, assuring me that he'd come back for me shortly. But the show came to an end and still he'd not returned. I searched the club but there was no sign of him and I was beginning to fret. But with the crowd thinning as the club readied to close, I heard familiar laughter from a back room and poked my head around the door to peek inside.
"Beth come inside!" John called merrily waving a hand of cards, three empty whiskey glasses by him on the table and one full. "Come and watch me clean out these losers." He downed his scotch in one gulp and a waiter immediately appeared at his side to refill his glass.
"Come with me John," I pleaded.
"After this hand."
"Pleeeeaaaase." I begged.
But he ignored me and slid a pile of chips across the table. "one thousand." He announced confidently. Everyone folded but the beautiful and slender woman sitting directly opposite him.
"John! What are you doing?"
"Relax honey I've got this."
But as he spoke I saw the woman's cool assured confidence and felt myself shaking. "John come now. We can't afford this."
