Chapter 1

Julie Phips, soon to be Julie Crandall, sat at her dressing table, gazing into the mirror at the five-foot eleven-inch woman staring back at her. She looked critically at the long, straight, almost blue-black hair that fell down her back. She couldn't see it from this position, but she knew it went to the small of her back. She had been growing that hair for twenty-two years, in anticipation of her wedding day. That day was tomorrow. She looked at her high cheekbones, and arching eyebrows. In her opinion, she looked like a no-nonsense business woman. Her eyes fell to the deep cleavage exposed by the almost non-existent bra she was wearing. It went with panties that consisted of even less material. She blushed, even though she couldn't see those panties, seated as she was. Julie had spent all her life thinking in decidedly conservative terms about her body, and the mystical thing called sexuality in books.

She had developed early, which brought attention from boys, and later men, that wasn't welcome. It wasn't that Julie didn't like males of the species. She had all the same feelings and emotions that any girl has, growing up. But her mother's choice of men had convinced her that she had to be very, very careful about the men she allowed into her own life. Her mother had made miserable choices... four or five of them. The first was her biological father. She didn't remember him at all. He had abandoned them when she was only a year old. The succeeding "fathers" in her life were little better. Number three had tried to hit on her when she was in the blush of woman-hood, at seventeen.

She had done a little dating, tentatively, like someone who lived in a cave, and occasionally went outside for short periods, to see what the lighted world might be like. But that world was full of danger and conflict, men who wanted more than she was willing to give, and who offered nothing in return except groping hands and whispered pleas to let them be her first. She had always retreated back into her solitary life, safe in her room, and later her apartment, with her books, and stuffed animals, and dreams.

She was relieved to get to college because that got her away from Hank, number three husband of her mother. But, once there, she soon learned that announcing she was still a virgin, and intended to remain that way until her wedding night, resulted in much the same thing she had suffered in High School. It got her only derision from her female acquaintances, and an attitude of almost attack from men whose single intent was to divest her of that virginity.

Of course she knew that her virginity was only hypothetical, since her hymen had been thoroughly destroyed by both ordinary things that modern girls inserted into their vaginas, and the fingers she used like all other girls used, to take the edge off her wildly aroused body as hormones flowed through her blood stream.

Still, in her view, she was a virgin. Her stubborn hold on that view, she admitted to herself on numerous occasions, was probably why she never had a lasting romantic relationship with a man. Things always got to the point where both of them wanted to do what came naturally. But Julie required the kind of commitment... before doing that... that all the men she had met just hadn't been willing to give.

There are many men who want to marry a virgin.

There are far fewer men who want to date one for an extended period of time.

Her degree firmly in hand, she interned at a large corporation, hoping that now that she was going to be around mature men, she might finally be able to find one who would respect her wishes, and be able to commit to marriage.

And, her hopes seemed to be coming true, for that was when she met Roger.

Roger was high up in the company - not quite a vice president yet, but clearly an up-and-comer. He was dashing, and handsome, and suave. He was also quite professional towards Julie as, during his infrequent visits to the headquarters, where she worked, he interacted with her on this or that project.

The rest of the time he was jetting here, and there, all over the world, making deals, and making money, and... most probably... making women sigh frequently. He told her, in an off-hand kind of way, he was unattached. He didn't say it like he intended her to change that. It was more of a small confidence, shared with a co-worker, in a moment of camaraderie.

"There are lots of women out here," he had said. "It's just that the ones I've met so far haven't made my heart sing."

She said she fully understood what he meant.

Somehow, in ways that she couldn't put her finger on, their shared confidences happened more often, and with deeper and deeper intimacy, until it seemed like there was nothing they couldn't talk about as they went over the details of making his latest business score come to fruition. He never had dates, and worked long past the time the family men turned off the light and went home to the wife, their 1.7 children, and perhaps the dog.

It got so that, during his month-long trips, she missed him. He was one of the few people in the company she felt comfortable talking to on an intimate level. He understood how she felt. He complimented her on her resolve, and moral strength. He encouraged her, telling her that a beautiful, intelligent woman like herself would soon have her pick of available men.

