Chapter 1: Honeymoon, Part I

May 26, 1985, McKinley, Ohio

We left the reception and when we arrived at the house, I backed into my usual parking spot. Once I’d shut off the engine and set the parking brake, I got out and helped Elizaveta from the passenger seat. We walked around the house, through the gate, and to what was now our home. I unlocked the door, pushed it open, then scooped Elizaveta into my arms, and carried her inside. We exchanged a soft kiss, and I set her down.

“Wait here,” she requested breathlessly.

I nodded and watched as she went down the short hallway to our bedroom, and shut the door. The door opened about ten minutes later and after about fifteen seconds passed, she called my name. I walked to the door of the bedroom and stopped, stunned by the breathtaking vision in front of me. The room was lit by dozens of candles and my new bride was stretched out naked on the bed, hands flat on her stomach, ankles crossed, smiling invitingly. The candlelight glinted off the sapphires in her choker, and off the gold of her waist chain.

In a voice which was both sultry and demanding, she implored, “Come to bed, husband.”

‘Husband’! The word resonated and I became starkly aware that I was about to consummate my marriage with my wife! My brain was on complete overload from the vision in front of me and the knowledge that what we were about to do was the actual marriage ceremony, I took a few deep breaths to try to restart my brain which had effectively seized up when I’d come to the door. Suddenly, every sex act in the past became devoid of meaning, giving way to the meaning of THIS joining.

“Mike?” Elizaveta said, snapping me out of my daze.

“Sorry,” I said with a smile. “You took my breath away! You’re stunning!”

“Come to bed,” she said invitingly.

I nodded and moved into the candlelit room. I removed my suit coat and hung it on a hanger in the open closet, then removed my tie and hung it on the doorknob of the closet. I took off my belt, coiled it, and put it on the shelf. Next was my white dress shirt, which I unbuttoned and dropped in the clothes hamper in the corner of the closet. I removed my dress pants and hung them on a hanger, then pulled my undershirt over my head and dropped it in the hamper. I pulled off my socks and tossed them in the hamper, then removed my briefs, freeing an erection which had been raging from the moment I’d seen the stunning, naked sixteen-year-old girl in our bed.

Elizaveta gasped and her eyes went wide. I realized she’d just seen her first erection.

“Mike?” she whispered timidly.

“Relax, «Котёнок»,” I said gently, turning to reach into the pocket of my suit coat to retrieve a tube of KY Jelly, something Sophia had strongly suggested I have.

“I, uhm, didn’t know it would be so big,” she said nervously.

She was actually shaking, and I was unsure about what to do. I put the tube of KY on the nightstand and scooted just a bit closer to my wife. I put my arm around her and she tensed. I had to will myself not to recoil, because that might make things worse. One thing was sure, and that was that this wasn’t going to be the night-long sexual odyssey I’d promised her.

“Just cuddle,” I said gently.

Thankfully, she snuggled close, turning on her side, and putting her head on my shoulder. I felt something wet and realized she was crying. A soft sob a few seconds later confirmed that.

I took a deep breath and carefully let it out, knowing I had to remain completely calm and not make her feel pressured.

“It’s OK, «Котёнок»,” I soothed.

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed, shaking.

“Just lie here with me,” I said lovingly.

Her problem was fear; my problem was that even my knowledge of her fear couldn’t make my body ignore the extremely sexy, naked sixteen-year-old body pressed lightly against me. All I could do was hold her and wait. Elizaveta’s sobbing continued for a few minutes, and when it subsided she wasn’t nearly as tense as she had been when I climbed into bed.

“I’m so sorry,” she said quietly.

“For what?” I asked gently. “Being nervous?”

“You aren’t upset?”

“No, I’m not upset,” I soothed. “It’s normal to be nervous.”

“Were you?” she asked timidly.

“Yes.”

“But you did it.”

“Yes, but I was extremely nervous.”

“But what if you don’t like it with me?” she asked quietly. “What if I disappoint you?”

