My heart pounds in my chest, like a giant fist hammering against my ribcage.
Like his fist.
Dear lord, but his hands are so large! Large and sexy and utterly irresistible, just like the rest of him.
Ah, yes, the rest of him. How can I describe him? Physically, he is devastating. Tall, dark, and handsolme, multiplied by ten. His face is ruggedly handsome. Structurally, it has well defined cheekbones, a high forehead, a strong chin. His sparkling eyes can flash with fire in the heat of passion, or soften with tenderness when he holds me in his arms. His lips, so full and sensual, which look deceptively soft, are hard and demanding when he kisses me-but at the same time, their intense power is tempered by a gentleness that makes me sigh every time. And when those lips turn up in a smile, which happens often when we're together, those two heard-stopping, swoon-inducing dimples appear to take my breath away.
As for his body, well, I can describe that in one word: "Wow!" He's got broad shoulders, strong, muscular arms (but not too muscular-they're just right), and a set of pecs that makes me want to drool at just the sigh of them. To tell the truth, I often get the strongest urge to just … lick them. His washboard abs affect me similarly-I just want to run my hands all over those hard ridges of muscle, feeling them contract beneath my fingers, and never stop. Well, maybe I'd stop to, say, suck on his outie belly button or-no, we won't go there. I may kiss and tell, but that doesn't mean that I kiss and tell all! Some things, like, say, for instance, the details of the manly attributes residing below his belt, are best left undiscussed. Although, I must say, concerning these aforementioned attributes, DAMN. HOT DAMN.
But enough about his body. His personality is just as devastating. He's so dynamic, and so forceful, he makes other men appear dull and lifeless in comparison. He's strong, yet sensitive, always ready to either defend me against the evils of the world, or hold me when I cry in despair. He's equally comfortable doing both, which endears me to him even more every time I think about it. He's a natural born leader; he can take charge of anysituation, and people will follow him willingly. He's also kind, generous, and selfless to a fault. So courteous and polite, he's a gentleman to the core. But when he wants, he can play the bad boy as though he were born to the role. And his sense of humor is so amazingly like mine-he can always make me laugh, and vice versa.
In other words, this man is perfect.
And tonight … well, tonight is a special night. It's out sixth month anniversary.
And I'm about to prove my love for him by giving him the most precious gift I can, the gift that I can only give once in my entire life.
My virginity.
Yes, I know. How can someone reach the advanced age of 26 years, nearly 27, mind you, and still remain a virgin? My friends all deem me pathetic, even though they know the circumstances of my decision. Circumstances which I am about to throw away, tonight, all for this man with whom I have fallen in love.
I confessed my rather peculiar predicament to im soon after we started dating, about two weeks after, if I recall correctly, which I do. He had begun to act, well, very frisky in my presence, and the way his eyes burned with lust, I knew he wanted me.
If I gave him even the slightest signal that I returned his regard in that manner, I knew he'd be all over me in seconds. Knowing this, I felt incredibly guilty for keeping my virginity a secret form him, since I am usually very upfront in my relationships-and my relationships usually end very quickly! And so, risking out fledgling relationship for the sake of honesty, I confessed the truth-although not all of it, since I had been sworn to secrecy concerning certain aspects of the circumstances.
Although the fire of passion in his eyes did not disappear completely, he quickly banked the flames, replacing that particular emotion with others; compassion, understanding, and tenderness. When I was finished with my confession, and was, admittedly, on the verge of tears, he took me in his arms and simply held me for long moments. He whispered to me that it didn't matter, that he would wait for me, that he would never do anything to me that I didn't want. I melted right there in his arms, wondering how I could possibly be lucky enough to have found the one perfect man in the entire universe.
Contrary to my previous fears, our relationship improved drastically after my heartfelt confession. The old adage "you can look, but you can't touch" became the motto of our relationship. All the sexual tension had eased, which made it much easier for us to get ot know each other as people, and increase the intimacy of our relationship.
For our one month anniversary, we went skinny-dipping-which made it glaringly obvious that he had not stopped wanting me; he simply exercised an iron control over his body's urges, out of respect for me and my wishes. I dared to tease him about it, and for revenge was forced to suffer an icy shock as he shoved my naked body into the water; an act for which I repayed him in full, later that night.
Soon after, we began to sleep in the same bed at night. We tried not to touch at all, at first, but that plan failed miserably by the first night. He couldn't help but put his arms around my waist and hold me close to him, so close that I could feel him, hard and throbbing, against my thigh.
