by Toby Neal
There was some sort of resistance; he wasn’t going in any farther, and I’d begun to feel a terrible burning sensation. “So tight,” he moaned. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You already are,” I said, and used my arms to yank him down so he fell onto and into me, all the way to the hilt.
It was way more painful than the romance novels had led me to expect.
Tears welled instantly as burning turned to stabbing, accompanied by an uncomfortable fullness that felt like an invasion. I went utterly still and rigid.
I shut my eyes and the tears rolled out and down my cheeks.
“I’m sorry, Ruby. It’ll get better.” He moved tentatively and the resistance was gone, but the burning wasn’t, and he moved and moved and groaned suddenly, arching his back and pumping into me.
I’d gone stiff and frozen with the sudden and unexpected pain long moments ago, and the minute I knew he was done, I heaved him off and ran for the tiny head, sitting on the toilet, where I was sure my uterus was going to come sliding out in a welter of gore. I crossed my arms over my aching pelvic area and waited for death.
“Ruby? Ruby!” He pounded on the door in alarm.
“It hurts so much,” I sobbed. “What a total drag! I can’t believe I got married for this!”
A startled silence on the other side of the door.
I continued my rant. “That totally sucked. It was way worse than Shellie told me. K-Y jelly, my ass!”
“It’s only the one time that it hurts, love,” he said, as if speaking to a nursery-school child.
I wiped. Sure enough, blood. Lots of it. I threw open the door and held up the toilet paper. “See that? I’m wounded. Like, really wounded.”
He blanched a bit. “That is a lot of blood. I’ve read it’s different for different women. Some have hardly any pain; some have…”
“The hymen from hell,” I finished. I threw the toilet paper away and flushed. I made a pad of toilet paper and stuffed it against my sore parts. “I feel so cheated. I am not in a hurry to do that again anytime soon. And to think I used to like the Captain.”
The tops of his ears were red as Rafe drew my stiff, outraged body into his arms. “I’m sure it’s going to get better with time.”
“More champagne,” I said.
I ended up finishing the bottle and puking with drunken seasickness as the mellow waves we’d been going through turned to heavy seas.
Rafe administered first aid and left me sleeping off the disappointment of my first time in a fuzz of Dramamine and alcohol, seasick wristbands in place.
Chapter 21
I woke up in what must have been late afternoon with the seasickness blessedly abated, though the seas had not gotten smoother. I could tell we were under sail now, though, because the thrum of the engines had ceased. I turned on my side and looked out the row of portholes, enjoying the splash of the waves, the sweep of ocean and sky—and some green coastline, too.
I wanted to go topside and see all I could see, try to get Rafe to tell me where we were going—but I realized I needed a little time alone to reflect on all that had happened.
Only a day ago, I’d been saying goodbye to my roommate and best friend.
And Sam, too. I felt a pang for how things had ended.
And now I was married and sailing away on a yacht, married to a man whom I knew so well, so intimately in some ways—but whose full name I’d heard for the first time when it was spoken by Captain Huskins during our five-minute wedding.
A man who wasn’t poor after all, but certainly was dangerous—to any sense of control I might have had over my own life.
And the sex! The sex I’d been so excited about, so thrilled to finally have—had been horrible. Literally one of the most painful, disappointing moments of my life.
I sat up gingerly. I was wearing my yellow terry-cloth robe and a pair of big white granny panties with a frayed elastic waistband Rafe had handed me from my suitcase, panties I wished not even my mom would have seen.
I thought of how Rafe had tried to check me out with the first-aid kit right after. My bruised lady parts were packed with toilet paper, all we’d been able to come up with to deal with the ongoing leakage. I’d been drunk by then and mean with disappointment.
“You can’t put a Band-Aid on it, Rafe,” I’d said. “And nothing you say or do could make that anything but the worst sexual experience ever.”