The fears were more complex than I’d first thought, and seeing my erection had simply triggered those fears because suddenly everything was real. And really, I’d had a similar reaction, albeit with a different emotion. I had to find a way to reassure her, because, given the situation, it was very possible our first time wouldn’t be the height of sexual ecstasy, and might actually not even be very good. One thing I knew, though, was that as with anything else, practice would very likely solve the problem.

“«Котёнок»,” I asked, keeping my voice soft, “do you think I simply picked up a guitar and could play it perfectly?”

“No, but...”

“So, don’t worry because we have the rest of our lives to figure it out.”

“I wanted tonight to be perfect!” she protested, starting to sob once more.

“Making love isn’t what makes tonight perfect,” I soothed. “It’s being here with you, holding you in my arms as my wife.”

“But we have to...” she protested weakly.

“Have to what, «Котёнок»? Love each other? Yes. Spend the rest of our lives together? Absolutely!”

“But we have to!” she said through sniffles. “It’s our wedding night!”

“I’m not going to report to anybody,” I replied. “It’s between you and me what we do and when we do it.”

“But...”

“Just relax and enjoy being here together.”

Elizaveta actually snuggled a bit closer and her sobs subsided.

“I need a tissue,” she said.

She sat up and took a tissue from a box on her nightstand and blew her nose. She dropped the tissue on the nightstand then got another one and dabbed her eyes and cheeks.

“No!” she gasped when she turned back.

“What?” I asked.

“Your...”

I tried but couldn’t help but laugh. It was the WRONG thing to do, but it happened anyway.

“I promise it will come back when we need it to,” I said, fighting hard to stop laughing.

“You’re laughing at me!” she wailed.

I sat up and took her hands and looked into her eyes.

“I shouldn’t have, and I’m sorry, but the usual problem for guys is it not going away when we want it to, or appearing when we don’t want it to. Can you see how that would be funny to me? Laughing at the situation, not at you.”

“You think I’m a dumb little girl!” she protested.

I shook my head, “No, I don’t. I think you’re inexperienced. And there’s nothing wrong with that.”

I had an idea, but I wasn’t sure it was a good one. It could backfire, but I also felt we were on a collision course with a major problem and we’d only been married for about nine hours.

“May I kiss you?” I asked.

Elizaveta nodded, so I leaned forward and gave her a soft kiss.

“Lie with me again,” I requested.

She nodded again, so I lay back down and she moved next to me, just like before.

“I have an idea,” I said.

“What?”

I took a deep breath and let it out, then took her hand lightly.

“Let me teach you something about my body, OK?”

“OK,” she said tentatively.

I gently moved her hand to my groin so that it was lying across the base of my flaccid shaft.

“Just let me,” I said.

I began moving her hand slowly along my shaft, enjoying the feel of her soft skin rubbing against me. When her palm covered my glans, I squeezed her hand gently, then moved it down along my shaft to my scrotum. I repeated the move and blood began flowing.

“Just close your hand softly around me and do that,” I whispered.

I felt, rather than saw, Elizaveta nod, and then felt her close her hand around me. She slid it up then back down and after three strokes I was hard as a rock.

“See,” I said gently.

“I, uh, didn’t realize it was that simple,” she said.

“I have a secret to tell you,” I replied. “That’s happened a few times with you when we’ve shared a single French kiss. And sometimes it doesn’t even take that.”

“Uhm,” she giggled softly, “I didn’t know! Does it, uhm, hurt?”

“Sometimes it comes very close to hurting, but mostly that’s if I’m wearing jeans.”

“Ouch!”

“More like uncomfortable.”

“It feels really weird,” she said, more in awe than fear, indicating I was making progress.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“It’s like hard and soft at the same time.”

“Kiss me?”

Elizaveta raised her head and we shared a soft kiss. I felt her lips part, so I moved my tongue forward to find hers. Our tongues danced and I felt her hand move as she gently stroked me while we kissed. Now the problem was mine - to avoid losing it at the wrong time, if I could even figure out what that meant. Elizaveta broke the kiss, released her grip on my shaft, looked into my eyes, then lay on her back. I took that as an invitation and turned so the right side of my chest was on the right side of hers, my nipple close to hers, then kissed her softly.