The gifts he brought her from abroad were small, inconsequential things. He brought her a hand-thrown pot from India. He brought her a native doll from Africa. He brought her a fur hat from Pakistan. The closest thing to an intimate gift he brought her was a small vial of perfume from London, where he went most often.

"I smelled it on a woman I met there," he explained, "and immediately thought of you for some strange reason. So I inquired, and got you some to try out."

She had loved the subtle complexity of the perfume, which wasn't overpowering, but still could be detected, even when applied in tiny amounts. She got several comments on it from others she worked with. It made her feel good.

On her twenty-second birthday, a day she hadn't planned on celebrating at all, she found a card in her mail box. It was from Roger. Neatly handwritten in the blank area were the words: "Hang in there. You're a prize worth the effort, and soon, some man will awaken to that fact. My best to you on this special day."

His signature was formal, and included his last name. That was the first time she did what millions of women do at this or that time in their lives. She imagined his last name, behind her first.

Julie Crandall. It had a nice ring to it.

The next time he was back in the States, they worked long into the evening.

"I'm bushed," he sighed when they finished. "Starved too. You want to grab a bite to eat?"

She expected a hamburger, or sub sandwich. He took her to a restaurant instead, a nice one, where a meal cost more than a young woman on an intern's salary would want to spend.

"This one's on me," he announced. "You work hard to help me succeed," he said, taking her elbow and guiding her to the table the Maitre Dee led them to. "You deserve a good meal."

He didn't treat it like a "date", and the things they chatted about were fun and light.

Somehow, that became more or less a tradition with them. They worked hard, and then he took her somewhere to reward her. He never tried to kiss her, or touch her in sexual ways, though his touch on her elbow began to feel different to her in ways she couldn't quite understand.

Then a night came where, during dinner, he said that a show might be nice.

"Are you asking me out on a date?" Julie asked, her eyebrow arching more than usual.

"Well," he said off-handedly, "I wasn't thinking of it quite that way. But, now that you mention it, I have to admit I'd be proud to be by your side in a situation that might be thought of as a date." He looked at her seriously. "I wouldn't want to make you feel uncomfortable, though."

"How could I feel uncomfortable with you?" she asked, honestly. She was, by now, completely comfortable in his presence.

What made it different was that, like friends, they discussed what was going on between them. She mentioned, at one point, that most men would have tried to kiss her, or paw her by this point in a relationship.

"I have to confess I've thought of that," he said simply. "But you're special. It would be like cursing out loud in an art gallery or something... wouldn't it?"

She said she didn't know, and he jokingly suggested they should try it... just for experimental purposes, of course.

That first kissed rocked her to her toes.

Everything on her body tingled. His lips were soft and warm, not demanding. His touch on her waist was also light, the fingertips pressing only enough to let her know his hands were there. His chest touched her so lightly that only her nipples felt that touch. She had somewhat awkwardly placed her hands on his shoulders, but suddenly they felt like they were right where they should be. He increased the pressure on her lips... just a tad... and then pulled back, to stare into her wide eyes.

"Wow," she said breathlessly. "We probably shouldn't do that any more."

"I rather liked it." He grinned. "I think I could make that sacrifice again. It wasn't so terrible... was it?"

"Oh, not terrible at all!" she sighed. "That's why we probably shouldn't do it again. I liked it... too much."

"You make me feel strange," he commented casually.

"What?" she asked.

"I don't know. I just feel differently about you than other women... that I've kissed, I mean."

"You've kissed a lot of women," she stated.

"Of course. You've kissed a lot of men too."

"Not so many," she said. "You know how picky I am."

"All the more to be honored that you liked what we just did," he said suavely.

Twice after that, he didn't try to kiss her. She found herself anticipating it... and when it didn't happen, she felt, somehow, a loss.

The third time he said "I wish I could kiss you again."

"Why can't you?" she asked, tingling already.

"You said we shouldn't," he said simply.

"Oh," she said meekly. "Maybe once more wouldn't be so bad." she ventured.

This time, he held her more closely, in a full body embrace. She felt weak with the power of that kiss.

Before she could say anything, he kissed her again.

"You make me want things I've never wanted before," he said.

