In the morning, the Greers were up before the Kollaths, a state of affairs Amanda found startling—when had this happened before?  Normally it was Kerri who was the early riser.  But today they had time for a shower, and Amanda a chance to (try to) use the coffee maker (she had never been the greatest at unfamiliar kitchen appliances), before Winston and Kerri emerged, smiling, from their side of the suite.  "Good morning," Amanda said.  "Had a good night?"

"It was... good, yeah," said Winston, with an ear-to-ear grin that suggested 'good' was a mighty understatement.

"Look, Kerri, I'm really sorry about last night.  I don't know what came over me, I just—"

"Water under the bridge," Kerri said, dismissing it with a wave of her hand.  "I know you meant well, and that's all that matters, really.  Besides, it ended up working out better for us."

"So you had your talk?"

"We did indeed," Kerri said, beaming.  "We still want to hit you up for suggestions, but, I think we have reached an understanding."

"Which, I should add, we might not have reached if not for that well-timed glass of water," Winston said, smiling.  "So, maybe we ought to thank you."

"Now hold on, let's not go too far," Amanda protested.

"Yeah, if you thank her she'll start lobbing ice water at everybody," Patrick chortled.

"Did you get your food, by the way?" Amanda said.  "We brought it home in boxes and put it in the fridge."

"Yes, we did, and thank you," said Kerri.  "That was very thoughtful of you, and we certainly benefited from the midnight snack."

"And much more convenient than room service," Winston said.  "We were scared if we ordered, they'd ring the doorbell and wake you up.  So we thought we'd try the mini-fridge before doing something drastic.  And, thank god..."

"Good.  Glad I did something right last night," Amanda grumbled.

"Oh, hon."  Kerri disengaged from her husband and moved across the room to entwine Amanda in a hug.  "You do a lot of stuff right.  You're the best sister a girl could ask for."

Winston, evidently remembering their conversation from yesterday, sent Patrick an eyebrow-waggle behind their wives' backs.  Patrick returned an ostentatious eye-roll, though he (once again) could not quite keep a return smile from his face.

They did call room service for breakfast that morning.  Kerri and Winston were in pajamas, and didn't intend to get dressed that day—"We're cashing in our stay-in-bed-all-day card, the one we got from letting you do it"—and it would be easier to pick the Greers' brains in the privacy of their own room.  Besides, Winston wanted to try the room service.  "It's something I do at every hotel I go to," he said.  "It's just a tradition.  And this seems as good a time as any."

So they ordered their eggs and bacon and pancakes and hash browns and fruit and toast, and then sat down to have their conversation.

"So, you guys worked out your communication problem?"

Kerri and Winston looked at each other.  "Umm...  By and large," said Kerri.  "Not completely.  But we're getting there."

"We talked after we got back," Winston said.  "You probably guessed it by now, but Kerri told me that she wished I were like that more often."

"Why aren't you?" Patrick asked.

"Well, there was a... misunderstanding," said Winston, "back when we first started dating.  We were in a situation where being wildly affectionate wasn't a smart idea, and Kerri told me so in no uncertain terms.  The problem is, because of the way she phrased it..."

"And it took you this long to notice?" Amanda said.

"Well, remember, we had sex in the equation too," said Kerri.  "I like snuggling as much as the next person, and sex went a long way towards satisfying that.  It wasn't until...  Well, I don't even know.  But, like...  Every action has an emotional meaning.  You know?  And when you're in love with someone, it's all equal.  You kiss him or you fuck him—they both mean, 'I love you.'  But, because sex is so physical, the... the balance is different.  Whereas a kiss, or a hug...  It means more, because there's so much less to it.  You know?"

"...Err, no, actually, I'm not sure I do," Amanda said, "but it's your life and your equation, so as long as it makes sense in your head..."  She laughed.  Kerri smiled back.

"So, we realized that there was a misunderstanding," said Winston.  "But it's also that...  My mind just doesn't work that way.  I don't feel like I need to hug her and kiss her at every opportunity to make her feel loved."

"You give gifts," Amanda said.  "And you tell her that she has beautiful eyes."

"Umm...  Yeah," said Winston, agog.  "How did you know?"

Kerri elbowed him and rolled her eyes.

"...Oh," said Winston.

"So, what's wrong with doing that?" said Patrick.

"Well, I wouldn't say that's wrong, per se," said Kerri.  "It's just that...  It's not really what I'm looking for.  You know?"

"Well, isn't that sort of compromise part of being married?" Patrick asked.  "You get yourself accustomed to the way he expresses affection."

"Yeah, it is, and that's part of what we were hoping to get some help on," Kerri said.  "But at the same time, he does know how to be cuddly and stuff.  And, since I look for that anyway, it's more efficient if..."  She laughed.

"Did you get your other stuff straightened out?" said Amanda.  "The love-versus-fucking stuff?"

"Yeah, umm," said Winston.  "Actually, we...  Ha.  It was interesting."

"Oh?"

"Well, Kerri probably told you that, the way we normally do it, it's more self-centered, right?  She works on herself, I work on myself, and we both get to cum really hard."  Amanda nodded.  "Well, we took a step back and we looked at it that way.  Kerri was seeing it as being kind of selfish, which to a certain extent it was.  But I was seeing it as being in pursuit of our ultimate goal—which was the orgasm—and being the best way to do that."

"Which it is," said Kerri, "as we discovered once we started experimenting."

"Part of it was that she said she wanted you to be more involved in her orgasm," Amanda said.

"Speaking only for myself, I'd want to be," said Patrick.  "I'd want to be involved in Amanda's, and have her involved in mine.  Otherwise it's basically just masturbating.  I mean, I'm masturbating using someone else's body, instead of my hand, but there's no...  There's no emotional intercourse.  Just, you know, sexual."

"Well, we tried that," said Winston, "and we found out—rather to our embarrassment, I might add—that we aren't very good at pleasing each other.  Only at using each other to please ourselves."

"Which, again, works," said Kerri, "but isn't what we always want."

"How'd you fall into that rut, then?" Amanda asked.

Winston shrugged.  "It was...  The best I could offer."