I put my hands up against my hot cheeks in mortification at my awful words. I was a terrible person. He’d really tried hard to make it as good as it could be; I just had to hope, like virgins everywhere with hymens from hell, that it would be better next time.
The cabin was large and luxuriously appointed, with built-in cabinetry and the little wet bar we’d already used. While I was sleeping, Rafe had tidied everything, hanging up my wedding dress in the closet. He’d even unpacked my disreputable suitcase and filled two drawers with my clothes.
I really didn’t deserve this guy. I couldn’t wait to go up above deck and apologize. I dressed in jeans, my Northeastern hoodie, socks, and those preppy boat shoes that I was finally, actually wearing on a boat.
I realized as I headed up the steep, ladder like stairs, that I was going to have to see the crew now, and they’d have no doubt what we were getting up to in that forward cabin. After all, I’d been seen for five minutes during the ceremony, then disappeared into the front cabin, where things had been noisy for some hours.
I felt like everything was written on my face, and I pulled my hood up over my head and skulked through the galley without looking up.
“You hungry at all, Mrs. McCallum?” A gruff, but kindly voice.
Belatedly, I realized I was Mrs. McCallum. I peeked sideways out from under the hoodie at a large, bald-headed dude I dimly remembered meeting up on the deck.
“Uh. Freddie, is it?” His name came back to me by some miracle. His smile was kind and welcoming, not mocking or disrespectful. I began to relax a little.
“Yeah. I’m the steward. That means I’m in charge of meals and supplies at sea. Need anything special?”
I thought of my messy situation and how I wished I had a panty liner, but didn’t yet feel comfortable asking him to buy me some tampons for the inevitable monthly either. “Can I give you a list or something?”
He beamed as if it genuinely made him happy that I’d thought of that. “Great idea.”
“Thank you for asking if I needed anything. I got a little sick down there. Do you have any crackers?”
He was solicitous and gave me a roll of Ritz Crackers and a ginger ale and insisted on accompanying me to the top deck.
The wind smacked my cheeks immediately, blowing away the last of the champagne cobwebs and Dramamine hangover. I gasped at the expanse of cobalt-blue horizon, the scudding whitecaps, the vast acreage of dazzling sails. I felt euphoria sweep over me as I spotted the dolphins again, leaping ahead of the ship.
“Ruby. You’re feeling better, I hope?” Rafe was approaching me from the helm area at the back of the yacht. I saw Sven, one of the sailors who’d helped at my dorm, had taken the wheel, and he lifted a hand in a friendly wave.
No one was mocking me. Or if they were, I wasn’t going to know it. I relaxed a little further.
I hopped up onto the deck, the roll of Ritz in one hand and the ginger ale in the other. “Freddie was so nice. He had just the thing for my tummy.”
I saw Rafe nod and smile at Freddie’s large, shiny pate poking up from below like a gopher checking the weather. Rafe’s approval seemed to make Freddie happy, too, as the big man grinned and gave me a thumbs-up before disappearing below.
I pressed into the wind shadow of Rafe’s body. “I was worried everyone would know what we were doing and…it would be embarrassing.”
I felt him chuckle, and his arms around me felt like the best thing in the world. “They are really happy for me, Ruby. They’ve all been my friends for years. Yeah, I got a little shit for your age at first, but once
they got a load of you in that wedding dress, nobody did anything but congratulate me.”
“Ha,” I said, and snuggled my face into his parka. “I’m sorry I was such a bitch. After. You know.”
“You’ve got a right to be disappointed. I was, too. I’ve been racking my brain for how we could have gone about it differently, but I guess we can just chalk that up as beginner’s bad luck.”
I tipped my head to grin at him, and he bent and kissed me.
“So, where are we going?”
“Charleston, South Carolina. There’s a lot to see and do there. I thought we’d put in for a few days, let the guys go home to see their families. And we can spend some time together. Alone.”
“Cool,” I said, as if my cheeks weren’t on fire. “Hey, shouldn’t I be oriented on emergency procedures in case we sink or something? Tell me more about the boat.”