"What kind of things?" she asked dreamily.

"I've never thought of settling down," he said, clearly suggesting that he was now thinking differently.

It was like a whirlwind. In the next few minutes Julie somehow found herself holding the man of her dreams. His whispered confessions about dreaming of taking her home each night... his claims of fighting it, and losing, and then dreaming about it for hours on end... melted her and caused emotions in her that threatened to overwhelm her completely. When he finally dropped her off at her apartment, his hand only strayed to the side of her bra-encased breast as he kissed her one last time. She didn't feel threatened at all.

Still, though, when she woke up the next morning, she didn't know exactly where they stood. She had a hard time remembering everything he had said the night before. When she went in to work, and he was there, waiting for her, she looked at him wondering what she should say.

"I missed you," he said softly.

"Last night?" she asked.

"Yes." He frowned. "I've always liked travelling. I have to leave later today, and somehow it's not the same any more. Missing you last night, as I lay in my lonely bed... it made me think of the next two weeks, and how much I'll miss you then too."

The thrills went on and on for Julie, as the next month brought them closer and closer together. Upon his return, he requested their first 'formal' date. From there she felt like she was on some kind of theme park ride. The dream continued until, one night, he opened a box and displayed the ring he begged her to accept.

She had no one to share her unbounded joy with. She spoke to her mother only when she had to, and the women she had decided to call her friends were shallow party girls, who never thought about anything further out than their next date, and the bedroom that would lead to.

She accepted his proposal. He wanted to be married soon. His reasons were expected. His hands now strayed to various places on her body, inflaming her desire, his own quite pronounced and easily detected as he pressed his stiff manhood against her.

But he never tried to get her to go further than some heavy petting. Had he asked, she might, this time, have succumbed to her inflamed lust. Still, something in her insisted that she live her whole dream, and she promised him she would be ready for him on their wedding night.

There was, of course, some bitter with the sweet.

He insisted that she tell her mother about the wedding, and of course, her mother insisted on 'helping' her plan the event.

He said he didn't care when, or where, or how it happened. His only desire was to add his last name behind her first. What harm could it cause if her mother got to help with her only daughter's wedding?

"Make her happy this one time," he said. "You never have to see her again after that if you don't want to."

That was how she found herself, suddenly on thirty days of paid vacation that most interns never got, back home, making wedding plans with the help of her mother.

"Finally going to let a man between your legs?" asked her mother conversationally, as she suggested the caterer serve Bar B Q.

"You know why I've waited, Mother," said Julie, defensively.

"Damn waste of time, if you ask me," said her mother.

"That's why I didn't ask you, Mother," said Julie shortly.

"Well, at least you landed one with some money, and a hot future. Funny about his name, though..."

"Why? asked Julie. "What's wrong with his name?"

Her mother's eyes went out of focus for a few seconds, and then cleared again.

"Never mind. It doesn't matter. Wear something slinky for your honeymoon," her mother leered. "They like slinky. It'll drive him wild."

"He's already wild," said Julie.

"And shave your pussy," said her mother coarsely. "That drives 'em crazy too."

It was all Julie could do, to endure her mother's constant gutter comments and general attitude. She called Roger, almost nightly, complaining about having to deal with her mother's insistent demands for a garish wedding.

"It's just a few weeks, Darling," he said soothingly. "And I'll whisk you away from all of that forever."

"All right," she sighed. "But I'm only doing this for you."

"You only get to do this once," he said. "I want you to remember that day for the rest of your life."

"My mother's done it five times," she said jokingly. "That's why she thinks she's so good at planning weddings."

"You know what I mean," he said. "YOU are only going to get married once. I'm so proud to be the man you've chosen. I promise you you'll never even think of getting married again."

"Why can't we just elope?" she begged.

"My mother would never forgive me," he laughed. "She's been begging me to get married for years. One time she even threatened to cut me out of her will. At last I can get her off my back too. Though then I suppose she'll start hounding me for grandchildren. I'm looking forward to that, though."

That sent a tingle through her that made her flush with happiness. She had told him she wanted lots of children. She had lots of love in her heart, and had no one to give that love to. He had agreed that a big family was something he'd always dreamed of too.