"And I think that was a big step for me," Kerri said.  "I had been taking it for granted that he was doing what he could to make my experience pleasurable.  Sure, it was the same thing over and over, but...  I remembered back in the beginning, how good it was that I could just focus on my pleasure, and actually climax during sex.  We overused it, but that doesn't make it bad."

Patrick said, "Did you guys experiment with making love instead of just...  Ooh, hold on, that must be the room service."  It was, so they had to wait until the food had been handed out before they he could finish the question.  "Anyway: did you guys try making love instead of just fucking?"

Kerri and Winston looked at each other with identical shy smiles.

"Well, I think that answers our question," said Amanda, grinning.  And when Kerri and Winston didn't answer, but just kept gazing at each other, she sneaked a grin at Patrick and took his hand.

It went on for a little, so eventually Patrick, grinning, dropped his fork onto a plate with a loud clank.  It broke the moment, and Kerri and Winston looked around.  "Sorry, where were we?" said Kerri, fumbling for silverware with red cheeks.

"We were asking if you managed to try to get at the emotional side of sex," said Amanda, grinning.  "We got our answer."

"Yeah..." said Kerri, with a dreamy smile on her face.

Winston, at least, was keeping his head about him.  "It's kind of funny, but we basically just forgot that we could do sex like that.  Because that's the thing about us—both of us keep our emotions under the surface."

"I do not!" Kerri exclaimed.

"No, you do," Patrick said.  "Not, like...  I mean, you wear them on your sleeve, you let everybody know what they are.  But you don't expect them to matter, to you or to anyone.  In any given situation, your first instinct is to ask what you can do to improve the situation.  You're a helper.  It's part of who you are, and your emotions come second.  Close, but second."

"And I'm more intellectual," Winston said.  "I sit back and try to figure out what to do about it.  I'm logical that way."

"It's a good combination," Amanda said.  "You come up with the best logical response, and Kerri, you come up with the best emotional response.  There are worse combinations to have."

"But that means neither of you think of your own needs first," Patrick said.  "In fact, maybe your own needs don't even enter into it."

Kerri blinked at them.  "Wow.  I never thought about it that way before."

"Well, it's how we approach things," said Winston.  "Actually, it's one of the things I love most about her—that she's so selfless."  He hooked an arm around his wife and drew her in.

Kerri gave him a giggle and a kiss on the cheek.  "And it's one of the things I love most about him—that he doesn't get overwhelmed and thinks things through."

"Awww," said Patrick, and everyone laughed.

"But, it carried over to your sex lives," said Amanda.

"Yeah," said Kerri, "we just...  I figured the best thing I could do was make him climax really hard—you know?—since guys don't go in for the emotional side as much.  And he figured the best thing he could do was make it so I could climax at all—since that's hard for women to achieve.  And...  I mean, it really does work out.  But...  We just sort of drifted in that direction, and...  We forgot about the other stuff."

"Until Kerri mentioned it last night," Winston said.  "And we found out..."  He laughed.  "We found out that we really had forgotten how to do it.  We'd just find ourselves falling back into the old patterns.  It was kind of funny."

"Which is part of what we need the help on," Kerri said.  "How do you make love?"

Patrick and Amanda looked at each other.  She saw the same open-mouthed dismay on his face as she felt on hers.

"Well, ummm," said Patrick.

"It's not...  It's not really something you can teach," said Amanda.

"I mean, don't get us wrong, there's ideas," said Patrick, "but, you have to experiment."

"It's very personal," Amanda said.  "We can tell you what works for us, but that doesn't mean it'll work for you or, for that matter, anyone else."

"Because it's so personal," Patrick said.

Kerri and Winston looked at each other, and then sprouted identical predatory grins.  "Ooh, more to explore," said Kerri.

"Ahh, well," said Amanda, "I can see you won't have problems with that."

"But, guys, beware that attitude," said Patrick.  "I mean, I know you're looking forward to it, but when you're trying to do, like, emotional and loving sex, it's not a surgical strike.  It's not targeted.  You have to be willing to wander and get distracted."

Amanda caught a flash of inspiration: "Fucking is about the destination.  Making love is about the journey."

Winston and Kerri looked at each other.  "Thaaaat...  May be a difficult mindset for us," said Winston.

Amanda and Patrick looked at each other.  How were they supposed to teach a mindset?

"Well, it...  It's more about...  You just have to keep an open mind," Patrick said.  "Don't go into it with any assumptions.  It's not like, 'Okay, this is what I want.'  You want...  Anything."

"Maybe you should start how we did," Amanda said.

Kerri laughed.  "What, with plumbing hiccups?"

"No, actually, that might be a good idea," said Patrick, clearly seized with some inspiration.  "Instead of working at it from a sex angle, don't even.  Keep clothes on.  Explore everything else first."

Kerri looked intrigued, and Winston's eyebrows were up as though receiving some brainstorm.

Amanda looked at Patrick.  "What, like we did, because we were waiting?"

"Yes," said Patrick, "exactly.  Winston and I were talking yesterday and I realized I learned a lot about you through those limitations.  About your body and about your heart.  It's made us both better lovers because, number one, we know each other's bodies better, and number two, we're used to making the best of a limited situation.  We can get more mileage out of whatever's at hand."

"And we're not ashamed to experiment, or try something silly," said Amanda.

"So, maybe that's a good way to start," Patrick said.  "With clothes on, and with clothes staying on."

Kerri and Winston looked at them with identical perplexed expressions.  "But..." said Kerri.  "But...  What do we play with?"

"Back rub," said Amanda.

"Neck rub," said Patrick.

"Hands and feet."

"Hair.  Scalp.  Both."

"He liked playing with my ears," Amanda said.  "But he never liked having it done in return.  Now I realize that it's because he was preparing me for oral sex!"

"Likewise, sucking on fingers," Patrick said.  "Never did much for her.  Because she doesn't have a penis."

"And it was good practice for me, too," Amanda said.  "Some of what worked there crossed over to when I started going down on him.  You know, five days ago."

"There are a lot of erogenous zones on the human body that don't involve genitals or breasts," Patrick said.  "And it's not just that those places are only good for sex; it also helps you relax.  I mean, back rub for heaven's sake."