“Is it OK to touch you?” I asked.

“Yes,” she sighed with a mix of anticipation and fear.

I moved my right hand to cover her left breast with my palm. Elizaveta sucked in her breath, and when I traced my finger across her nipple she shivered and moaned softly.

“That feels good,” she whispered.

If patience was truly a virtue, then I needed to be extremely virtuous. I very gently teased her nipple, never allowing my finger to stray too far, and ensuring my erection was pressed into the sheets, not her hip. We kissed softly and I teased her nipple for a few minutes, and when I felt her relax I broke the kiss.

“I want to kiss you here,” I said, sliding my finger across her nipple.

“OK,” she whispered.

I shifted slightly and planted a soft kiss on Elizaveta’s left nipple, causing her to sharply suck in her breath. I followed that first kiss with numerous soft kisses on her breast, then opened my mouth and closed it around her breast.

“Oh, Mike,” Elizaveta moaned when I sucked gently and ran my tongue over her nipple.

I suckled my wife’s firm breast for several minutes, then moved on top of her. She spread her legs and I settled between them, careful so that there was no contact between my glans and her labia. I bent my head down and kissed her softly, and then we shared a gentle French kiss. I broke the kiss, looked deep into her eyes, and moved so that the tip of my glans rested lightly on her labia.

She immediately tensed, and I realized I’d moved too quickly. I didn’t want to upset her, so I shifted slightly so we were no longer touching there, then kissed her softly again.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

“You’re nervous,” I replied. “I understand.”

She nodded and bit her lower lip, then said, “And scared.”

“Do you want me to move?” I asked.

She shook her head, “No, just kiss me, OK?”

I nodded, lowered my head, and we shared a series of soft kisses. As we kissed, I tried to work out what I should do, but it was difficult to know. After literally months of buildup, the reality of having sex had overwhelmed Elizaveta similar to how the idea that I was lying in bed, naked, with my wife had overwhelmed me. I considered using my lips and tongue, but despite my extreme desire to taste her, I was afraid, given her responses, that might freak her out even more.

We had kissed for a few minutes when I felt Elizaveta’s arms on my back. I took that as a good sign and we continued to kiss. Several minutes later, I felt her ankles on my calves as she spread herself wider and broke our kiss.

“Husband,” she whispered, then nodded.

Sophia’s wisdom shone brightly and I reached over to the nightstand and got the tube of KY Jelly.

“Lubricant,” I whispered. “To make your first time easier.”

She nodded again and I shifted so I could apply a liberal amount of the lubricant, ensuring my glans was thoroughly coated, and then my shaft. I put the tube back on the nightstand and moved back into position, with my glans resting against Elizaveta’s labia. She wrapped her arms around me once again, and when I felt her ankles on my calves, I reached between us, grasped my shaft, and rubbed it along Elizaveta’s slick labia. I positioned myself, lowered my head to kiss her, and pushed forward gently with my hips.

My glans slowly spread Elizaveta’s plump labia, moved into her tight opening, and met a barrier. Elizaveta gasped, tensed, and broke our kiss. She was breathing hard, though I was sure it was more from nerves and fear than from excitement. I also knew it was very possible that the next thing I was going to do was hurt her, if only for an instant. The question was, whether I should say something or not. I decided not to, thinking that would only stoke her fear.

I waited for her breathing to slow a bit, then leaned down to French kiss her. As our tongues met, I pushed my hips forward, my glans tearing through her hymen.

“Ungh”! she grunted, breaking the kiss, and I saw a pair of tears run down her cheeks.

The feel of her muscles squeezing my glans in a white-hot embrace urged me forward, an urge I knew I had to fight.

“That stung,” she whimpered.

“I know,” I soothed. “I’m sorry. That feeling should go away soon.”

