Honeymoon Phase
by Todd Adam Hewlett
Copyright 2011 Todd Adam Hewlett
As magnificent a romantic backdrop as the autumn Appalachians provide, it paled in comparison to that softly dictated by Frank Braid to his new bride, Marion, on the eve of their first day as husband and wife. His words to her, carefully chosen as they were, flowed from his lips in a seemingly effortless stream, falling upon her attentive ears like a gentle symphony of idealistic aspirations. While the fantasy, unrestricted by natural laws, easily outshone even the breathtaking reality of an eastern Tennessee mountainside at sunset, the effect of venue on imagination was nonetheless profound. That, coupled with the serene afterglow brought about by euphoric lovemaking–and an inordinate number of intense orgasms, even by newlywed standards–created a mental canvas in Marion that longed fervidly for a medium of vivid vocal suggestion…and Frank accommodated that very need with all the proficiency of a seasoned artist intent on producing a masterpiece.
“A white, picket fence.” Frank whispered to his contented lover, their bare bodies pressed firmly against one another in the appropriately rustic four-poster that was the centerpiece of their honeymoon cabin. “It'll protect our house, just as our house will protect you. Nothing will be able to touch you there…”
“Except your wiener, of course.” The self-inflicted outburst of laughter that followed gave Marion a fleeting reprieve from the mesmeric dialogue that had only just begun drawing her in, and Frank, though undeterred from his covert agenda, couldn't help joining her. Her lighthearted yet risque sense of humor had, after all, been one of the predominant components of his initial attraction to her, so he often found himself at its mercy, even when circumstances demanded a solemn demeanor. This weakness proved serendipitous now, as any show of irritation on his part would certainly have put her less at ease and made the task at hand considerably more arduous.
“Quite the comedian, aren't you?” Frank momentarily regained his composure and gazed lovingly down at Marion, dotingly casting aside a lock of silky, platinum-blonde hair that had fallen across her beaming blue eyes, then caressing her smiling face with the back of his fingers. He nearly teared up at her now unobstructed countenance, having always considered her appearance nothing less than a vision of feminine loveliness in its purest form. The only thing that exceeded the flawlessness of her physical being, in fact, was her perfectly balanced array of charming mannerisms and other outstanding personality attributes, putting even the legendary dispositions of homely girls to shame. Frank, himself suffering from a lesser degree of ambiance-induced diminished alertness, faltered once again in his furtive efforts as he tried to take in at once all the wonderful things about the woman who'd stolen his heart.
“That's one of the things you love most about me, isn't it, honey?” Marion inquired lightheartedly, asking a question that only a lover would; a question that was simultaneously rhetorical and in desperate need of an answer. She often made pseudo-interrogative statements of this type, though not for lack of regular emotional affirmation…she simply adored hearing the responses, almost as much as the fact that she could invariably count on receiving them. Frank had always been as attentively expressive a man as a woman could wish to find, and he managed this while retaining every bit of confident masculinity that normally comprised his nature. This time, however, preoccupation with the object of his frequent passionate outpourings caused him to respond in a fashion more like that of a typical male.
“That's one of the things that I…what, about who?” Frank blurted confusedly, blinking and shaking his head a bit to illustrate his return from a mild dreamlike state. Had it not been for the love-look in his eyes, Marion might have mistaken his rambling for the same kind of mindless drivel she'd heard countless times from superficial flames of the past, but such a thought had never occurred to her about Frank during the entirety of their nine-month romance. The level of communication they shared had been borderline clairvoyant from the moment they first became acquainted, making misinterpretations of words or behaviors a delightfully persistent non-issue. In fact, the only aspect of their relationship that had required any kind of mutual acclimation was a transformation from lives of lonesome individuality to those of blissful unity; the development of a superlative connection whose binding of hearts and minds rendered even the intensity of carnal encounters comparatively mediocre. One might dispute the depth or infallibility of this mental/emotional merging given Marion's failure to recognize her husband's latent objective, but, in defense of her intuitive capabilities, he was well-practiced in his craft…and all but unprecedented in his determination.
“Well,” Marion began, her contorted grin denoting yet another quip of less-than-epic proportions, “I guess it must be true…what they say about men once they've tied the knot, I mean.”
“And what might that be, darling?” Even without the powerful bond that existed between them, Frank didn't have to be an authority on sophomoric humor to surmise the gist of Marion's forthcoming reply. Though mildly annoyed at being obligated to participate in extraneous discourse for diplomacy's sake, he anticipated her delivery with earnest intrigue, as her facetious eloquence often had a way of eclipsing whatever concept–no matter how insightful–it was designed to convey.
“That they waste a lot of time and money on prostate exams, 'cause their heads are so far up their asses, they should already have a firsthand account of what's going on up there.” Once again, Marion managed to amuse herself to the point of boisterous hilarity, and, once again, Frank chuckled right along with her…this time, though, his participation was more self-servingly acquiescent than before. The mood he'd so painstakingly facilitated was at hand, and, oddly enough, the very thing that ensured its delicate integrity was also that which had the potential to bring it all crashing down. Whereas Marion's focus could easily falter if Frank were to continue allowing excessive, unchallenged giddiness, stern prohibition of the same might cause an equally undesirable result. He needed to establish firmer control of the situation, but in a manner that was neither too forbidding nor too permissive, all the while taking care to keep his burgeoning aggravation in check. He'd thus far done an exemplary job of hiding any negativity just beyond the scope of his oblivious spouse's laughter-impaired perception, but, presented with a window of opportunity that grew narrower by the moment, he wasn't sure how long he'd be able to maintain a complacent facade.
“You know,” Frank stated calmly, nonchalantly guiding the conversation back to its original course, “you're not doing a very good job of granting my honeymoon wish. You could be messing with centuries of longstanding tradition here, baby. We don't want to start off our marriage with bad karma, do we?”
“Honeymoon wish?” Marion questioned with a tinge of skepticism, lowering her head slightly and squinting up at Frank with raised eyebrows. “You mean, that thing where I let you bullshit me about the marvelous life you have in store for me? As much as I love being swooned, honey, I'm sure that nothing you say will compare to actually being there. Anyway, if a 'honeymoon wish' is such a longstanding tradition, how come I've never heard about it?”
“Okay,” Frank capitulated, still taking care not to abdicate his position, “maybe it's not so longstanding, but traditions have to start someplace, don't they? And as far as the specifics of my honeymoon wish…well, it'd be different for everyone I suppose. Some men might want to suspend their wives upside-down from the rafters and do a standing sixty-nine, but all I'm asking is for you to close your eyes, listen to what I have to say, and imagine the future I'd love to give you. Besides, I think we've already done the sixty-nine thing at some point, haven't we?”
“Ha…you wish, perv.” The authenticity of Marion's radiant smile wa
s more narcotic than usual to Frank just then, as it symbolized her continued yet moderated joviality, which, likewise, indicated susceptibility…and, therefore, her unwitting cooperation. He'd become a seasoned expert at recognizing her representative nuances, and, to his relief, her current expression lacked the hint of suspicion he'd noticed only moments before. While there was little doubt in his mind that she'd ultimately grant his modest request, he knew that getting his way was simply a matter of determining the proper approach, and that it wasn't in Marion's nature to comply without making him cope with an equitable
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