by Nan Ryan
“It isn’t that, I want it as much as you, but…but…”
“But what? What’s wrong, Lollie? Tell me.”
Laurette hesitated, her face flushing. She shook her head. She couldn’t tell him, she couldn’t say it out loud.
He gently coaxed, “It’s Ladd, Lollie. Your Ladd. You can tell me anything, you know that.”
Finally, she nodded. “I—I just…I know that I’m too small to…ah…that is my—my body can’t…oh, Ladd, you’re too big to go inside me!”
He didn’t laugh or make fun of her. He wasn’t even certain that she wasn’t right. He said, softly, his voice low and caressing, “That could well be, sweetheart. But we won’t know until we try.” He spread his hand across the cleft of her rounded bottom, pressed her closer and said, “If you don’t want to try, we don’t have to. I’ll be content just to lie beside you all afternoon.”
“Could we do that?” she asked, wary, worried.
Ladd took a long, deep breath. “Yes, of course. Let’s lie down. Want to?”
Nine
Laurette nodded.
He released her and took a step back. She stared curiously at his naked body. Just as she had done earlier when he had examined at her, Ladd started to cover his groin.
“No,” she protested, quickly closing the space between them and taking hold of his hands to move them away. His face now scarlet, Ladd stood vulnerable before his innocent sweetheart while she inspected him, her lips parted, her eyes wide with curiosity.
Forgetting her own nakedness, Laurette gazed upon the boy she loved. Never in her life had she seen a man totally nude. She’d heard her friends at the Hunnicutt Academy for Young Ladies whisper how they had been told that men’s bodies were hard and hairy and ugly, downright disgusting. They had giggled and said that when they got married, they’d allow their husbands to make love to them only in the darkness of the night.
Her friends were wrong.
There was nothing ugly or disgusting about Ladd. He stood there in the dappled shade with his bare feet slightly apart, tall and tan and appealingly masculine. Laurette’s heart swelled with pride. He was nothing short of beautiful. All six feet two inches of him. A young, slim Adonis with coal-black hair and smooth olive skin. She noted, with genuine delight, that even the parts of his body that were usually covered with clothing and untouched by the sun were as dark as the rest of him.
Embarrassed by her unblinking scrutiny, Ladd sank to his knees on the blanket and held out his hand to her. She took it and came down before him. He put a stiffened arm behind him and, bringing her with him, stretched out.
Again he assured her, “We will just lie here and hold each other. That’s enough for me.”
Pressed against the naked length of him, knowing how much he wanted her, Laurette whispered, “No, Ladd, I love you, I belong to you. Let’s try to make love.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured and urged her over onto her back.
He lay on his stomach beside her, his bare torso partially covering hers. More afraid than he’d ever been in his life, he began kissing her and as they kissed his hand cupped her warm, soft breasts and his fingertips gently plucked at the taut nipples.
He was just as virginal and unschooled in the ways of love as Laurette. Afraid that she might be right, that he couldn’t possibly fit inside her, he wondered how he was supposed to know in advance. And how was he to know when she was ready for him. With him it was obvious, but with a female…?
Breathless, hot and cold at once, Laurette clung to Ladd, excited by his kisses, stirred by the touch of his gentle hands on her tingling flesh and by the heavy hardness surging against her hip.
When finally his lips left hers and Ladd raised his dark head, Laurette whispered honestly, “Ladd, I—I don’t know what I am supposed to do. Will you show me?”
“Lollie, I’m a virgin just like you are.”
“I know and I’m glad.”
“Me, too, but I don’t know how to love you as you should be loved.”
She smiled reassuringly at him and said, “We’ll learn to make love just as we learned to kiss.”
“Yes, we will,” he whispered, kissed her again and laid his spread hand on her stomach.
Led by passion and instinct, he swept his hand down over her flat belly and put it between her legs. Gently, carefully he pressed his long middle finger against her sensitive flesh and felt a fiery wetness. He dipped the tip of his finger into that wetness and gently pushed it upward. Laurette gasped, arched her back, then thrust her pelvis up off the blanket.
