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I WALKED ON AIR OVER the next few weeks. It had been a cosmic contest and I had won. I was going to gladly claim my prize.
The wedding started an hour late: Laura’s relatives insisted that Laura get dressed at her sister’s place two miles away instead of at home; they insisted that she wear much more makeup than she cared for; they insisted that the car taking her to the church take the circuitous route so she did not appear too eager to marry me.
“With this ring, I thee wed.”
It was a simple ceremony in a rented church basement in front of one hundred and fifty witnesses that included my family, present and past co-workers, a select few of my former students and Rie as my best man. At first she was scandalized by the idea, but it grew on her: she was my best friend, and the best man was usually the groom’s best friend. It just happened that my best friend was not a man.
Then the sky opened up and poured way too many blessings down on us so that instead of going to the botanical gardens to take pictures like we had planned, we stood outside the prettiest building in town, the financial complex with its concrete twin towers rising three hundred feet in the air.
We stood out against the gray background. Then we headed back to the church basement for the reception. We hardly got a chance to eat and that infuriated me because we were hungry and the food looked and smelled so good.
And all too soon it was time to leave and change to catch our five o’clock flight to Tobago.
Laura and I collapsed in our seats on the plane and sat holding each other’s hands, grateful to be away from the crowds, grateful to be off our feet, grateful just to be able to start our new life together. We exchanged weary smiles over the next twenty minutes that we were in the air.
I wondered how our first night together was going to turn out. I filled my mind with brave thoughts – positive thinking the self-help gurus would call it – but deep inside I shook as if I were sitting on an active fault line.
When we landed in paradise, Laura was less than enthusiastic when we saw the car that I had rented: a plain grey sedan that was more suited to being a taxi than a luxurious chariot to transport a newly married couple.
I spoke privately to the customer care agent for that was not what we had agreed on. He assured me that a better one would be available the next day at no extra cost. As a gesture of good customer service, he did not charge us for the first day. I thanked him.
As I pulled out of the parking lot, Laura whipped out her cell phone.
“Who are you calling?”
She looked at me as though puzzled.
“What?” Then she mumbled, “My mother.”
“Your mother? Laura, we just left your mother an hour ago.”
“I know,” she protested. “I just want her to know that we are fine.”
It was useless to argue this one; it would not have been a good way to start our honeymoon anyway. So I squeezed her thigh and smiled. “Sure. Go ahead, babes.”
I listened to Laura’s whispered conversation with her mother – why was she whispering? – as she told the older woman that she was all right. What else did she expect? Did she think I was going to cut her up into small pieces and scatter her across the beaches on the island? But she mostly nodded and said “Ah ha” so I imagined that her mother was giving her some advice on... I have no idea what.
Finally she hung up but not before promising to call her mother again.
“Everything all right?” I asked.
She nodded but the tears in her eyes said otherwise. I pulled over to the shoulder of the highway. “Honey, what’s wrong?” I asked holding on to her shoulders.
Big sobs. “I’m afraid, Clay.”
“Afraid of what? I’m not going to hurt you. I love you.”
“This is such a big step to take. When I do this – when we – there is no going back home, no Mommy and Daddy for me to rely on. All we have is each other, Clay. We’re all we’ve got and that is such a huge responsibility.”
I hugged her and searched for words to comfort her. “We will be all right. We may not have all the answers now, but we will learn.”
I embraced her tighter, as if to infuse the confidence in her that I was trying to muster for myself. I was the man, the husband, and it was my responsibility to lead, to be strong and to be fearless. I was not going to let my wife of seven hours know that I shared her fears.
After some time, Laura eased out of my arms and looked me in the eyes. She searched my face and, satisfied that she had found whatever she had been looking for, she cupped it in her hands and said, “I believe you, Clay.” And I fell in love with her again.
We got to our honeymoon hideout – well, not quite a hideout since on the compound was the home of the owner, Laura’s godmother, who had given us our stay as a wedding present. She had been insistent.