"We'll start that very night," she breathed into the phone. "I'm not going on the pill... is that all right?"

"Perfect, my darling," he said. "I can't wait."

And so she endured the leering remarks of her mother and number five, who was just as coarse, and made must as many crude remarks on what she should do on her wedding night. He even bought her what he called "a getup" for her to wear, saying "That'll give him a mammoth boner, sweet thing! You want to model it for me?"

Her mother had been there, and had slapped the horrid man on the arm. But she had laughed too, telling him that what was between his legs was for HER, and not her virgin daughter.

It was that 'getup' she was wearing, as she sat, staring into the mirror. Unsure of what else to do, and having no experience at being "sexual" around a man, she reluctantly took her mother and step-father's advice. She had carefully shaved off the raven mat that grew between her legs, until it looked obscenely bare. She had never seen the split of her sex without that hair above it, and now it looked like it bulged from her loins, screaming to be fondled and... whatever else went along with having sex.

She knew about oral sex, of course. No girl can grow up without hearing lurid descriptions of that, but of course she had never done it, or let it be done to her. And she knew about intercourse too, by virtue of the same lurid descriptions of her friends, as they tried to convince her it was the best thing in the world, and that she should jump on the bandwagon and get her cherry popped.

She had to admit that, at least in her own opinion, she looked sexy. She stood, and let the transparent jacket of "the outfit" gape open. The crotch of the panties had sunk between those fat lips again. She couldn't seem to get it to cover them for more than a few seconds. It looked ridiculous. Her nipples were almost showing too. She could clearly see the dark rim of her areolas, the coral colored tiny nipples barely hiding behind the cloth of the bra.

She sighed. Roger would either love it... or hate it. She had no idea which would happen.

But she couldn't think of anything else to do. She didn't even know what to pack for the honeymoon. Roger had gleefully said he had everything planned, but that it was a surprise, and not to worry about anything.

"I have an uncle." he'd said." I haven't seen him for years, but when my mother told him I was finally getting married, he offered to take care of the honeymoon. It's a big secret, but I know you'll love it Just pack a few things to get by on for a day or two. I'll buy you all new clothing when we get there."

Then he'd had to get back to work, and hung up.

She turned sideways. She'd always thought her breasts were too big. They stuck out like big firm melons. She'd heard about "the pencil test" somewhere, and, when she accepted Roger's proposal, had tried it that very night. The pencil dropped like a stone, her breasts not sagging enough even to hold it temporarily. At least she didn't sag, like her mother's over-used mammaries.

She looked at her watch. It was time to put on her wedding dress. She felt a lurch in her stomach, and had a terrible, sudden fear that she was doing the wrong thing. She took off "the getup" and slipped the tiny bundle of cloth into her carryon bag. She had a pair of running shorts and a tank top in there, along with some sandals and the minimum of personal hygiene products needed for an overnight stay. Roger had said he'd take care of everything else.

She was just shrugging the dress up over her shoulders when her mother barged into the room. She stopped short, staring at her daughter.

"My baby... getting married," she sighed. She wiped at her eyes with one finger each, being careful to avoid the heavily applied mascara above them.

"Am I doing the right thing?" asked Julie, apprehensively. "I feel all jittery and nervous."

"You always feel that way," said her mother sagely. "I felt that way all five times."

That didn't help Julie's feelings of dread at all. Her mother had screwed up all five times.

"Don't worry about it, baby," crooned her mother. "You just get yourself good and laid tonight and you'll forget all about being nervous."

Julie tightened her lips, but prevented the frown that wanted to furrow her brow. She submitted to her mother's primping and pulling and tugging, but drew the line at the heavy makeup the woman wanted to smear all over her face.

"Just a little eyeliner, and some powder to smooth out my cheekbones," said Julie. "Maybe a touch of lipstick.

"At least let me put on some eye shadow," whined her mother. "You look like you haven't eaten in weeks."

"I'll have you know I got on the scales this morning and I've gained five whole POUNDS!" said Julie heatedly. "I weigh a whopping hundred and thirty-five POUNDS, Mother!"