Some would say I should be proud that my bride was a good little Christian virgin on our wedding day. But for me there was down side to marrying a girl who was sure The Almighty insisted that she remain an unopened, pristine little package until she got herself a husband.
Melanie had been raised in a very religious household. The only reference to sex I ever heard from her parents was about our duty to give them grandchildren.
So the funny thing is that I first fell for Melanie at a college graduation party because the contours of her body captured my eye. She had on a black cocktail dress like the one most of the other girls were wearing--but those curves! That ass! Wow. Her face was almost plain--pretty in a modest, composed way. But men had to tear their eyes away from that body to look at her face.
When I talked to her that night, she was sweet and friendly--a good listener, even when I found myself telling her about my new job selling heavy construction equipment (instead of just hitting on her, which I very much wanted to do). But I couldn't help noticing that she seemed totally unconscious of all the male attention she drew the whole time we were talking.
Just a few weeks after I asked her out, I found myself slipping an engagement ring on her finger. We played a lot of tennis, watched sunsets together, and held hands all the time. But no sex, though when we kissed she did let me touch her breasts. Reverentially.
Our wedding night was a painful mess. In fact (don't laugh) Melanie bled so much that I rushed her to the emergency room because both of us were scared that she might hemorrhage to death. It was over a week before we tried sex again, and another month before she proudly presented me with her first prim orgasm. We were both relieved that her plumbing worked normally.
My wife wasn't the only girl I'd ever fucked, but she was my first and only virgin. Brenda, my previous girlfriend, had a very eager beaver nestled between her legs. I dumped her when she fucked another guy at a party. Later, when I began to feel like I'd married a borderline ice princess, I sometimes found myself pining for sex-machine Brenda.
But being a good wife really was as important to Melanie as having good sex was to me. So one time she actually went out and bought a little nightie you could almost see through. She blushed whenever I talked bluntly about sexual pleasure, but she tried her hardest not to cringe if I used a four-letter word.
Melanie never once tried to get me to attend services with her parents. She knew I wouldn't go near any church that talked about God toasting people for all eternity because they did something wrong. We knew we had few religious experiences in common, but eventually she told me she wanted to take our girls Tilly and Beth to another church I could tolerate because they openly accepted evolution and didn't preach Judgment Day. So I consented, and even went to services with them occasionally.
Meanwhile I obsessively looked for ways to coax my wife's animal side out of hiding. I often told Melanie that she had become more sexually attractive at 35 than she had been at 20. What I didn't tell her was how often I had begun to imagine her fucking other men. And my mind kept wandering back to that little black cocktail dress she had been wearing when I first spotted her, the one that had ended a good six inches above her knees to show off her curves and lovely legs. I mean, let's be honest, I told her: Hadn't she been secretly basking in all that male attention at that long-ago graduation party? The answer was no. When I came right out and asked her about that, Melanie told me she had borrowed that dress from a friend because she didn't have any party dresses of her own.
Fast forward to an occasion several months ago when Melanie happened to be wearing a pair of especially tight jeans. I overheard two of my friends swooning when they saw her bend over to pick something up. "Oh man, look at that ass," one of them said, "I'd love to peel those jeans off and nail that." When I told her what the guy had said, of course she had to take that "dirty talk" as a personal insult. She angrily told me I should have defended her honor. When I got mad right back and called her a tight-ass prude, she burst into tears and went to her new pastor's office to...what, tell on me? Seriously, that's what it seemed like she intended to do. Or to ask that he get down on his knees with her and pray that I be made a better person.
But something happened in that ministerial conference that aroused her physically. That was not surprising, actually; our new pastor Phil was a hunky young guy. Plenty of women in the congregation would have been very willing to explore heaven on earth with him. Melanie wouldn't admit that she was becoming one of them, but somehow that meeting definitely got her juices flowing.
That night I was amazed and totally turned on when I woke up hearing her call out Phil's name in her sleep. Oh yeah, my prim little wife had a dream about fucking the minister of her new church. My cock stiffened as I gently drew the details out of her. The more freely she talked, the more she confirmed—to both of us--how exciting it had been to have Phil fuck her in the dream. We kept waking up to explore that dream together while we fucked.
In the morning, Melanie tried to downplay her nocturnal surrender to lustful phantasies. I was having none of that good girl stuff. "Oh, so you think Satan invaded your head with nasty dreams?" I teased her. "If it was demonic possession, I want to hire some of those demons." She flashed me a little smile, but quickly changed the subject.
Something told me to shut up right then. By some miracle my wife had let herself explore an unfamiliar raw sexual appetite. She would continue to do that only if she made the choice herself. And to put it mildly, she already was a changed woman. I was overjoyed that our sex life could be ignited like that.
Meanwhile, I had done some business-plan consulting for a swimming pool contractor who was repaying me by installing a pool in our backyard in time for one of the hottest summers on record. Our daughters and their friends had inaugurated the pool for a solid week before they went off to summer camp.
I was amazed to see Melanie come home from the store one day to pose for me in her first-ever bikini. Then she segued right into telling me she had extended a dinner invitation to Pastor Phil to come over for a swim.
I said, "Tell him no sermons, okay?"
"Oh no, no sermons. "
