A few weeks later, we returned to her apartment as man and wife, to spend one night there before moving into our own place. We weren’t holding hands as we entered; our honeymoon luggage occupied our arms. Together, we took our bags to her bedroom – where we’d sat quietly with the new (now used) diaphragm not many days before (see “Her Place”). We then held hands as we returned to the kitchen. We looked into the living room – the scene of so many chaste romantic moments.
* * *
We walked into the living room and sat quietly on that old but serviceable (and appropriately named) loveseat. We sat close together, taking advantage of her roommates’ absence. We didn’t turn on the TV – or even music, for we knew we could make our own. My arm was around her, her head on my shoulder, lights low. Our lips reached out for each other, then met – not tentatively, even at first, but still with increasing passion. As I tasted her lips, I drew her closer, feeling the softness and warmth of her near me. Feeling the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed — now knowing that the breathing and heartbeat sped up a little as she enjoyed my touch.
This time, we moved more quickly than the times before; she stretched out on the loveseat, slipping her head onto my lap – almost on top of the tangible evidence of my growing excitement. I leaned over her, exploring her lips with my tongue, inviting her to reciprocate, exciting me as she did. From time to time our mouths would separate, and I’d look into her eyes – or, if they were closed, gently kiss the lids. But this time, unlike our many evenings during courtship, my hands wandered not just through her deep brown hair and across her face, but to her chest to rest on the soft pillows of her breasts, still hidden from sight but firmly fixed in my memory. Her fingers again stroked my face and reached out to pull me closer as our mouths returned to their delightful occupation. But her hands then explored my chest – first outside my shirt, then unbuttoning and warming my bare flesh. I would have known even without our honeymoon experience that signaled permission for me to unbutton her blouse and admire her bra, the darkness of her areola peaking through the lace, the hardness of her nipples lifting the fabric toward me. My fingers gently wandered, touching all that I could see, all that I’d wanted to see so many times before in this place and this position. To see the rest of my love, I lifted her from my lap and we slipped her blouse off her shoulders. She reached behind her back and unhooked her bra. I lifted it off her, then let her head rest again in my lap. What I’d imagined in my unguarded moments before our wedding was before me now. I hadn’t even imagined, though, what would happen when my mouth left hers and traveled down her chest: that gasp of pleasure as the warmth of my mouth reached nipples hardened by the cool air and the excitement of my touch.
Like those other times, after a while we stood, holding hands again. But now, instead of walking to the door to say good-bye, we hugged right there, bare chests touching, closer together than our prior encounters could ever have been. We again felt the nearly overwhelming urge to meld into each other – but since we could now act on that urge, we picked up blouse, bra, and shirt, and climbed to her bedroom. This time we shut the door, and like the night we almost reverently looked at the method of birth control that symbolized our willingness to give our bodies to each other, I again sat on the edge of her bed. But now, I sat her on my knees so that my lips could explore her lovely (and now, so familiar) breasts. Her hands roamed down my chest, across my waist, and over my pants, feeling the hardness she knew she had prompted. My lips moved to hers and my hands took their turn warming her breasts. Her fingers found the button on my pants, then the zipper. She stood, then drew me up in front of her. She finished unfastening my pants, then slipped my pants and underwear quickly to the floor, releasing my penis. He lips reached mine, and the warmth of her hand surrounded my excited member. In turn, my lips moved down from hers, visiting he breasts once again as I reverently knelt naked before her, almost worshiping the dark triangle that led to her most secret parts, which appeared as I drew down her pants and panties, my fingers running over the smoothness of her lovely bottom and down her shapely legs.
The cool air prompted us to climb into bed, crawl under the covers, and hold each other tightly – her breasts pressed to my chest; my penis finding its way between her legs; our mouths together, tongues exploring lips. Our hands roamed, caressing inch my inch, exploring once more parts we’d explored almost daily since our wedding night. I drew my finger long her backbone and the crack in her bottom, then reached between her legs to find that wetness that invited me to enter. As she led my penis into her warmth, my mind caught a flashback of those many chaste hugs where this oneness was my greatest unfulfilled desire. As I moved within her, I wondered if she had lain in bed imagining what it would feel like to have me inside her, as I’d lain a few miles away trying to imagine her warmth surrounding my penis. But as I climaxed, all thoughts of the past fled.
* * *
As we stood in the kitchen, chatting with her roommate, glancing at the place of our chaste courtship passion, my mind ran through that entire scene. But her place remained a scene of romance, not sex. When we left the kitchen we went to her bedroom, but we quietly fell asleep in each other’s arms, looking forward to a new home where sex and romance would be freely linked.
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