"And what you said about the balance," said Amanda.  "Earlier, Kerri?  About the balance between the emotional content of an action versus the physical content?  Well, all these spots are more emotional, because the arousal aspect isn't as strong.  It's a chance for you to express love in a platonic fashion, if you so desire."

"Well...  Kind of platonic," said Patrick.  "More platonic than, say, grabbing a breast."

"So why don't you start there and see where things evolve," said Amanda.

"And let them evolve, don't try to control it," Patrick said.  "It doesn't have to go the way you intended it.  It doesn't have to anything.  That's the point."

"One suggestion, though, for actual sex, if you actually get to it," Amanda said.

"When," Patrick corrected, smiling.

"Try and stay so that you can kiss at all times," Amanda said.  "That changes the dynamic, and that changes the emphasis.  My guess is that you guys set things up so you can really go to town when you fuck."  She got their confirming nods.  "Well, my experience is that those positions rarely leave you face-to-face.  So try to retain that element.  It'll force you to slow down, and change your emphasis."

"Boy," Winston said, "that's a lot of advice.  Can I, um, go grab a piece of paper and ask you to repeat it?"

Amanda laughed and stood up.  "I'm sure you guys will remember most of it."  She reached out her hand to Patrick, who took it and stood up.

"And where are you guys going?" said Kerri.

"Well, we finished eating," said Patrick, "so I figure we'd best give you two lovebirds some privacy."

"It'll be a nice change," said Amanda, smiling.  "Most of the time we're out in boy-boy and girl-girl pairs.  I think this is the first time I've gone anywhere with just my husband."

"But...  But what if we need help?" Kerri asked, looking worried.

"You know our cell phone numbers," Patrick said.

"Besides, you're two of the most capable people I know.  You'll be fine.  Just...  Do what feels natural."

"I know, but...  I wanna get this right."  Kerri dithered with her hands, twisting a ring around her finger—her engagement ring, Amanda realized.  "This is too important to mess up."

Amanda gave her a kiss on the cheek.  "And that's why you won't."

She and Patrick evaluated all the tourist brochures in the lobby without conclusion; perhaps Kerri would have had some destination in mind, but they just wanted to spend the time together.  So Patrick, who loved to drive, rented a convertible for the day so that they could just drive around the island, doing whatever they wanted and stopping wherever they felt like.  They didn't know if they could find anything fun, but—as Patrick jokingly mentioned—"It's the journey that's important, not the destination."

Amanda relaxed into the bucket seat with a sigh.  "My god.  I think this is the first chance I've had to relax in...  Oh, about a year?"

"Oh, come on," said Patrick, "you've been having fun."

"I have, I have," she said.  "But just...  Ugh.  Ever since you put that ring on my finger, we were going full steam to plan this wedding.  And then, once we got here...  Well, I've had my share of pressures.  And plus, Kerri isn't the casual type.  She's so goal-oriented."

"As we just discussed."

"So the idea of just...  Wandering...  That's not something she does, really."

"Well, we get to wander now," he said with a smile.

"Yeah.  But my point is, we've been married a whole week and finally I get to relax.  So forgive me if I fall asleep.  Like I said, it's the first time I've been stress-free in more than a year."

A nostalgic smile crept over his face.  "I remember the first time you fell asleep while I was driving.  We were coming home from that lake—remember, when your friend June invited us up to that cabin?  And you'd been splashing around all day and you were exhausted.  And I just...  I was glad you felt comfortable enough in my presence to fall asleep."  He touched her hand.

She turned hers palm up; their fingers interlaced.  "We should've gotten something with bench seats.  Then I can cuddle with you as you drive."

"Yeah, but then we've had had to get an automatic."

She smiled.  "Well, we couldn't have that now could we," she said.

"Course not," he said, grinning, "that would be a travesty."  And with that he started up the engine, and they were off.

It was fun—driving wherever they pleased, stopping wherever they wished.  They found a curbside market and browsed the produce—homemade ornaments, cloth, the sort of things they might find at a farmer's market back home.  The produce, however, was completely different; they showed each other examples of fruit they'd never seen before.  There were pinkish things with green spines all over it and another more like a football, with a hard spiky shell and rather pungent odor.  Patrick liked it, but Amanda forbade him from buying one.  "If it smells like this now," she said, "imagine what it'll smell like in the toilet."  Patrick put the thing down in a hurry.

They ate lunch at a greasy diner, whose customers looked a bit surprised to see two white tourists step in, and then Patrick asked for directions for a road up the mountainside, preferably a twisty, turny one: he wanted to put their car through its paces.  Thankfully, a couple of wrong turns and some photo opportunities gave Amanda time to settle her stomach before things really got started.  The road was narrow and twisty, but Patrick had things under control, and she knew—in that deep place in her bones far below conscious thought—that he would never put her in danger.

Besides, the view from the top was spectacular.

They stood together, arm in arm, the wind flapping through their hair.  Below them sprawled the cities and jungles of the island, hotels and beaches, houses and office buildings, golf courses and parks, and beyond it an expanse of deep blue water, churned by countless boats, that leapt towards the azure horizon.  They pointed out their resort—or at least what they thought was their resort; there were too many of them to be sure.  Amanda wondered if this was what God might feel like: watching from some immense altitude, majestic in glory and secure in His power... and yet buffeted by a lonely wind, with no one at His side.  She tucked herself further into her husband's sheltering arms.  If the choice was between the power of a god or the love of an equal, I might choose the equal.

"We are so lucky," she said.

"I know," he said.  "How many people get to be here?  How many people get to see this?"

"Well... that too," she said.  "But I meant that...  That we had found each other.  Think of all the people who go through life without... without ever knowing real love, or getting to be happy.  Think of the people who go to thankless jobs in chilly office buildings and then come home to scream at their kids.  Think of the people who have to join gangs to stay alive, whose lives are cut short in a hail of bullets, who fuck women but never love them.  Think of all the things... we don't have to go through."  She turned to him, put her arms around him, buried her face in his chest.  "Because we have each other."

She felt his warm breath in his hair, the strength of his muscles around her.  He was her fortress.  She remembered what Kerri had said about the idea of marrying someone else.  Who else could I have married?  And how could I have been happy?  Everything about him is perfect for me.

