He was sitting on the bed, still in
his T shirt, underpants and wore socks to also avoid touching the carpet.
Jumping up seeing me, he kissed me, led me to the bed, sat me down untied my
chiffon jacket and slid it past my shoulders. He was ready for action if not
dressed for it.
Laying me down on the bed he stripped except for his socks, his penis straight out, ready to claim me. This time there would be no stroking finish. He climbed on the bed with the light still on, knelt before me, raised my negligee, spread my legs, reached to the night stand and opened a tube of Vaseline he had set there. In a rush he presented his lubed penis to my vagina. Confronted, it resisted then with a sharp push and a pang of pain it gave way.
On the squeaky Motel 6 bed my cherry popped, 12 hours after the wedding bells peal.
The wedding night was a
disappointment. Even though with foresight he brought lubrication his penetration
hurt. The room was unromantic. The black and white TV required a quarter. There
were no soap bars, only a liquid soap dispenser. You could hear and feel the
vibrations whenever someone passed the room on the concrete balcony. The El
Rancho drive-in would have been more romantic.
He took me again in the morning as I
wondered what the maid would think when she saw the blood spot which had
dripped through my negligee on to the sheet during the night.
I arose and showered after my second
taking, no longer the virgin, finally legally married.
Although the surroundings of my
wedding night were dingy I was pleased, pleased we finally did it, pleased with
the blood spot, pleased I gave him my virginity, pleased he was the one who
took it, pleased when the night met the morning sun he still loved me and
pleased I was truly married.
I’ve kept my wedding night negligee,
its faded dark spot continued proof of virginity through many washings. It
pleases me now, wearing it, as I sip wine and write.
After breakfast at Uncle John's Pancake House we drove along the coast, past Ventura on Highway 101 to Thousand Oaks then up, over, and down the oak clad hills to the vast sprawl of the Los Angeles basin with its rug of smog. We entered the big city often talked about but never seen and became an ant clog on its freeway spider web.
US101 becomes the Ventura Freeway in
the Basin and connects with downtown LA.
From there with me as navigator and maps strewn on the front seat, we took the Santa Ana Freeway then reached Anaheim and a motel called Cinderella near Disneyland. We were more amazed passing still existing orange groves and strawberry fields than the never ending subdivisions and shopping centers. Los Angeles was not a real city like San Francisco. It was endless San Jose's connected by freeways.
Mornings and evenings he took me
with his pent up sex drive. On the fourth night I experienced an orgasm during
his huffing and puffing. It came as a surprise like the first ones in a soapy
shower and "petting" but different, more intense with him inside me,
vagina stretched yet clasping his penis while my clitoris hummed with his
thumps. I liked it and wanted more. The next morn I woke him, fondled his penis
erect, climbed atop, slid it in with the last of the Vaseline and rode my
merry-go-round to an orgasm controlled by me.
Surprised by Vixen's drive he flipped me over still inside and thumped to his finish. For the rest of the honeymoon we got our money's worth out of the motel bed.
Disneyland then was divided into
four theme lands, Adventure, Frontier, Tomorrow and Fantasy with the later my
favorite. I enjoyed Disneyland like a kid, and rode the merry-go-round,
"The Mad Hatter's" tea cups and "It's A Small Small World" over
and over reflecting my maturity.
It's a world of laughter, a world of
It's a world of hope and a world of fears
There's so much that we share, that it's time we're aware
It's a small world after all
Echoed in my ears from the many times I waited through the throng line to ride again and again. It summed up my mind set.