Laura’s godmother was elated to see the girl whom she had not seen in too many years, she said. She hugged her, kissed her, squeezed her, commented on what an attractive woman Laura had grown into, told me what a special girl Laura was to her and that I had better make sure that I was good to her, or else...
When she invited us to sit down she had the audacity to fill Laura in on all the goings-on in her life – mostly bad things – and I had difficulty keeping my patience in check.
As the clock continued to tick I saw Laura’s expression change from happiness to disinterest to impatience and finally to annoyance. All of this escaped her godmother who finally released us at 9 p.m.
“She was glad to see you,” I ventured when we entered our sterile apartment which boasted just the bare essentials, except for some freshly cut flowers on the table.
Laura stood riveted to the ground as she looked around at the place, shock and sadness cascading over her. I threw her a life preserver: “We won’t be here a lot anyway. And when we are here...” I held her around the waist, “...there is only one place we would need.”
A fire sprang to life inside her. “You are absolutely right,” she said, planting a kiss on my lips.
I showered first then lounged on the bed in my boxers, wide awake with anticipation, while she took her time in the bathroom.
When Laura entered the room in her little tomato red number I felt my stomach lodge in my throat. Her smile was radiant and she smelled either herbal or fruity, I did not care. She sauntered over to me and I sat up.
“You’re my wife?” I faltered.
“All of me.” She sat down on the bed.
“I will be one very happy man.”
I had no practical sexual experience but I did not let that stop me from trying to satisfy my wife – or myself as a matter of fact – on our first night together. I whispered a prayer to God asking him for his guidance since he was the one who invented sex and marriage and intended for human beings to have pleasure during the whole act.
I kissed her lips, softly, repeatedly and they were the softest I ever felt them. She closed her eyes and I did the same as we became intoxicated with the idea of lovemaking. Our lips parted and my tongue found its place inside her mouth and she responded greedily. This is so good, I thought. And I thought that I tasted honey.
My kisses covered her face and neck and as I gently laid her down on the bed, I removed the flimsy top. My face was soon buried in her chest and she arched her body upward, groaning. With one hand I massaged her breast, feeling the hardness of her nipple – a good sign, I thought – while my mouth covered the other breast. Her hands caressed my head.
I was enjoying making love to this woman. From the sound of things, she was enjoying it too. Mentally, I patted myself on the back.
She pushed my head down and I took it to mean that she wanted other parts of her body to feel the warm sensation of my tongue on her skin. I obliged, kissing her firm stomach. Her legs locked me on her. My hands found themselves grabbing her more than ample posterior, squeezing it so that she cried out in what I hoped was pleasure and not pain. They then found themselves rubbing her smooth thighs and then she flipped me over.
Laura mounted me and did to me just what I had done to her and I thanked God. I had never known that I could feel such pleasure in so many parts of my body and I was greedy for more.
I was reposing in the pleasure of my wife’s tongue in my bellybutton when she tugged at my boxers; I raised my body and off they came.
She caressed my shaft and I looked at her like a little boy caught in mischief. Her smile reflected mine before she kissed the tip sending volts of electricity through my body. I took off the remaining piece of her lingerie and she sat on me. With our hands intertwined, we rocked back and forth until I was comfortably inside her. In that rapturous moment we became fused in time, in body, in soul and in spirit.
It was now my turn to be on top so I eased out of her and gently turned her on her back. She looked up at me, eyes wide and trusting, knowing that this was the climax of what we had been waiting for. I was gentle with her, and slow, for I wanted her to feel the sensations that I was feeling.
She clawed my back and a sound escaped her lips that told me that my mission was a success. And I wanted those sensations to last all night if possible – but soon the tip of my shaft became engorged, electricity flooded my body, and I emptied in her.
I remained lying on her, squeezing her while she bit my shoulder, never imagining that sex could have been so good. I wanted to do it again.