"Remember what we were talking about with Kerri and Winston," he said.  "About how people show affection to each other?"     "Yeah."

"Well, I just noticed something.  They don't say 'I love you' very often.  And neither do we."

She looked up at him.  "Well, we don't need to.  I know you love me, and you know I love you.  We don't have to say it."

"I know," he said, "but I just wanted to say it anyway."  He gazed down at her.  "I love you."  His eyes were solemn, and she realized suddenly just how much he meant it.

She gazed into his eyes, letting the same solemnity pass in her own voice.  "I love you."

She felt a shiver pass through her.  They had traded the rings a week ago, been in the church, heard the organ thunder as they walked down the aisle—almost exactly a week ago, she realized, it must be nearly three o'clock by now.  And yet it was now—this moment, here, now, on this windswept mountain a mile closer to the eyes of God—that she felt they had truly become one.

When, finally, they relinquished each other, she noticed that his eyes were on her breasts.  And when she looked down and saw her nipples pointing through, she understood why.  She met his eyes and they laughed.

"It's probably the cold," she said.

"Well, that and pent-up frustration, maybe," he said.  "I mean, we didn't last night."

"True."  For all the sweet noises coming from the Kollaths' bedroom, her nerves hadn't been assuaged.  "Well...  We have some time.  And there's no one else up here."  She smiled.

To her surprise, he shook his head.  "No.  It...  Not in this place.  You'd freeze, and the car isn't big enough, and..."  He grimaced with the effort of trying to put his thoughts into words.  "It's not enough for you.  I don't wanna...  I don't wanna waste that moment on a tawdry shag up here."

She leaned up to kiss him.

"Though, maybe... on the hood of a car one day," he said, grinning.

She rolled her eyes and led him back to the driver's seat.

It took a couple hours to get back down to sea level, interrupted in part by more photo opportunities—the views down to the ground, and once the road itself.  Clearly, no one had been along to maintain the road in some time; either that or the crew had been drunk: the double yellow line at the center was veering around like crazy, and in some cases broken and reshuffled, as though someone had chopped it up and tossed it around.  It made an appealing composition (and was funny as hell besides).  "Only out here," said Patrick.  "On the mainland you'd be sued if you did this, but here, where everything's so laid-back..."

They found a beach to romp on, with Amanda protesting at first that they hadn't brought swim suits.  Patrick just smiled at her and said, "So?" and she decided he had a point.  But Patrick wanted to relax a little after the hours of hard driving he'd put in, so he reclined his chair back and stretched out a little.  And Amanda, thankful they hadn't brought the top back down yet after their descent from the mountain, leaned over and unzipped him.  She knew that if anyone came by, they'd see her, but she decided she didn't care; besides, there didn't seem to be anyone around.  (Why?  Shouldn't the beaches be full of tourists, or at least locals?  She didn't know; and after a moment, she decided not to question their magic luck.)  She was still new at this, but it didn't take long before he was coming, his seed going down her throat.  It was a tricky angle, but she locked eyes with him the entire time, intensely conscious of his body (she could feel nothing else but his hands on her hair, the tension in his legs, that warm shaft in her mouth) but focused on his face, on the love in his eyes, the pleasure in his mouth, and knew that, once again, they were one.

Back in the suite, they found that the remains of breakfast were still out on the table, suggesting that Kerri and Winston had gone straight back to their room after being left alone.  Laughing, they started stacking the dishes for return to the room-service people, and the clatter brought their friends out.  Winston was wearing shorts, Kerri one of his button-downs, and both of them had returned to their disgustingly chipper selves.

"Did you guys have fun at... wherever you went?" Kerri asked.

"We just wandered around," said Patrick with a shrug.  "It was good to have some time alone."  He smiled.  "And you two?"

"We-elll..." said Kerri, grinning.

Winston wasn't so reticent.  "You were right," he chortled, "there were tons of things we didn't know about each other.  Like, I found that if you tickle her in—"

"Winnie!" Kerri exclaimed, giving him a slap on the arm.  To Amanda's surprise, she had gone bright red.

"I guess you guys had fun, then," Amanda said, not bothering to hide a smile.  "And got some of your problems worked out?"

"Well, some of them," Kerri said.  "I mean, it's hard to just change direction entirely after years, you know?  But we found out we can change direction, and we weren't sure about that at all, so...  Win!"  She grinned.

"Well, good, 'cuz, you realize that our flight home leaves tomorrow," Patrick said.

Kerri and Winston gaped at him.  So did Amanda.  Wait, seriously?!  It's been a week already?  We got married on...  Oh, right, Friday.  A week ago today.  So that means that...

"Aww, man!" Kerri said.  "Party-pooper.  God, I feel like we wasted this entire honeymoon."

"I don't," said Amanda.

"Seriously?" said Kerri.  "I mean...  Jeez.  Isn't it supposed to be like this wonderland snuggle fest where you're just drunk on love and life and sex and, and everything's perfect?  Instead, we kept having all these problems."

"Yes," Amanda said, "and that's why I don't feel like we wasted it.  Kerri, think for a minute.  The problems you had with Winston, and the problems Patrick and I had: they would've happened eventually.  No matter what.  Right?"

"Oh, I see where you're going with this," said Winston, smiling.

"So I'm glad they happened now," Amanda said.  "Now, when we had plenty of time to focus on them and to really get things right.  I learned what it's like to be married to Patrick, and how to be married to Patrick.  And I'm glad I got to do that here, where there was nothing else we had to focus on.  Imagine if I had to do this after we all got home and were working 8 hours a day!  We'd still be sexless!"

"Which would suck," said Winston.

"It would suck," Amanda agreed.  "So I'm glad that we had this chance to get our marriage off on the right foot.  I mean, isn't that basically what the honeymoon's for?"

Kerri looked at her husband.  "How come she's giving us advice?  What happened to the girl who needed so much help a week ago?"

Winston grinned.  "Well, what goes around comes around, or so they say.  Clearly, the kindness we did her has come back to us."

"And that begs another question, too," Kerri said.  "What are we gonna do with our remaining... eighteen hours here?"