I waited and perhaps a minute later, Elizaveta nodded tentatively. Her eyes went wide as I slowly pushed forward, sinking deeper and deeper into her hot, tight, silky folds until I was fully embedded in my bride, who groaned softly when our pubic hair meshed. Elizaveta’s eyes now half-shut and she was panting, and, I was sure, feeling overwhelmed by emotions and new sensations.

“OK,” she whispered softly about two minutes later.

I was sure, given the developments of the previous twenty minutes, that it wasn’t going to be a marathon, and that I should move as slowly and gently as possible, until she became accustomed to making love. I slowly pulled back until just my glans was inside her, then gently pushed forward until I was once again buried in her wonderfully tight folds. I ground my pubic bone gently against her and she groaned softly. I repeated those motions twice, then lowered my head to kiss her and began a slow steady rhythm. I didn’t make any effort to hold back and when, about four minutes later she shuddered and groaned softly, and her internal muscles lightly massaged my shaft, I simply pushed forward and let myself go.

My release created a strange mix of emotions and physical sensations - what I would almost call a ‘gentle’ orgasm combined with a serious emotional high from the knowledge that I’d just consummated my marriage, was different from any set of emotions or physical sensations I’d ever had before. I kissed Elizaveta deeply, then gently withdrew from her. I moved next to her, put my arm around her, and pulled her to me. I pulled the duvet, which had been folded in thirds and was on Elizaveta’s side of the bed, over us, she snuggled close and sighed deeply.

It didn’t surprise me when she fell asleep almost immediately. I closed my eyes, happy that I was in my house, with my wife, in our bed, having just made love for the first time.

May 27, 1985, McKinley, Ohio

On Monday morning I awoke before dawn, as was my norm, but decided I’d skip my morning run. Elizaveta was still asleep, her head on my chest, one arm and one leg thrown over me. She had been completely exhausted, emotionally, physically, and mentally, and if I was honest with myself, I had been as well. Our first lovemaking, as tentative and short as it was, had been strangely fulfilling, precisely because it was the first time I made love with my wife. I lay quietly for some time, contemplating the awesome nature of what had happened.

Eventually, Elizaveta stirred, stretched, and snuggled close, with a contented sigh. A few minutes later, she sat up.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, her eyes glassy showing she was about to cry.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” I replied gently, sitting up, and giving her a quick kiss.

“But I fell asleep and ruined our wedding night!”

“You did NOT ruin our wedding night,” I replied lovingly but firmly.

“But we were supposed to make love all night!” she protested, a tear dripping down her cheek.

“«Котёнок», we have sixty or seventy years to make love. We were both emotionally, mentally, and physically exhausted. And I wonder how your «пизда» feels this morning.”

Elizaveta giggled through her sobs, “That word!”

“I could use a medical term, but that doesn’t make sense. Or I could say it in English.”

“It doesn’t hurt,” she replied. “I guess ‘uncomfortable’ is the right word.”

“And how would it have felt if we had done it again last night?” I asked.

“You’re not upset?”

“About what?”

“I don’t think I was very good.”

“It WAS good,” I replied. “And if you pull the duvet down, I think you’ll discover why you’re uncomfortable. And why what we did last night was all we could do.”

She pulled the duvet down and exposed my groin and thighs, but also a red stain on the sheet about the size of a silver dollar. There were also dried red streaks on my flaccid member, and red streaks on the inside of Elizaveta’s thighs.

“Oh!” she gasped.

“So, if you want to hang that from the eaves, you could!” I teased.

Elizaveta laughed, “That would make my mom and dad VERY happy and satisfy my grandmothers. Mom and Dad thought we had cheated.”

“They said that?”

“No, but they certainly thought it. And this sheet isn’t our real sheet - the new ones are black. I put this over the others on advice of my grandmother.”

“And now she’ll want the proof?”

“Hah!” Elizaveta laughed. “I should, just to show my mom and dad!”

I chuckled, “I’ll leave that decision to you. I trusted you, and didn’t need any proof.”