He obliged, showing me the lifeboats and describing the various alarm and other systems, and talking me through an evacuation.
“She’s a sailing yacht, so she can go under sail or power, whatever we need.” He was clearly proud of the Maid and how far she’d traveled. “The Maid has some real miles under her belt. She’s been around the world one full time now, and I’m hoping to make it twice.”
“How long to get to Saint Thomas?” I asked, already worried about being back in Boston by September.
“Actually, we’re going to fly out of Charleston,” Rafe said. “September, not May, is the best time for the route from Charleston to Saint Thomas, and it’s a long haul. I don’t want to put you through that right away, especially with the way you got sick this afternoon.”
“I love you!” I exclaimed, my grin huge. Somewhere inside, while I was excited to be on the Maid, I had also been worried. I had sailed a bit around the islands growing up, but never anything serious. I wasn’t at all sure I had the stomach for a long voyage, though anything Rafe loved so much, I would to try hard to enjoy, too.
“That was a good call, then,” he said, drawing me back against him, resting his chin on my head as we looked off the bow at the dolphins, gulls, and the green coast of whatever state it was we were passing. “I want this to be fun for you. After all, it’s our honeymoon.”
“I still can’t get used to you being rich,” I said. “But it actually doesn’t change anything. Except I won’t be worrying as much.”
“And you don’t have to work in the dining hall anymore.”
“Hey! It wasn’t a bad job. Especially when I was Juliette.” I tilted my head and batted my eyes at him. “So I guess I’d better call Shellie and tell her she has to get another roommate next year. And Sam.” My stomach pitched a bit at the thought of Sam.
Rafe kissed the crown of my head. “We haven’t talked about next year, but I assumed you were continuing at Northeastern. I don’t mind parking in Boston during the year, and maybe I will look at an art history program. We own a house in town. It’s rented out, but we could reoccupy it.”
“Only now you mention we own a house in Boston,” I said, frowning. “But I like how you said ‘we’ own it. I was worried you didn’t want to wait for me to finish my degree to continue sailing around the world.”
He turned me in his arms. “Ruby. What else would I want to do but see my wife fulfill her dreams for herself? While I do the same for me.”
“I don’t deserve you,” I said suddenly, my eyes filling. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”
“It’s not about deserving,” Rafe said. “It’s about finding the person you’re meant to be with.”
I put my ear on his heart, leaned against him, and sighed for a long moment as the sun set.
We went down to the dining room and had a great dinner with the guys. I didn’t feel uncomfortable anymore as they told funny stories about Rafe: the time he’d got his tattoo, which apparently was just a claw to start with, “And a hideous one, too.”
That time in Chile when he’d decided to leave his money and ID behind on one of his “I’m going to make it on my own” quests and had disappeared for days. Sven had bailed him out of a jail, after he’d been arrested for public indecency from peeing against a statue of the Madonna, which he hadn’t recognized in the dark.
Then there was the time Rafe had come back to the Maid after meeting me on Saint Thomas.
“He said he’d met the woman he was going to marry,” Freddie said. “‘She’s an angel,’ he said, ‘with the hair of a devil.’” They all busted up, including me.
Rafe pulled me to my feet. “On that note, we’ll see you all in the morning.” To their credit, no teasing followed us out.
Back in our cabin, Rafe seemed oddly withdrawn.
“Can I take a shower?” I asked.
“Of course. Unfortunately, it’s not big enough for two,” he said. “I’ll go after you.” He’d sat down at a desk area that efficiently folded open as part of the built-in furniture. He had a stack of ledgers stashed inside and seemed to immediately immerse himself in his project.
In the small metal surround, I washed briskly, keeping my hair in a pile on top of my head because it didn’t dry well at night, and reflected how already the ceaseless movement of the ship was beginning to feel soothing to me, a new normal that reminded me, somehow, of being a small child held close to my mother.