"You mean, besides eat and sleep?" said Winston.  "It's 5 PM, you know."

"What do people do on the one-week anniversary of their wedding?" Kerri asked.  "Amanda?"

"W-what?" said Amanda.  "Me?"

"Well, you seem to have all the other answers," Kerri said with an ingenious giggle.  "I thought you might be able to help here too."

"I...  Not with this," Amanda said.  "I know that for the one-year anniversary you're supposed to take that bit of cake down and eat it, but it hasn't been a year and we don't have it here anyway."

"Well, I've got something," said Winston.  "We haven't gotten to spend a lot of time all together this week—mostly it's been pairs of everyone just going off to do whatever.  Why don't we all hang out as a gang tonight, for once.  It'll be fun."

"But no glasses of water this time," Kerri cautioned, waggling her finger like a scolding mother.  "Unless you want me to respond in kind."

"Ooh," said Winston, "wet T-shirt contest?"

"Ha, she'd win," said Kerri and Amanda, at the same time.  They glanced at each other with astonished looks before dropping into giggles.

Patrick gave both of them a mock glower.  "What if we got a picnic dinner and ate out on the beach?"

"Do they make picnic dinners?" said Winston.

"...Well, one way to find out!" Patrick said.  "We're gonna go down to the front desk, ladies.  Try not to start a wet T-shirt contest without us."

"Are you kidding?" Kerri exclaimed.  "If we waited 'til you got back..."

"Winston would beat all of us," Amanda said.

Winston looked down at himself.  Patrick looked at Winston's chest.  Then they traded eyerolls and disappeared, one after another, out into the hall.  Amanda took the opportunity to lean in and whisper something in Kerri's ear.  She had an idea, something she wanted to surprise Patrick with.  When Kerri heard it, she squealed and practically jumped up and down in her excitement—evidently she thought it was a good idea—and promised to help her get it done.

Patrick had a hunch that the two of them were up to something—Amanda had always been fairly good about keeping secrets, but Kerri wore her heart on her sleeve, and she kept leaning over to giggle in Amanda's ear—but he wasn't entirely sure what.  Maybe Amanda had said something really really funny.  Or maybe Kerri just had sand in some inappropriate place.

The beach was basically as crowded as it ever got, despite it being the hour of the evening meal, and keeping sand out of his food was more tricky than he'd expected, but it was fun to be here: out under this azure sky, the endless waves like the breath of a parent, the sun on its proud parade towards the horizon, already beginning to streak the sky with banners of red.  Here in this pleasant place, with the laughter of friends in his ear, with some of his favorite people in the world.

Still, it didn't surprise him when Amanda fabricated some excuse to go back up to the room—something about it being that time of the month—and Kerri managed to go with her.  What did surprise him was how long it was before Kerri returned (alone, of course) and beckoned him to return.  "She says she's okay, but she wants you to come up."

"Uh oh," said Patrick, playing the role of the clueless husband.  "Is she all right?  Should I get medical help?"

"No, it's nothing like that, she just wants her big strong man up there with her," said Kerri.  How she managed to say this with a straight face, Patrick would never know.  But Patrick, dutiful to the last, went upstairs to help out his "distressed" wife, wondering all the while what he'd find.  Opening the front door yielded no answers: there was nothing in the living room but a folded piece of paper with an arrow pointing at their bedroom door.

Behind it was his bride.

The lace and pearl beading were turned out perfectly, completely untouched (or so it seemed) by their week-long respite in the closet.  The dress was perfect white, except for touches of pale pink here and there.  They had found her a bouquet somewhere, sprays of dewdrop white with pink roses tucked between, somehow the perfect color.  Her hair was up in the same upswept elegant knot she had worn a week ago; she had even put on her veil, a film of gauze across her face.

She was beautiful—the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.  He was suddenly aware of his clothes, so shabby by comparison (sandals, an olive T-shirt, well-worn shorts).  And kindled in him was a sense of unworthiness: how could he possibly measure up to this vision of loveliness?  This was the woman he had married, in all her glory and splendor; he had agreed to be tender to her, and provide her with succor, and be her shelter and her strength for all the years to come.  In this moment he could not say that he would succeed.  The task was just too great.  And yet he must try, for to fail her would be the greatest regret of his life.

All this flashed through his head in a kaleidoscopic instant, during which time Amanda Elizabeth Greer blinked once.

"Hi," she said in a shy voice.

"Hi," he said. 

"We...  I hope you're not offended," she said.

"Shocked, more like," he said.

"I just...  Do you remember where we were a week ago?" she said.

"At the reception."  He thought back into that whirlwind day.  "...Eating, probably.  Or maybe having our first dance."

She nodded.  "And do you remember what happened...  After?  When we had our, err, other first dance?"

Of course he did.  It had been a difficult night—patches of terror and exhilaration, tangled.  Some of it had been worse than his nightmares.  Some of it had exceeded his dreams.  "I could hardly forget."

"Well, I'd like to."  She gave a self-deprecating huff.  "I wasn't ready, and I didn't know what to do, and I made it...  Terrible."

His compassion aroused, he said, "I wouldn't call it that bad."

"I would," she said.

There was no answer he could make to that.

"And so...  I thought the best gift I could give you...  Would be to do it again," she said.  "And do it right this time.  And...  Make a real, true start to our marriage."

"Baby, you don't have to do this for me," he said.  "Everything that we've done...  Well, I mean, it doesn't matter, does it?  I married you.  It doesn't matter what happens between us.  Even if sex is miserable, I promised to love you forever.  And I meant it."  His hand caressed her cheek, cradling her.  "And I mean it still.  There's no choice in the matter.  I love you."

She reached up to hold his hand against her.  "It's not just for you," she said.  "I need to...  All the things I thought were true turned out to be wrong, and you had to wait through it.  You had to sit and be patient while I got myself turned around, and I don't...  I can't be okay with that.  You're my husband.  There's nothing more important in the world than that.  Whatever needs to be done to please you...  There's no choice in the matter."

He said nothing, his eyes steady on hers.

"What I want," she said, "is to be perfect for you."

