Chapter 13

Bailee's turn:

Bailee Johnson is married. So she's NOT Bailee Johnson, high school girl, any more. She's Bailee Chesley, young wife. And we did it incrementally, too.

There was a declaration of mutual love and intent to marry, a week of diddling each other silly, a deflowering last weekend and the declaration of marriage to my family, and then an hour ago, we did the official government version.

Now I'm sitting beside my husband and we're headed to the abbreviated version of the official honeymoon. We have ONE night in a hotel room together, then he has work and I have school and we are going to have a life together. 'A Life.' Two people, one life. I keep rolling that over in my head. It's a rush.

I daydreamed last week while I was in school. Ran through the list of questions in my mind because what was going on in the classroom was for the benefit of people unlike me who didn't or couldn't derive the lesson by reading the book.

I tried to be rigorous in evaluating what I was doing. I was MARRYING a man thirteen years my senior. I didn't have to get married. I wasn't one of those clueless unfortunate girls who spread her legs one time too many and found that she took it seriously while he was poking fun, and now she's pregnant and two sets of parents are horrified and 'By God, you two are going to do the right thing and get married so this child won't be a bastard.'

I knew ONE of those. Inwardly I laughed. Both families went to the same church. The evil deed happened in the bushes in the vicinity of a church function. Oh, they're still married. She delivers before graduation day at school. She's pregnant, big-time.

She's not the only one, either, although there's another married couple. And several that I know are pregnant because they show in various degrees. And then there are the rumors of 'so-and-so got knocked up but she got an abortion'.

Then there's me. A month ago I'd never seen a man's private parts other than the sterilized pictures in reference and text books, and Lane came along. It's strange, really. At school I tried to avoid the bullshit. I wasn't awash in hormones like so many of my fellow students, swooning if the RIGHT boy said a word to me, running after him unbuttoning my pants. No, I deliberately dressed the way I did to keep boys away.

Did it work? In a word, no. I failed to recognize that there're a few guys who troll the other end of the spectrum, us 'ugly' girls because, you know, we're desperate and therefore easy targets for dipping your wick on a Friday night.

I didn't fall for that, either. I fell for Lane. Didn't mean to. Gramma's job pays enough for us to live an adequate lifestyle, but as far as me getting an allowance, well, she'd give me a twenty every two weeks on her payday. Not that I actually went anywhere to spend that twenty, not much.

I had a few friends who'd get together when somebody could borrow a parent's car and we'd go to the mall and do a movie and the Food Court, but that was in a big group.

Sherry's my cousin. Lives across the street and a bit further down the road in the trailer park. We talked on occasion. She'd come over to visit Gramma, who was 'Aunt Judy' to her, and occasionally I'd go to her house and we'd talk and watch movies. And one day she asked me, "You wanna make a little money?"

And as the saying goes, "The rest is history."

Do I want him? Short term? The answer is 'yes'. I've learned that I can think of Lane and what we do together and I get positively gooshy in my nether region.

Long term? That's the big question. People grow and change. Even while I count myself as much more mature than the average eighteen year old girl, I know I have a lot of growing up to do. Lane's thirty-one. I imagine he's still evolving as well. I'm hoping and praying that while we grow, we grow together, not apart. So my intent in the long term is yes. I meant it when I agreed 'until death us do part'.

"You're awfully quiet, Peaches," he said. "Second thoughts? Regrets?"

"Nope," I said. "I was just thinking about the future."

"Our future, I hope."

I slipped my hand around his bicep. Squeezed. "Yes. OUR future. You already got me doing things I never thought I'd do. Never even thought about doing."

"And that's not just sex, I hope."

"Of course not. You've expanded my appreciation of alternative cuisines."

"You ate sushi, for heaven's sake. And Vietnamese."

"And Gramma swore she'd never eat sushi 'cuz it was 'bait'. But now I love it. And Fresh spring rolls..." My palate came alive thinking of some of that.

That's one appetite Lane expanded. The squishy feeling between my legs is another. I listened to conversations at school. Frankly, it did not appear to me that anybody really enjoyed it the way I did. Nobody spoke of hours playing with each other in bed. We'd done that. Nobody talked about the joys of mutual orgasm. We sort of had that one figured out.

I didn't get any good information until I was working for Lane and I found lipstick on his underwear. After the shock was over, I actually started talking to Sherry and that's where I got good information.

I told her that once after Lane and I had a happy session.

She smiled at me. "Baby, yes, it's fun. That's why everybody does it. But it's a lot more fun if both people participate in it. You have to give a hundred percent. And you get to demand a hundred percent back. That's only possible if the two of you are really into each other."

"You 'n' Lane..." I said.

"We weren't in love, baby. Get that out of your head. He's in love with you. We were just friends who needed something from each other. That's usually a prescription for disaster, but you have a special guy there. I just want you to know that."

"I think I do," I told her.

"No, I'm serious, Lee. Special."