Rafe went in after me, and I found a book of maps to study while he showered, trying to figure out our route. He came out wrapped in a white terry-cloth robe and resumed his seat at the desk. I got out and snuggled against Rafe in my yellow robe.
“I’m willing to give it another go if you are,” I said against the nape of his neck.
“Hell, no, love,” he said without looking up. “You need at least a couple of days to recover. Platonic snuggling only.”
I was shocked at the stab of rejection I felt. It went straight south and throbbed there in reproach.
I snorted. “You obviously don’t know the Michaels family. You fall off the horse, you get back on. Skin your knee, you keep going. Bad sexual experience? No problem. Keep doing it until it feels better.”
“You forget.” He turned to grin at me, an old-fashioned fountain pen in hand. “I do know the Michaels family. One of the reasons I like you so much.”
I was suddenly curious about the pen. “Is this where you would write me letters?”
“Yes.”
I felt a sudden heat, thinking of his letters, picturing him sitting here, writing me. Now that we were finally together, it had begun to feel prophetic somehow, destined, and yet at every stage I knew how fragile our relationship had been.
I knew. I’d lived through the last year without him.
“Will you read me ‘First Night’? I have it in my suitcase.” That love poem he wrote me in February had brought me all the way out to San Francisco to see him at spring break, a wildly reckless move on my part. That poem was when I’d begun to fall in love with him.
“Really, Ruby?”
I pulled the battered old case out from under the bed, fumbled with the zipper, and took out the topmost letter, a little fuzzy around the edges from folding and refolding. “Here.”
He looked at me, and I saw a shine of moisture in his eyes. His voice thickened. “I don’t know if I can read it to you out loud.”
“Come to bed and read it to me,” I said. And I dropped the robe.
He stood up and dropped his robe, too, and we climbed into the wide bed together with the stars and moon flashing on the ocean outside the portholes. The sound of the ocean a foot away was like the sound of blood rushing through my veins as he read to me.
First Night
She comes to me in ivory
Not white, because she’s Ruby
Even the skin of her secret places
Is a tawny shade of pale
Peppered with nutmeg freckles I want
To spend a lifetime counting.
She offers herself
Abundant and strong, sweet as honey and tangy as mango
&nb
sp; And I use my tongue to worship her.
Every inch.
Every cranny.
Every place that’s never seen the sun or
Known the touch of a hand.
Nothing is hidden from me, nothing is off-limits as I make her mine.
She’s never known what can be felt and discovered, and every place I take her
I mark it mine
I take and I own
With kisses. With my hands. With my mouth.
With all of my body I worship her.
I teach her what has always been in her to feel.
I touch the nub of her pleasure until she explodes in cries of delight
And I’m surrounded
By her perfume
She’s the garden of my delight.
Only when she’s boneless and begging
Will I move into her, sliding into that tight glove
Made for me alone
I’ll take that “jade gate” by storm
I’ll make it so good for her
She’s ruined for anyone but me
Because this is only the first night
And there will be an eternity more.
I was crying by then.
We both were.
He reached over to draw me to him, kissing me, and it was like the very feeling of hope. He stroked me gently, and he stroked me hard, unleashing a melody I felt like I’d always known that could be released only by him.
This time, when he eventually rose and entered me, it was a little tender but full of a pleasure I couldn’t articulate except with sighs and kisses, and even a few tears, my eyes on his, a part of me still waiting for the pain, the burning.
But it never came. Instead, I found myself moving with him, rising up to meet him, our motion echoing the cleaving of the ship through the sea, something ageless and eternal about it, and yet unique. Us, only us, in this moment, in this place and time.
“Okay?” he asked, still moving slowly, but I could see the strain of being gentle in his shoulders, in the cords of his neck. That reckless daring rose up in me—the same daring that made me climb a tree, try a flip, and get on a plane for San Francisco. I wrapped my legs tight around his hips, pushed myself up against him with my arms, and bit his nipple.