"Well," he said, "you already are."  And, gently, he drew her up to him and kissed her mouth.

For a long time they stood there, kissing silently in the slanting sunlight—lip on lip, breath on breath, tongue on tongue.  Though he was so much taller than her, she had never felt that he might hurt her, or even that he could.  In his arms, in his presence, she was safe; there was nothing that could harm her while he stood near.

Finally he eased away to look at her: clear brown eyes, flawless pale skin, a button nose, the single dimple that appeared when she smiled.  "I dreamed of this day for...  It seems like forever."

"Well, you don't have to dream of it any longer," she said.  She put her arms around him, let her body melt against his.  "Tonight, all of it is yours.  From now on I belong to you—totally and completely."

"Totally and completely," he said.  "Everything?"

"Everything."

There was a mischievous gleam in his eye.  "Even anal?"

She struggled to maintain a straight face.  "It would please me to please you," she said, while thinking privately to herself that he would never, there was no way.  He wouldn't be that crazy.  ...Would he?  And a part of her was curious too.  She couldn't say whether she would like it, if they tried it—if they dared—but if he was there, it would be fun—and wasn't that all that mattered?

Still, there was dignity to uphold.  "Nonetheless, it might be wise to keep things simple.  After all, we're just starting out... and I have a lot to learn."

"That's true," he said, considering his wife.  "It might be smarter to start out simple."  Was she really planning to role-play things out to that level?—to pretend that it really was their first night together?  But then he realized that, to her, it probably wasn't that far of a reach.  For all the confidence she had gained over the last week, for all that she'd learned, the whole business of lovemaking was still new to her.  Anal sex was out of the question, that much was clear; and there were a lot of other things he'd have to ease her into.  She might be playing the role of the nervous young virgin... but the place where playing ended and reality began wasn't that far away.  The act was false.  The underlying nerves were not.

"Besides," he said, to give her nervous-virgin act another boost, "we've got enough to explore already."

"We do?" she said.

"All of each other?  I'd say that's a fair amount."

She gave a tentative smile.  "I guess.  You know you'll have to walk me through a lot of it."

"I can hardly wait," he said.  Which was, of course, the unbridled truth.

Kissing her again, he led her back towards the bed.  "First, though, we gotta figure out how to unhook you from this astonishing work of art," he said.  "It's too beautiful to ruin."

"And too expensive," she grumped.  "Even if I'm only gonna wear it once in my life, the last thing I wanna do is ruin it."

"Then what say we slip you into something more comfortable?"

She gave him a smirk.  "What, like, nothing?"

"Well, the thought had crossed my mind," he said, managing to look at least a little guilty.

"It's gonna take more than that to convince me, honey," she said.  The smirk was full on by now.  "You're gonna have to give me more."

So he kissed her—what else could he do?  Kissed her well, and thoroughly, leaning into her, drawing her up to him, and then beginning to kiss his way around her jaw, down her neck, around her ears.  At the same time he attempted to liberate her from her wedding dress.  This was harder than anything he had ever had to do in the Marines, because the dress seemed to be attached to her with superglue and a forest of interweaving straps.  He fumbled for several minutes, sensing her growing amusement, before giving up.  "Who designed this contraption?!"

She gave him a sly smile and reached up behind her with one hand.  Suddenly the straps lost all tension and sagged away.  "That's to keep unruly husbands from trying anything during the reception."  The entire bodice of the dress was loose now, held up only by the stiffness of the material itself, liable (it seemed) to fall off at a touch.  The front of the bodice cupped her breasts, and it seemed she might pop out if she breathed too deeply.  It was funny to find that so tantalizing: after all, he had seen her naked already, and more.

"What else am I going to find," he said, averting his gaze before he started drooling, "a chastity belt?"

The smirk.  "Maybe.  I don't just give myself to anyone, you know.  You have to earn it."

"Hmm.  Well, if that's my fate..." he said, and got back to work.

He had always loved her ears—they were unblemished and perfectly dainty.  He bent to them now, nibbling, caressing, stroking with his tongue.  She loved for him to play with her earring hole; he had no idea why, but what point was there in questioning it?  He gave it time and attention, knowing he had to play this out in the grand manner, knowing that she was teasing him.  She wanted him to pretend it was their very first time?  He could do that.

Eventually he let his lips drift lower, laying a line of wandering kisses down her neck and across her bare shoulder.  The bodice of her dress was still in the way, but he showered kisses across the tops of her breasts (which was all that was available) before finally reaching for her clothes.  He met her eyes, and then (moved by an impulse he could not explain) leaned in to kiss her as he exposed her breasts for the first ("first") time.

And it was exposure, because she wasn't wearing a bra.  "Umm," said Patrick.

"Honey, dresses like this aren't meant for bras," she said.  "There's one built in."  This, of course, was a lie; she'd worn one a week ago.  Clearly, things were different today.

Her breasts were perfect: warm, pale globes capped with wide pink nipples.  In the days and years before their wedding, he had wondered what they would look like, projected, predicted; but the real thing surpassed his imagination by far.  The American cultural preference was for girlish slimness, like Kerri, but his Amanda was a woman, with proud breasts and wide hips and eyes to drown in.  A little heavy, sure, maybe, but he hadn't done all that weight training in the Marines for nothing.  She was perfect for him... and that was what mattered.

He bent his head to the pink nub he had so long desired, let his lips touch it.  Even with the minimal effort they'd put in so far, her nipples were already a little bit erect, warm to the touch, ready for attention.  Evidently she was pleased with him so far... and he had a mind to keep her even more pleased.  Gently, he drew her nipple into his mouth, sucking delicately, and then with more intensity, feeling it stiffen in his mouth and begin to lengthen.  When he finally teased it with his tongue, he heard her almost-silent sigh, felt the way her body shivered, and knew that tonight would go well.

He stretched her out back on the bed, feeling the dress bunching under them, and suckled in earnest.  He felt the warmth from her body like an aura, heard the slow lub-dub of her heart; he felt her hands, her arms, cradling his head to her, stroking his neck, his hair, his shoulders.  Her skin was faintly salty with sweat, and there was a faint trace of the floral shampoo she always used; and under that the red taste of skin.  Her nipple was warm, with a slightly spongy texture, and there were tiny little bumps around the rim of her broad areolas.  All of it was his; but more importantly, all of it was hers.

