Chapter 3: Married

A small town in East Thailand
Summer 2006

Late in the afternoon I woke up and found myself looking into surprisingly mischievous smiling eyes.

“Do you feel married?” he asked. The eyes and the voice created the impression in my mind of a cartoon imp.

“Actually, I did not expect to, but I do. Maybe not the way most Westerners feel married, forever and ever, deep in love, blah, blah, blah. But as your wife for today? Yes. The next five years? Yes, I am good with that.”

“Would you like...” he started to say, and I finished his thought like it was my own.

“ ... that shower now? Yes, actually I would. Together?” I was suddenly comfortable with our nudity, much more than I expected. Well, the “good girl” really was gone, now it was the “good wife” that I would try to be. I had read that very good wives showered with their husbands, and sometimes they got dirty in the process. Honestly, I was curious to see his body up close, especially the parts I never saw. Plus we were both messy with my blood. I felt responsible.

This turned out to be a very good move for me.

As I got up there was rather more blood than I expected, on me, on the sheets, and on him. There was a perfectly formed bloody handprint on his side! I had to laugh at it. He joined me. We had slept for a few hours, me because of tension, him because he got up very early. The blood was dry. It embarrassed me, but Sung was indecently pleased. Well, I guess it said he had enjoyed and deflowered a virgin. I guess guys like that.

Me? I had that box of pain that I would have to open. I would do that later. I was only a little bit sore at that moment.

When we got to the hotel, first thing, Bop came to my marriage bed to put down a double sheet with a blanket folded in so as not to bloody the hotel’s sheet. My father would display the sheet, to show that he had raised a girl child to a proper entry into marriage. He would be very proud of me, as was his right and my gift for all he had done. Seeing that bloody sheet was when I realized I would be going home with this man, taking care of his house, his food, all the other little tasks. At my father’s house those jobs would now fall on Bop. I wanted to go to her, to say words but in my state I could not, because I would babel about the other things a wife did. So instead I took my husband’s hand, and we went into the shower together.

The bathroom was brightly lit, but I tried to keep my eyes down and away from his face. Down below a part of him had shrunk, as if to try to hide from my eyes. It had gone from “so large and frightening” to “so small and cute and shy.” But for the blood I could have kissed it.

He grabbed the shower cap for me, with my long hair he knew I would not want to get it wet. I had blood on my hand so I had to wash my hand before putting on the cap. Without my asking he turned on the water and waited until I said it was the right temperature. It was a small transaction, one I put aside. Still, how does a man know such a thing? Because he had done it before! Maybe I was not his first virgin. I really knew so little about him. But on the other hand, what I knew so far felt good. Except for the aching pain in my womanly parts.

In the shower I washed him, starting with his cock. It was my blood, so that seemed like the thing to do. I was insistent. Plus, I really wanted to see his parts; I had no little brother and a very modest father so I was curious. Without any pubic hair he was easy to clean, and he spread his legs to make it easier for me. I studied his anatomy with eyes and fingers; the cock, plus the balls and the sack that held them. When he started to stiffen I found that his shaft continued inside the sack to where it met his body in the back, near his anus. I wondered about that. I had to crouch down to investigate, this brought my mouth close to his cock. When I looked up his cock jumped to about 50%, and we both had the same idea. But I was not ready for that. “Please, don’t ask me for that now,” I said as I stood up.

“Well, as delicious a thought as that is, I am not ready to ask you for that. To be honest, I have very little...”

I did not want to hear him say ‘experience’ and I guess he felt the same - or he was reading my mind already.

“ ... very little need. I am not ready to go again. But you are beautiful, tempting, your lips ... I want you, so my body reacts. Do you understand?”

“Yes, although I am not sure about your premise. I have never felt beautiful, especially in a shower cap.”

“But you are! Did you know a cock cannot lie? They don’t know how. Still, if you wish let us put that aside ... Now it is my turn to clean you.”

I started to object, “It is my blood, my responsibility...” but he stopped me with a kiss, a passionate kiss that was mind-wiping. That seemed unfair.

He whispered, “You are not the only one who desires to explore paradise a little.” He had recalled words fro my story! Is there a higher praise? Plus we both knew that I had just explored him.

So I spread my legs, leaned back, and allowed him freedom to look and feel. Yesterday my father would have killed any man who looked at me so. Today? Maybe I encouraged him, who can say?

He snapped the shower’s hand unit out of the holder - it was something I had never seen, never imagined. What an idea! It was clear that my view of the world was missing a great deal that many people took for granted.

He was very gentle as he explored the folds of my slit and cleansed me with his gentle fingers using the spray. The skin of his hands was soft, his fingers were strangers to physical work. He had me turn around so he could wash in back, the blood flowed down and I guess there was a lot back there. I did not like that, I was ashamed to be touched there, and to show him my dirt hole. I knew he wanted me there, his fingers lingered after he cleaned me. I was afraid and ashamed and uncomfortable with the thought. But his touches were gentle and with a clear purpose, there was little gratuitous. It did not take long before he turned me around again.

When I next looked down at him, crouching at my crotch, I saw something in his face was different. He was Korean and his face was hard to look at, so I did not twig to his look of great desire before he pressed his mouth to me. Just before contact he said, “you should know, oral sex is a pleasure for giver and getter.” Then his mouth touched me there. Lightning fast, his tongue ran the length of my slit, starting in the front, going back to my damaged hole, then returning to the front. I felt outrage and would have objected, my mind marshaled the words. But before I could speak my words his tongue at the front of my slit lashed me with divine pleasure that erased the words from my mind. That astounded me, there was another mind-wipe kiss in a place I never expected to be kissed! I was speechless! Plus, suddenly it was hard to stand, like the room tilted. How could he do so much with his tongue?

That womanly pleasure which I had seen in the distance when he was inside of me? Suddenly it was there, rapidly filling me, grabbing my focus and making me writhe where I stood. I was doubly ashamed, afraid that I would do something terrible, losing control of myself while his mouth was right there. But the pleasure built so quickly that the fear and shame and embarrassment disappeared into a dense fog of pleasure. I was gripped powerless in unimagined pleasure. I thought of my Mother; had she felt like this before she died?