I asked him if that wasn't uncomfortable, and he let out a chuckle and kissed my hair and told me that it was worth it, because he'd rather be with me than without me, even if he couldn't do anything about it. Once again, I melted against him and marveled at my incredible luck.
We quickly got used to seeing each other in the nude. We took showers together, which sometimes led to my quickloy leaving the bathroom, and his leisurely turning off the hot water, so that he might, er, enjoy a cold shower, as it were.
Although it was his normal inclination to sleep in the buff, whenever I slept with him, he wore a pair of boxers out of deference to me, although it did little to disguise his desire, which I felt against my thigh more nights than not.
One night, when it was being particularly insistent, and poking uncomfortably at my back, I asked him, in a voice filled with frustration and irritation (What can I say? I was being deprived of my beauty sleep!), just how could he find me so damned attractive all the time, wearing my flannel pajamas with the teddy bear motif, as I always did.
He reminded me, in a voice laced with patience and humor, that at that particular moment, I was, in fact, wearing cotton pjs with a dragon motif.
I muttered something profane under my breath, and he burst out laughing, much to my dismay, his arm around my pulling me even closer to his strong, masculine body.
The months went by and out relationship grew stronger and more intimate each day. We were always calling eachother or thinking about each other when we were apart, and both of us recognized this as love-but neither could seem to voice the three magical words aloud.
He alwys told me how he wanted to spend all his time with me, how he ached for me when we were apart.
I always told him how I felt the same way. We spent almost all our free time together-with the notable exception being, of course, Friday night.
Friday night has always been "Girls Night Out" for my circle of friends; Julie, Sheila, Ray, Elf, Dawn, Myra, and myself. Every Friday since the freshman year of highschool, the seven of us have gathered together for a night of fun, sans curfew. It used to take place at slumber parties, movies, or at the mall. Then, when college scattered us to the four winds, we'd gather in internet chatrooms to catch up on each other's lives. After college, we all moved back home, except for Julie, our eternal leader, who went off in search of adventure and instead found love. She faithfully joined us for part of Friday night by spearkerphone each week, blithely announcing one night that she was married, amidst our squawks of disbelief. Although, I must admit, none of us had ever doubted that Julie would be the first to loser her virginity; it's just that, with her independence, we would have thouhgt that she would break the terms of our pact. Of course, she never mentioned whether or not she and her husband had anticipated their vows, but she insisted that that minor detail wasn't important; what was important was that they had actually married.
Julie's son was born about nine months later, ona Friday. The labor pains had begun on Thursday evening and she had called me to tell me the happy news. I called the others, and we arranged to fly up and be with her Friday night. We arrived at the hospital just in time to hear her son's strong cries as he pushed himself, with his mommy's help, into the world. That was also the first time we had ever met her husband.
Although, afterwards, the husband syndrome seemed to be catching-one-by-one, Dawn, Sheila, Myra, and Ray each found a man, and, subsequently married him-always on a Saturday, so that we could throw one hell of a bachelorette party the night before. Even after their marriages, though, Friday night remained sacred to us all. Julie moved back home, and the seven of us, under her newly returned guidance, began tearing up the town once again, like we hadn't done for years.
There were, however, problems in paradise. One, for example, was that Elf and I were still virgins! And the way things were going, I was going to remain one unitl the end of time! I hate to admit it, but I was jealous of my best friends, married and in love.
I am proud to say, however, that my jealously is now completely vanished. Because I'm in love, and about to get laid. In just a few minutes, I will lose my virginity to the only man I have ever loved, pact or no pact.
First, though, I had to seduce him. A week ago, I told him that I was ready, and that I wanted him to seduce me and maek love to me on our six month anniversary. At first he just stared at me with his mouth agape, as though I'd gone crazy. And then he began ticking off all the reasons why we should wait!
I leaned over and kissed him, to sotp his tirade. I told him that I was through with waiting, and that I'd wait another week, until our anniversary, but that was it. And if he didn't comply, I warned him, then I would be forced to seduce him. And I could do that quite successfully, we both knew that. He wanted me too much to refuse any over advances I might make.
His frustration, however, remained intact. I found out why when he blurted out, "But I thought you'd want our wedding night to be special!"
Now it was my turn to stare at him in speechless disbelief. At least he had the grace to look sheepish.
He explained to me that he had been planning to propose to me on our anniversary next week, which was why he had been so surprised.
"Why can't you just propose tonight?" I asked, my heart filled to bursting with tenderness and love for him.