“Ladd, Ladd,” she breathed.
“I know,” he whispered and continued to caress her, to arouse her, to prepare her body to accept his.
But she had other ideas. “I—I want to touch you the way you’re touching me,” she said.
“No,” he was quick to protest. “No.”
“Why not?”
Terrified that if she touched him he would explode in involuntary climax, he said, “Because I…it would…you can’t…”
“Yes, I can,” she said as she rolled up into a sitting position and reached for him. He flinched, then bit the inside of his jaw when her soft, slender fingers closed possessively around him. “Lie down,” she urged and, surrendering, his chest heaving, he stretched out on his back.
Ladd watched through tortured hooded eyes as she played, toying with his aching masculinity, her gentle fingers awkwardly holding him as though she were holding a stick of dynamite. And, he thought, if she doesn’t soon stop what she is doing, that dynamite is going to detonate.
Ladd tore her hand away, rolled up off the blanket and swiftly pressed her down onto her back. He positioned himself between her legs and gently urged her pale thighs apart. He checked to be sure the hot liquid was still flowing from her and, knowing he couldn’t last much longer said, “If it hurts too much, I’ll stop.” With that he thrust swiftly into her.
Ladd felt Laurette’s entire body recoil, heard her cry out with shock and pain, felt her hands pushing frantically on his chest and her pelvis attempting, in vain, to dislodge him. His loving heart wanted to stop immediately, to spare her any further pain. But his aroused body did not agree with his heart. It wanted her at any cost. The hard throbbing flesh buried deep inside her had a mind of its own. Totally selfish and uncaring, it callously ignored the tears spilling down Laurette’s cheeks and her obvious discomfort. It ignored his silent command to let her go, to inflict no more pain.
Ladd couldn’t stop.
He had no idea how to control his body. So he pumped forcefully into her, his pleasure so intense he moaned with ecstasy until he felt himself coming. He couldn’t stop that, either. He thrust deeper, faster and quickly exploded in a shuddering orgasm.
Her tear-filled eyes open, Laurette watched as his handsome face contorted, the veins standing out in his throat, and she wondered if he was in pain, too. Maybe she was hurting him as much as he was hurting her.
Ladd collapsed atop her. He pulled out, fell over onto his back and closed his eyes, his breath coming in loud labored pants, his face shiny with perspiration.
“Ladd,” she whispered, staring at him, “are you all right?”
“Oh, sweetheart,” his eyes opened and he immediately took her in his arms and began apologizing. “I’m so sorry I hurt you, I never will again. I’ll become a better lover. I’ll learn how to give you the kind of pleasure you gave me.”
Her brief pain already forgotten, Laurette snuggled close, kissed his chest and said, “My pleasure is being held like this in your arms. I need nothing more.”
His long arms tightened around her and he said, “You’re so sweet, so loving, I want to make you happy more than anything in the world. Next time will be better, I swear it.”
She smiled and sighed and for a time they lay relaxed and entwined on the blanket, in no hurry to do anything.
Finally, Ladd said, “Do you suppose that stream is so cold we’d freeze if we took a bath in it?”
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br /> Her blond head shot up and the sassy Laurette he so adored smiled and asked, “Is that a challenge, Mr. Ladd Winston Dasheroon?”
He grinned. “It is, Miss Laurette Taylor Howard.”
In a flash they were up off the blanket, laughing and racing each other down to the stream. She squealed and he gasped as they stepped off the smooth grassy banks into the cold, clear stream. Knowing that the only way they could stand it was to completely submerge themselves in the frigid waters, they did just that. Laughing and whooping, they sank down on the rocky bottom of the shallow stream, Laurette holding her long hair atop her head, Ladd holding her. He drew Laurette’s slender legs around his back, pulled her close and kissed her smiling face.
Her teeth chattering, she asked, “You cold?”
“No.”
“Liar,” she accused and he laughed.
