“I’d rather rest awhile longer, if you don’t mind.”
Jim laughed at this, despite the pain it caused. He reached for his clothes, donning a striped polo shirt and trousers as he said: “Really wore you out last night, eh? Well, you’ll get used to it, don’t worry.”
“I sincerely doubt that,” she whimpered abjectly.
Jim frowned slightly, then walked slowly over and sat down on the side of the bed. He gently began to stroke his quivering wife as she huddled forlornly under the sheets, and he tried to think of some way to comfort her, to tell her how much he loved her… but his mind was thick as cotton from his hangover. Faltering, he said: “Rosebud, listen to me…”
“Go have your coffee, Jim Halford. Leave me alone.”
“I will, but… but listen to me. What you experienced last night is typical.”
“Is it? I thought all the girls were supposed to love your sexy ways, and be ready to fling themselves at you.”
Jim blushed slightly at the mention of his previous conquests. “I… didn’t mean them, Suzie. I meant that it was a typical wedding night for a straitlaced girl around the turn of the century. My mother told me so, told me how even when she married Dad during the World War, it took some getting used to. She said it was worse for her mother; that she—my grandmother—cried all night and threw up twice. But after awhile, she became enthusiastic for sex. You will too.”
He got up then, kissing Suzie lightly on the cheek, and deciding he’d said enough and really did need that cup of coffee, he quietly walked out of the bedroom…
… After she heard the front door of the cabin close, Suzie began to weep in small, shuddering sobs. She’d wanted to reply to Jim, to call him back and tell him it was her fault that things had gone badly the night before… but she’d been speechless. It frightened her too much, the realization she understood what Jim had explained to her and that she was indeed a Victorian girl shackled by prudery and myth. It frightened her to know that from such gruesome beginnings, sexual enthusiasm could grow and grow…
Verna Monroe woke up with a start. She sucked in her breath as if she’d just come out of a nightmare, a feeling of icy apprehension creeping over her naked flesh. She looked over at her husband of one day, and feeling safer with his presence, smiled fondly at his smooth torso as he lay on his back, his breath short and fetid from all the liquor he’d consumed last night. She caressed him with her fingers for a moment, and then not wishing to wake him, she slid out silently from under the covers. She didn’t want to face him just yet, to see the crumpled expression in his eyes and be forced to verbally relive the happenings on the couch. Later she’d have to talk things over and suffer the shame and anguish she knew he’d heap upon her… but later she could probably handle it. Now it was simply too much to bear.
Shaking her head sadly, Verna began rummaging through her suitcase for some clean clothes. She found a pink velour sweater and wriggled into it without the benefit of a brassiere. She was proud of how her firm, full breasts still did not need any aid to remain high and wide, and she enjoyed the soft caress of the stretchy fabric over her sensitive mounds. The sweater was not a see-through, and covered the full view of her breasts as well as if she had the additional covering of a brassiere, but there was something erotically stimulating in the way she gently jiggled whenever she moved, the distended tips of her nipples bobbing like undulating pointers under the tight fabric.
Then she slipped on a pair of very light pink panties that had rosebuds sewn at the corners, and a darker, rose-colored miniskirt which was so short that its hem was almost halfway up her tanned thighs, showing off the creases in the front where her legs joined her hips. With sudden awareness she realized that she—or anybody—could see her panties, which in turn gave a rather lewd view of the tightly pressed lips of her vagina. A small forbidden thrill tingled through her loins, and she knew that if she had any sense, she’d quickly change into something more covering and modest. This was too daring and suggestive, and Carl would never approve! She was courting a worse scene than ever, once he took a gander at how she was displaying herself!
With a small, disheartened sigh, she crossed her arms to remove the sweater… then paused and dropped her hands. Her impulsiveness with Carl last night had probably set back their marriage adjustment a goodly time, and she should act the meek and repentant wife today for both their sakes. But Verna was a strong-willed and prideful girl, and as dangerous and flaunting as keeping these clothes on might be, there rose in her a strange and quixotic rebellion which she could not deny. They would stay on… at least until her point was made!
I’ve got a good body, she thought as she turned toward the door. A damned fine body… and Carl is simply going to have to appreciate it… as I and my lovers before him have…
But how?
She didn’t know. She had vowed to control her carnally amorous nature long enough to gradually teach Carl all the tricks she’d come to adore. She wasn’t ashamed of the way she was, and certainly her slender, lovable, handsome young husband had shown his own desires to the best of his limited ability. There… that was the problem in a nutshelclass="underline" limited. Carl was limited not only in technique, but in his very outlook toward sex and bodily satisfaction. She’d scared him last night… she knew that… scared him as a lover; demoralized him as a man; and lowered his esteem and affection for her. And it was this which she felt acutely mortified over, and the humiliating fact that she could no longer trust herself. It was obvious that she couldn’t stop from following her lewd desires once the evil urges were started. Her promises had not been able to endure for longer than a few short minutes when faced with the obscene temptations last night, and Lord! What would happen the next time with Carl? And the time after that? Would she end up killing his love and their marriage before it had a chance to begin…?
She started down the path to Fredag Lodge, her head hanging low and her spirits dragging. But with the crisp morning air and the faint caroling of the birds around her, her hopes and dreams soon became invigorated. A brightness and warmth lifted her morbid thoughts, and the recollection of her prurient actions faded from her consciousness. It was useless to chastise herself for last night’s weaknesses… she couldn’t go back and erase her obscene wantonness, and surely her love for Carl was strong enough for her to become the good wife he desired. Take things as they come, she told herself, the problems would certainly sort themselves out! They had to…!
Fifteen minutes later, Verna arrived at the Lodge, and taking a deep breath, she entered the door to the restaurant. The restaurant was separate from the dining room—which wasn’t open until noon—but it was a part of the dimly lit cocktail lounge with its warm, real fire forever crackling in the large hearth. She took a far booth, away from the bright morning sunlight streaming in through the large plate-glass windows, and close to the flames which lept up from the pitch-heavy logs. As she ate a light breakfast of bacon and eggs, she constantly glanced at it as if the fire somehow comforted and reassured her that all would be well. Just as she was about to wipe up the last of the yolk on her plate with a crust of toast, she heard a familiar voice.
“Mind if I join you, Sis?”
Verna glanced up then, and saw her twin brother Jim grinning down at her. “Oh, good morning,” she said, smiling in return. “I didn’t see you were here.”
“I know. You had your face buried in your breakfast as if your mind were a million miles from here. Where’s Carl?”
“Asleep,” Verna said, her smile fading.
“Uh-huh.” Jim slid into the booth across from hers. “Suzie is still in bed, too. A casualty, recuperating.”