He stared at me for a moment, then dropped to his knees beside me, pulling a small velvet jeweler's box from his pants pocket even as he took my hand in his.
"Jenna," he began, and then paused a moment to clear his throat-twice. "Will you do me the honor of, of-" he stopped to clear his throat again.
I could tell how nervous he was-he hand was incredibly sweaty. Could he possibly be afraid that I would reject him? How adorable that would be! And how adorable he looked, on bended knee.
I decided to put him out of his misery.
"Yes!" I cried, flying into his arms and planting tiny butterfly kisses all over his face. The force of my body colliding against his was enough to send him onto his back, with my body lying atop his, my cherry lipgloss clad lips still kissing his face, ears, and throat all over. He let out a strangled groan, and I could feel, beneath me, the evidence that he liked my attentions perhaps a little too much.
He begged me to sotp, claiming that his control was slipping and he didn't want to hurt me. I complied, hearing the concern in his voice directed at me. It warmed my hert that even when he knew I would iwllingly ease his ache for him, he still deferred out of his love for me.
"Poor baby," I murmured, snuggling up against him and stroking his hair gently. I meant it, too. After all, six months of abstinence, combined with an overdose of temptation and cold showers, would surely take its toll on any strong, healthy male unused to long periods of celibacy.
"Is there anything I can do to ease the ache?" I queried gently.
His eyes lit up, and his dimples suddenly appeared. "Well, actually-" then he looked down into my earnest, innocent, loving eyes, and quickly doused the light in his own. "Actually, no, there isn't."
But he was too late. My mind is not nearly as innocent as my body. I knew what he was thinking the moment his eyes had lit up. And I decided that it was time I did something for him, after all he had done for me.
He looked incredibly nervous as I slightered down his body, and began to unzip his jeans. He assured me that I didn't have to do this.
I clamly replied that I wanted to do this. I wanted to do it verymuch, in fact, I told him.
That certainly shut him up-and made him leap beneath my fingertips like an eager puppy standing on its hind legs, begging for a treat.
It was about time that I gave him a treat, I decided, as I pulled down his jeans and boxers to reveal his glorious length.
He was so beautiful that he took my breath away. Tall and proud, just like the man. Oh, yes, they were both very proud. Visibly proud. In fact, or so it seemed to my adoring, infatuated eyes, his manhood veritably beamed with pride. And it was so … large, too, again much like the man. Tall, dark, and handsome …
But I didn't know where to begin. My friends and I had discussed the finer points of the art, of course, and I knew by heart all five rules; vampire, toothpaste, fruit-salad, desert storm, and saxophone. But no one had ever actually told me where to begin. So I sat there, staring, unsure of what to do next.
"Have you changed your mind?" he asked, in a strangled voice.
I shook my head. "I … I just don't know where to begin," I admitted. "I've never done this before, you know. I don't want to mess up. I want to get it right. I want to do it for you."
He let out ao hoarse sound that could have been, and probably was, strangled laughter. "I know," he said, running his fingers through my hair. "I know you're new at this, darling. Let me help you get started." Gently, he took my hand and wrapped it around the base of him. His flesh leapt at my touch, much to my enjoyment. And as I moved my hand, still wrapped around his girth, up and down his length, he closed his eyes and his whole body shuddered.
We were off to a good start, I decided, but what now? I really wanted to squeeze him experimentally, but I didn't want to violate the toothpaste rule. So I made up my mind and began squeezing him gently all along his length, deciding that my ministrations were more like a massage than anything else. The thought almost made me giggle, but I stopped myself just in time. As I continued my gentle squeezings, I heard him let out a long, passionate moan. I smiled to myself. According to the saxophone rule, I was performing my duties of love very well, indeed.
I grew bolder. It was time to get down to business. I leaned over and kissed the straining tip. The saxophone rule once again came up in my favor. I took the whole tip into my mouth and sucked. Then I moved my head up and down, as I had done with my hand, this time massaging him with my hungry tongue.
I kept moving my mouth, tongue, and hands, in different patterns and at varying speeds, until the crescendo in his voice let me know that it was almost over. I began to work towards this final goal, then, and as he cried out my name, his hands helplessly clutching my head, I greedily drank in and swallowed the salty essence of him.
When it was over, I crawled back into his amrs, and cuddled up against him. He held me tightly to him, and gently, tenderly, lovingly kissed my temple. Then, remembering, he reached out and picked up the forgotten velvet box that had fallen from his hand when I pounced on him. He flicked it open with his thumb, and I gasped.
