His Brother’s Wife
Copyright© 2026 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 12
They had gotten into the habit of evenings.
Not by design — it had simply happened the way the good things between them had been happening, gradually and without announcement. Dinner together most nights now, the kitchen loud with whatever they were making, and afterward the couch and a movie or a show she wanted to see or an argument about what to watch that was more enjoyable than whatever they eventually settled on. She had opinions about films, it turned out. Strong ones, delivered with the same dry precision she brought to medieval armor and parsley.
They were watching a romantic film on a Thursday evening when she tilted her head at the screen and said, “How are they kissing like that? Their mouths are open.”
He looked at her. “Becky. You don’t know how to deep kiss?”
“Zack said it leads to impure thoughts. That it can be arousing.”
She said it the way she said most things about her first marriage — plainly, without drama, the way you state a fact about weather.
“In our community, intimacy is solely for procreation. Couples are instructed not to be together more than twice a month. We were covered from the waist down always. He never saw my genitals nor I his. Missionary position. There are rules.”
Josh sat with that for a moment.
“Do you want to follow those same rules?” he asked. “Or are you open to a different. more physical intimate life?”
“Explain what different means.”
He chuckled — not at her, and she could see that it was not at her. “I’m just realizing I have never in my life had to explain this starting from the very beginning.” He shifted to face her on the couch. “Most married couples dress and undress in front of each other. They shower together. They kiss each other’s bodies — not just on the mouth. There is nothing a husband and wife cannot do as long as it’s what they both want and it brings them both pleasure.”
“Pleasure,” she said. “Isn’t it just for procreation?”
“Not even a little bit.” He smiled. “Married couples like to practice. A lot.”
Becky blushed, covered her mouth, and giggled — a real one, startled out of her. “Are we going to practice a lot?”
“Of course. Practice makes perfect.”
“How does it start?”
“It starts with a kiss. How you kiss tells your partner what you want. It can be gentle and tender. Or it can be —” he considered his phrasing “— wild monkey sex.”
Becky doubled over laughing. “Wild monkey sex?”
“It’s when you have an itch that absolutely has to be scratched. Immediately. With passion.”
“So,” she said, sitting back up, her eyes bright, “if I had that kind of itch and you came home from work and I kissed you with deep passion — what would you do?”
“I would pick you up, take you to the bedroom, and thoroughly ravage you.” He said it without missing a beat. “If you kissed me deeply but slowly — tender passion — I’d still carry you to the bedroom, but we’d take our time, let things simmer. Make it last.”
“This,” she said, “is starting to get interesting.” She folded her hands in her lap with exaggerated primness. “How does this particular discussion end?”
He smiled. “I’m going to teach you how to kiss. If you want to learn. We don’t do anything you don’t want.”
“Just kissing,” she said. “Nothing more tonight.”
“Just kissing.”
“All right then.” She looked at him with those steady dark eyes. “Teach me.”
He shifted toward her on the couch.
“Making love is a dance,” he said. “Two people moving to the same beat. It always starts with a kiss — a real one, not the kind you give your mother or your aunt. When we kiss, you breathe through your nose, not your mouth. You don’t hold your breath. And when I open my mouth, you open yours. Just follow what I do.”
“I’ll try,” she said.
“That’s all I’m asking.”
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