He put his hands beneath her rounded bottom and rose to his feet, holding her in his arms. She wrapped her legs around him and clung to his neck as he stepped up onto the bank and carried her to the blanket. Freeing one hand, he reached down, yanked the blanket up and swirled it around them.
Shivering, laughing, kissing, they awkwardly dried each other, then dropped the damp blanket back to the ground and, teeth chattering, hastily dressed. Soon they were completely dressed and warm and dry.
And hungry.
They heartily ate the tempting foods Hannah had packed for them. When every last bite was gone, they sighed, rubbed their full bellies and again stretched out on the blanket. Happy, content, they fell asleep and napped peacefully in the dappled shade.
An hour later Laurette awakened with a start. The sun had completely gone. The slices of sky she could see through the trees were no longer bright cobalt blue. They were a dark, depressing gray. The balmy weather had changed with the sky. It was no longer a warm, springlike day. It was cold and getting colder.
Laurette shivered violently, her sense of well-being gone with the sun.
Her sudden movement awakened Ladd. He rolled up into a sitting position and saw immediately the stricken look on her beautiful face. He felt his heart hammer with fear. “What is it?”
Laurette shook her head, said nothing. Trembling, she lunged into Ladd’s arms and clasped him tightly to her. She was frightened, but she didn’t know why.
Ladd held her, rubbed her slender back and asked, “Is something wrong, sweetheart?” He could feel the fierce, rapid beating of her heart, the shaking of her slender body. “Is there something you want to tell me?”
In the shelter of his arms, Laurette began to calm. She hugged him and finally said, “No, nothing. Just that…I love you so much it…sometimes it frightens me.”
He pressed her golden head to his shoulder, felt her beginning to relax against him, and said, “I know exactly what you mean.” He smiled then and told her, “You know something, Lollie, you were absolutely right.”
She lifted her head, looked at him. “Right? About what?”
“This morning you said that before this day was over, I would love you even more. And I do.”
“Oh, Ladd, Ladd, hold me. Don’t ever let me go.”
Ten
Ominous rumblings of approaching war had begun to inflame the passions of the South. As the winter of 1860 turned to spring, conversation among the gentlemen at every social gathering was dominated by loud, heated discussions of the gathering tempest and bold vows were made to put the meddling North in its place.
If precious blood had to be shed to ensure the sanctity of state rights, then so be it. The brave sons of the South would fight until the last Yankee was in his grave!
Like everyone else in Alabama, Ladd and Laurette heard many of those impassioned diatribes. But they paid little attention. Neither believed that there was even a remote possibility of a war between the states. Something that horrible could never happen in civilized America.
Besides, they had little time for thoughts of anything or anyone except each other. While the constant war talk lodged somewhere in the backs of their minds, they didn’t let it interfere with their happiness or plans for the future.
They were so much in love, so mad about each other, they could hardly hide their intimacy. They realized that they had to be discreet, but it was far from easy. They seized any and every chance to be alone, even if only for a few short minutes.
With the chill, damp winter giving way to an early spring it was easier for them. While the cold and rain had often kept them trapped indoors where their parents could keep a watchful eye, the warmth and mildness of the Alabama spring offered ample opportunities to spend time outdoors where they could be alone.
Happy as they’d never been before, they were ingenious at finding locations where they could make love. They were not always the most romantic of spots, but the young lovers didn’t mind. Barely able to keep their hands off each other in the presence of others, they anxiously shed their clothes the minute they were alone.
They made love in the Dasheroon carriage house on the supple leather seat of the parked brougham. And on the soft grass in the moonlight beneath the leafy banana trees at the back edge of the estate. In the vine-covered gazebo on the distant eastern border of the Howards’ sprawling property. Wherever and whenever. Each time was urgent and hurried and they were always afraid of being caught, but the stolen moments of intimacy were worth the risks.
Like the fading of a fragile rose, spring was quickly gone and summertime, with its endless sunny days, punctuated with fierce afternoon lightning and thunderstorms, was upon them. A hot, muggy heat quickly blanketed Mobile, making it hard to get a breath, much less do much of anything.