Inside was the most beautiful engagement ring I had ever seen. The large, yet not ostentatious, princess-cut diamond sparkled up at me from its platinum setting. And surely I saw it wink at me! My eyes flew to his, and he looked so unsure of himself that I knew I had never loved him more than in that instant, as our eyes locked, and he held up his humble offering, waiting for me to accept or reject as I saw fit.
I smiled at him, leaned over and kissed his lips in acceptance. When we parted, his swoon-inducing dimples showed up in full force, and the temperature of the room suddenly became ten degrees hotter.
He plucked the ring from the velvet, took my left hand, and placed the ring on my third finger. I smiled at him again, my eyes now welling with tears.
He noticed as they spilled over, and quickly began kissing them lovingly away.
"Are you sure?" he asked when the tears had faded.
"Sure? About what?"
"About … well, about next week."
I blushed. So we were back to that again.
"Yes," I told him. "I want it to be on our anniversary."
He cleared his throat. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather wait until the wedding?"
"Very sure," I told him, idly running my hand up and down the ridge of muscles that were his abdomen. "After all, who cares if we, say, anticipate our wedding vows by a few months?"
"Weeks," he corrected, the predatorial glint in his eyes just daring me to contradict him.
I love it when he takes command like that!
"Weeks," I agreed. Then I grinned at him.
He grinned back.
Then he whispered into my ear, "And as for next week, I promise you, our anniversary will be the most glorious night of your life."
I believed him then, and still do now, just minutes away from the main event.
God, but I want to just jump his bones and get it over with, so I can know what it's all about!
But he wouldn't allow that. He wants everything to be perfect for me; the perfect seduction, the perfect foreplay, the perfect act of making love itself.
He is so determined that this will be the most glorious night of my life.
And I know that it will be.
For now. Which is to say, at least until our wedding night.
I am giddy with excitement!
He is standing behind me, and puts his hands on my shoulders as he bends his head down to feather a kiss atop my hair.
"It's time," he whispers.
We're standing in front of the dor to my bedroom. He ordered me out earlier, so that he could prepare, he told me. I wonder what preparations he has made?
It's time to find out.
I can hardly wait!
He reaches in front of me and slowly, ever so slowly, turns the knob.
The door is now slightly ajar.
I can feel him smile against my hair at my eagerness and excitement, both of which are remarkably tangible.
He reaches again, and pushes the door open all the way.
I gasp immediately in awe and surprise. I have never seen anything like this in my life! I feel faint as my gaze moves over the room, alighting first on the-
Jenna's head jerked up as the sound exploded into her consciousness, and she dropped the pencil that had been writing furiously moments before.
Damn, she thought. She hated interruptions when she was writing, especially when she got to the juicy parts! She looked longingly down at her journal, and sighed.
She's just have to finish this installment later.
She stood up from the desk in her study and tucked a strand of light brown hair behind her ear.
As she walked down the hall to the front door, she wondered who needed a baby sitter this time.
Let's see, she thought, Today's Wednesday, so it must be either Dawn or Sheila, and she must be desperate to impose on me. I'm guessing Dawn.
But when she opened the door, it was neither of those two whom she saw; rather, it was Elf, the other of the two lone singles within their clique.
"Hi, Jenna," Elf said, hugging her friend and walking into the house without waiting for an invitation. After all, when had she ever needed one?
After closing the frong door, Jenna turned and followed her friend into the family room.
"So, Elf," she began without ceremony, "what brings you here, at this time of day, on a Wednesday?"
She should have noticed that wild, unrestrained sparkle in her friends eye.
Shoud have but didn't.
At least, not until it ws too late.
"I'm getting married in two days!" Elf burst out.
Jenna just stared.
Elf fidgeted, not form discomfort, but from excitement. "I know you'll say it's far too sudden and far too soon, but … Oh, I don't know," she rusehd on, "even though we just met a week ago, Eric and I are already head over heels in love with eachotehr, and we really want to do it with each other, but then, you know, there's the pact. I told Eric about it, and he proposed." Her face glowed with happiness. "Neither of us wants to wait, so we decided to get married." She took a dep breath, then let it out. "And I want you to be the Maid of Honor."
Maid of Honor. Any of their other friends would be referred to as Matrons of Honor, Jenna reflected wrly.
Oh, how she loathed weddings.
Even while she planned her own, she thought with a start.
"I'd be … honored," she replied to her friend, smiling.