Sherry got into details. I mean, I've had the 'birds and bees' talk, and I've seen the stuff the school gives you, and I've read stuff, but she talked about what and how and where, and what's more, once I got over the idea that her and MY Lane ... Well, she had hands on experience. And 'mouth on'.

"It's just weird when you think about it, Sherry," I said.

"I know. I can't believe we're both sitting here talking about the same guy." She smiled. "But he's a good one, and he's yours now and if you wanna make him happy, here's what you do." And later, "Here's what you get HIM to do." Her actual experience with my Lane stopped short of penetration, but Sherry shared information.

"I just can't see Lane as one of those 'grab and stab' guys. Your first time will be a lot more pleasant if the two of you actually engage in foreplay. If you're wet..."

"I get wet sitting next to the guy," I said.

"Then you're good."

And her best advice was 'don't be afraid to experiment. Try things with each other. Don't be afraid to tell 'im what you want.'

I want to tell you that a week into my experiences with sexual intercourse ... WOW!

What I WANT is weeks of having to worry about NOTHING except how long it takes a thirty-one year old weenie to recharge because I want that thing in me. In my hands, in my mouth, in my pussy. And then I start thinking. Those first two, they don't depend on him being erect at all.

It's a wonderful thing in the happy lassitude, the afterglow, to mold myself to his side and idly play with his depleted weenie, knowing full well that he likes it. And you have to know that he does a similar thing to me.

One time we finished, unknotted, he ended up with his head lying on my belly, the fingers of his right hand just softly stroking the sticky lips of my pussy. Yes, it's juicy. I do plenty by myself, and then he squirts his contribution into me, and this time he's using that liquid to glide his fingers along, tracing the shape of my lips. I purr.

"I feel that," he says.

"Not as much as I feel what you're doing."

"I like what I'm doing," he says.

I just go along for the ride.

But him, if I start in that position, it's just too much temptation. When he's completely soft, which really isn't that often, but when he's soft, it's just too cute and too much temptation. And a soft weenie fits into my mouth. The whole weenie. Lee's found her chew toy.

If we've abused it too much, which has happened a couple of times during the week, it stays soft and ends up being really clean. If we've been judicious in our coupling, then a mouthful of soft weenie turns into a mouthful of HARD weenie. Which means that Lee's got two, two and a half comfortable inches in her mouth and another four inches of erection to play with when she gets a hand free, because the free hand is usually juggling and cupping those balls.

I want that week or two, but we're both responsible adults – well, I'm eighteen, adult enough to vote and stuff, but I can't buy beer or a pistol. Where's the logic? I can sign up for the military and go off to war, but I can't buy a pistol or a beer.

I can get married, though. Yes, we got Gramma's blessing on our marriage, but I signed my own name on the marriage license application.

Married. Sitting by MY guy. Headed to Galveston for a night of everything we can think of. Plus a nice dinner at one of many good restaurants that I've heard about. But lots of debauchery.

I giggled just thinking about it.

"What?" Lane asked.

"It's not really debauchery if we're married, huh?"

"That's my understanding. Just a few decades ago, though, eating that delicious pussy of yours was an unnatural act."

"A law that was probably broken a lot," I said.

"I would've risked prison," I said. "You're delicious. And it's fun feeling you come."

"I'm putting that on the list for this evening," I said. "Turnabout's fair play, too."

"Gosh, I hope so."

"You like me doing that, don't you?" I smiled.

"Yes, indeed I do."

I admit, I came right out and asked him. "Who's better, me or Sherry?" He said I was, but what do you think he'd say? But still, I'm the one who hung onto him, one hand around that weenie to keep him from shoving it too far into my mouth as much as to tug and stroke him into coming harder. If Sherry beat THIS, then they oughtta get her to make 'how-to' videos.

"I like doin' it, you know. Some girls might not, but I like it. I have total control of you."

"You have total control of me with the crook of a finger, princess."

"That's a good thing, because you have me, too. Just like that. A hundred percent."

We took the highway along the coastline into Galveston, rode the ferry across the ship channel onto Galveston Island itself. Yeah, I was rubber-necking. I didn't get a lot of travel over the last few years. Lane pointed out the big ships anchored offshore.

"Waiting their turns. This is one of the busiest shipping areas in the world."

Seeing one of them pass before our ferry could leave the landing sort of underscored his statement.

We pulled into the hotel, went inside and registered, then came back out and parked our car. Then back in the room.

I'm standing there grinning at him. "And exactly what do you have in mind, sir?" I asked.

"Oh, I don't know," he said. "I thought I might let you take the lead this time."

I giggled. "Okay. Let's see the weenie!"

He snorted. "Oh, you're being cute." He said one thing with his tone. His fingers were saying something entirely different, unbuckling his belt and popping the button on his jeans. The zipper went down, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his drawers and he dragged them and his jeans down at the same time.

I giggled again. Squealed. "Ooooo! There it is!" I stepped up close to him, wrapped my fingers around it. "Nice weenie, buddy! But then you've heard that before, huh?"