Presently he left her nipple and began to kiss his way around the tender places nothing ever touched: the undersides of her breast, the place where it joined her armpit.  As he did, she began to squirm a little, and though he knew what he was doing was probably ticklish, he thought that her dress must be making her uncomfortable too.  "What say we slip you out of this contraption?"

"We could do that," she said.  That sly grin spread across her face.  "But only if you strip down first."

He wondered if that was supposed to scare him somehow.  Or maybe she just didn't want to be the only one with no clothes on.  Shrugging, he stood and doffed his shirt, shorts and boxers.  This had the added effect of freeing his erection, but that was just part of life.  It did make him wonder, though.  If she's still intent on playing up the 'our first time' part of it, she'll probably make some noises about how big and scary it is.

His wife did not disappoint.  "That looks... kind of big," she said.  "Are you sure it'll fit?"

"It's meant to," he said.  "I'm sure it will."

"I guess," she said, evincing hesitation.  And then: "I... I've never seen one before."

"Well, there's a first time for everything," he said, thinking, Boy: she sure is getting a kick out of this whole role-playing thing.  I wonder what other fantasies she'll want to play out.

"It really does look big," Amanda said again, and Patrick felt a flush of pleasure—a man did like to hear that about himself.  "Can I...  Can I touch it?"

"I'd be pleased if you would," he said.

With charming reticence she came to him, knelt beside the bed, laid her hand upon him.  She had warm hands, a little chubby—like a child's hands, and beneath an expression of childlike concentration.  But what those hands were doing...  Carefully, she ran her fingers across the surface of his shaft: long, slightly curved, veiny, arched out like a stooping bird.  Pinching the head gently, she stretched it to its full length (it didn't have far to go).  She traced the webwork of veins with the tip of her finger, and then the ridges and wrinkles, the slick circumcision scar... each touch sending tingles of ticklish anticipation through him.  And then, finally—to his astonishment—she brought the head to her mouth for a kiss.

His surprise must have shown on his face, because she looked up with something of a guilty expression.  "Is that okay?  I guess I probably should have asked..."

"Oh, no, no, it's okay," he protested.  "Actually, I will be very happy if you do that."

"What kind of happy?" she asked.  "...Okay, that sounded wrong."

He covered the gaffe by bringing her hand up for a kiss.  "The kind where I love you forever, and forgive you anything."

"Hmm," she said.  "I could use that."  And, suiting actions to words, she bent her head to his cock in the dying sunlight.

She was tentative, careful, gentle, as if this were the very first time she'd ever done this, as if she hadn't gone to him in total confidence only a few hours ago.  She laid butterfly kisses up and down the side of his shaft, and then the top, taking her time, bestowing each kiss like a sacrament.  She was paying attention to his reactions too: he saw her eyebrows jump whenever he shivered or gave an exhalation.  She was finding the places that were most sensitive on him, the places that most made him twitch.  And then, finally, she took him into her mouth, letting him rest on her quivering tongue.

Then she looked up.  "What do I do now?"

He caressed her cheek.  "It's okay.  We'll teach you that later.  That's good for now."

"Is that all?" she said.

"No, if you continued on, you could make me come."

"I could make you come with that?" she said, clearly excited.

"But that would slow the other things down," he said, "so, let's not.  Let's just..."  He drew her back up to sit beside her.  "Explore for now."

She gave him a dubious look.  "You don't want to come?"

Now it was his turn to give her a secret smile.  "Not until we're actually doing it."

Her eyebrows went up, as if considering the idea.

"Well," she said.  "If you want to actually do it.  I'm pretty much ready right now."

Now it was his eyebrows' turn to skyrocket.  "Really."

From forward to shy on the turn of a dime; he hadn't realized he'd married such a thespian.  "I didn't realize that... that being so close to you would be so... stimulating."

"So, you like what we're doing?" he said with a smile.

In answer, she took his hand and, as if it were the most normal thing in the world, led it down between her legs.  He felt warmth, and wetness, and pubic hair already slick.

His eyes were wide.  Hers were solemn.  He wasn't sure which to be more surprised about: that she was so aroused, or that she wasn't wearing underwear.

Without a word he moved up to kiss her, this time letting his passion flow.  She responded in kind, her tongue reaching out to his, her arms snaking around him.  Using his body he leaned her back onto the bed, easing her down until she lay beneath him, flat on her back, he looming above her, the skirt of her dress bunched up to her waist in front as his hand held firm below amidst her delicate folds, attending to her secrets, tasting her warmth.  He felt crinkled hair beneath the heel of his hand, felt warm soft flesh around his fingers; he found the little bud that was the center of her pleasure, erect and seeking against between his fingers, and applied minute pressure.  The results were gratifying: a moan, a sigh, a shudder; her arms tightening around him.  She had been right; she was ready.  But he wasn't just going to settle for ready; he wanted her wanting.

Bending his head to her breasts, he continued his ministrations.  He drew her nipple, first one and then the other, into his mouth, switching back and forth, sucking on each one and swirling his tongue over and around its spongy surface.  Below, he used his hand to rub back and forth across her vulva, pressing up and in against her pubic bone, knowing the pressure would translate directly onto her clit.  Above her head he heard moans, sighs, those little breathless gasps that seemed both pleasure and pain; her body moved against his, lifting up off the bed in undulant waves, pushing up against his hand.

He took the ultimate step of allowing a finger to slip inside her, and then two.  She was pinioned on his hand now, while his fingers enjoyed the slick crevices of her inner passage.  Her texture inside was not entirely regular; there were ridges, almost imperceptible, and other patches of roughness.  And there were muscles, that clenched down on him almost involuntarily as his palm made contact with her clit.  When he felt that, he knew it was time.

With his other hand he led her further down into the center of the bed.  Her eyes showed confusion, but when he moved to mount her, she understood, and reached for his manhood to guide him into place.  Floundering in the middle of the bed amidst sheets and skirts, at ninety degrees to how they normally oriented, it took a little bit of adjusting before they had everything in place, but shortly he was above her, nestled between her legs, her hand leading him in by the shaft.