The wilting heat and high humidity worked to Ladd and Laurette’s advantage. It was so miserable in the city that the Dasheroons and the Howards decided to spend both July and August across the bay at the Grand Hotel in Point Clear.
The eastern shore’s Grand provided an incredibly romantic setting for lovers of any age. The elegant suites were large and airy with long, wide balconies that overlooked the water. The hotel’s luxury and comfort could be taken for granted, but the individual attention each guest received set the fabulous Grand apart.
The illustrious clientele were catered to by a small efficient army of tactful, resourceful and patient hotel employees. The concierge, the maitres d’hotel, sommeliers, bartenders, headwaiters, activity directors and housekeepers were all intent on making their guests enjoy their stay at the Grand, be it for a week or a year.
Each day a myriad of activities was planned for those who wished to participate: sailing, fishing, picnicking, horseback riding, croquet, treasure hunts, treks in the woods, card games, chess, whisk, fashion shows and band concerts.
Those who did not care to exert themselves sat contentedly on the hotel’s front veranda in white rocking chairs, watching people come and go and enjoying the cooling breeze off the bay.
The hotel’s range and quality of cuisine and cellar were unequaled. In the ornate dining hall sumptuous seven-course meals accompanied by the finest wines were served by handsome white-jacketed, white-gloved waiters. After dinner each evening an orchestra played in the giant ballroom and guests turned about on the floor beneath sparkling chandeliers.
Stewards passed among them carrying silver trays with crystal flutes of chilled champagne to quench the dancers’ thirst. Laughter and gaiety were the norm at the Grand and the ladies were delighted that their husbands temporarily forgot about business and became more like the romantic young gentlemen they had once been.
For Ladd and Laurette, the long stay at the Grand Hotel on the eastern shore was a treasured interlude in paradise. A magical summer of undiluted pleasure and one they would never forget. The long, sunny days were perfect. The balmy moonlit nights intoxicating. While they good-naturedly joined in many of the hotel’s planned activities, they managed to find ample time to be alone. And when they were alone, they made the most of it.
It was, of course, necessary to exercise great caution beca
use they knew many of the guests staying at the Grand. A mix of wealthy Easterners and old family friends were in residence. In fact, they dined regularly with Colonel George Ivy and his wife, Martha, from the Oakleigh Garden district.
Paul and Melba Adair and their spinster daughter, Lydia, were at the Grand. Laurette’s best friends, the Parlange twins, were there with their aging grandmother, Lena. Their grandfather, Judge Noble Parlange, had passed away in the winter. The placid Juliette was content to sit on the sunny veranda and read, but the lively Johanna, always in search of fun and adventure, was frequently at Laurette’s elbow. Other young girls from Miss Hunnicutt’s and boys who had attended the military academy with Ladd were also staying at the hotel.
Minding their manners, the starry-eyed Ladd and Laurette were unfailingly gracious and friendly, but even as they dined with family and friends or turned about on the crowded dance floor, they were counting the minutes until they could slip away to be alone.
On one such evening in mid-August the pair were at a gathering on the hotel’s sprawling northern lawn. At the velvety green lawn’s center, a raised, white-latticed dance pavilion was crowded with youthful dancers. The music drifted out over the water. The silver moon was high and full. The night air was sweetly perfumed with the seductive scent of gardenias.
Laurette, looking young and fresh in a low-cut dress of snowy-white organza with billowing skirts, stood below the pavilion beside the tall, handsome Ladd, her hand enclosed in his. They had danced. They had drunk glasses of chilled fruit punch. They had socialized with the other guests. Johanna, who they hadn’t been able to shake all evening, had just accepted a dance with a tall young man from Georgia. Finally, the lovers stood there alone.
It was nearing eleven. Laurette had to be inside the hotel no later than midnight.
Ladd slowly turned his head and glanced down at her. She looked so incredibly innocent and pretty that at the mere sight of her his heart skipped a couple of beats and he felt sensations that would not be denied.