He looked at her.  "Last chance to back out."

"No way," she said.  "Baby, you're not the only one who's been looking forward to this."  And she reached up to kiss him.  "So do it.  Make me your wife.  Make me yours."

He could feel himself stiffen just thinking about it.  He was fairly sure she could too.

So he brought his head down to kiss her, and let his hips begin to move in.  He took it slowly, so that she would have time to position him, and soon enough he was poised at her entrance, feeling her pussy lips brushing his head.  Without breaking their kiss, he began to push in; there was a moment of slight resistance, and then, with a gasp from her, suddenly he was through, sliding into her depths, opening her up from the inside.  He marveled at the synchronicity of it: he could tell that they had simply gotten the angle wrong, but in the meantime it was almost as if he had taken her virginity.  Again.  ...For the first time, come to think of it: she hadn't had a hymen; their actual first time hadn't involved any obstruction.

And then conscious thought was a thing of the past, as he lost himself in the bliss of her body.  She was wet and willing; her legs came up to cross over his back, her arms hooking behind his shoulders.  Her breasts were warm and full beneath his chest; she moaned her acceptance into his mouth.  Slowly he plumbed her depths, feeling every ridge and bump, feeling the slickness of her walls caressing his length, feeling her unfold beneath him, until finally he had no more to give.  He opened eyes then that he could not remember closing, and saw the open-mouthed, slightly dazed look on her face, and knew that it was just as good for her as it was to him.

As though by some perfect consensus, they began to move together.  In and out; back and forth; up and down: they moved in a timeless rhythm that required no teaching.  At each withdrawal she ached for his return; each thrust, each perfect gratifying thrust, made her moan with pleasure.  Her body seemed on fire, alit from within with need and lust; she could no more have resisted it than heartbeat, or breath.  To her inflamed mind his erection within her seemed enormous, titanic; she felt as though her whole body were hollowed, emptied, reduced to a receptacle for his manhood within her.  And at the same time she felt the clenching tightness of her loins, the need, the pressure there; in that heat and tightness she felt every ridge of his cock within her, every inch of it pressing into her, opening her up from within.  As he moved into her, she used her legs for leverage, pressing her pussy up to him, wanting to get him in as deep as possible.  She wanted him.  She wanted everything.

It was good; no, it was more than that: it was heavenly.  And she wanted it to last forever.  But its end had its own advantages too.  Though she was playing the role of the innocent virgin, she had hardly forgotten what she'd learned over the last week; she knew when his climax began to overcome him.  And, when he seemed liable to break off and say something—silly man, so obsessed with politeness!—she dragged him down to her and kissed him, cutting him off before he could begin.  She wanted to give him everything, and she would not let him prevent that.

And so it was that he gasped against her mouth, and stiffened, and she felt the coiling tension between her thighs break loose; and then he was moaning, gasping out his pleasure, and she felt his buttocks contract as he pushed deep inside her and let loose his seed.  She could feel his shaft twitching with every spurt, each twitch in time with his moans of pleasure; she could feel his body shudder above her, caught in its ecstatic release.  And then it was over and he subsided down onto her, his arms trembling, his breathing harsh, and she opened her eyes and saw the open-mouthed, slightly dazed look on his face, and knew that it was just as good for him as it was to her.

She allowed herself one smile of triumph before slipping back into her wide-eyed role.  "Wow, that was...  I didn't realize it would be like that."

"Was it...  Was it uncomfortable?"

"No, it was..."  She let a look of teary astonishment cross her face—not hard, really.  "It was really good.  I didn't...  I didn't think it would be that...  Good."  Was this acting?  She wasn't sure.  After all, she wasn't making any of this up; she loved feeling him cum inside her.  The only difference was that she was saying out loud what she would normally keep to herself.

He managed a bit of a laugh.  "It was pretty good for me too."

"I'm glad."  She hugged him tight, letting her voice break.  "I'm glad.  That's what's important."

They seemed to realize simultaneously that, despite all, they had not managed to get her out of her wedding dress.  The pearls were digging into his stomach, and there was uncomfortable bunching under her back.  Laughing, they divested her of the thing, noting with amusement the wet spot they had created, and then fell back into bed together.

"I'm glad we did this," she said.  "It was the perfect way to start our marriage.  God, imagine if it hadn't worked."

He wasn't entirely sure if she was still in her role-playing virgin mode, so he limited himself to a non-committal, "Well, it did, so we don't have to worry."

"Yeah.  I mean, how lame would that be, if I wasn't able to please you."

"That will never happen," he said seriously.

"It almost did," she said, her voice bleak.

"No, it never did," he said.  "Even when you weren't sure if you could go through with things, you were still serious about being a good lover.  Heck, even when you were sure we couldn't go through with things—when we were dating—you were serious about being a good lover.  You wanted to do a good job.  And that's what matters.  Even if things had gone catastrophically wrong, you would've found a way."

She buried herself in his arms and chest.  "I'm glad I have someone who has such faith in me."

She felt his lips brush the top of her head.  "Not faith.  Faith implies something you can't prove.  I believe in you, Amanda."

She kissed his chest.  "I love you."

Tomorrow their flight would leave, and they would have to depart this carefree tropical paradise and get back to real life.  There was a lot of moving to do—they both needed to pack and move out—and then presents to store, thank-you cards to write, jobs to hold down, money to earn, bills to pay, food to cook, oil to change...  So many mundane things that they had been able to put away from themselves for just this one week.  Tomorrow it would end.  But she knew that, whatever storms she might have to weather, she could survive it.  So long as she had him beside her: his sheltering arms, the touch of his laughter, his broad shoulders; the gentleness of his hands on her breasts, the sweet warmth of his cum inside her.  Her husband.  So long as they were together, she could not be touched.

"I can do anything now," she whispered to him.  "With you along, I can even conquer myself."

A wry shake of laughter: "So, I guess you don't want me to leave?"

She shuddered at the thought.  "No."

"Well, good.  Because I'm not going anywhere."  He kissed the top of her head again.  "I love you."

She smiled against his chest.  "That makes two of us."