David Blake swatted at the alarm and growled. Then he woke sufficiently to remember that this was the day. He was marrying Jen this afternoon. He shaved carefully, sang the entirety of "As Man and Woman, We Were Made" in the shower, and breakfasted in his underwear. He dressed carefully, got the tux out of the closet and the corsage out of the refrigerator, and was ready to leave in plenty of time. The plane from Newark wasn't so prompt, so he cooled his heels at O'Hare for nearly an hour.

Mom had stayed with Deborah and they all flew out together. Deb, her husband Keith and son Stephen along with Mom. Stephen ran to him, was picked up and hugged. Then he shook hands with Keith hugged Deb, hugged Mom. He led them off to baggage claim still carrying Stephen.

"He can walk by himself, you know," Deb said.

"When he wants me to, I'll put him down." And Stephen, who had been confined in a taxi and then an airplane for far too long, soon wanted him to. At baggage claim, they stood a way off from the others.

"Ask your dad how many bags they have, including Gramaw's." Stephen ran off and came back to report that there were four. "What color is the first one?" Again the run.

"Red with a yellow marking tape." Keith was looking at him weirdly. Since the luggage carousel was empty, that didn't matter right then. By the time that Stephen had reported that the second bag was grey, but that marking tape was still yellow, Keith was grinning. Smart guy, which made his marriage to Deb even harder to understand. Three round trips were enough to wear off Stephen's edge, so they stood watching until Keith and Deborah had all 4 bags. Dave took 2 of the bags and led them to his car. Keith sat in front with him, and Stephen crowded into the back seat with the women.

"We have just about enough time," David said.

"When is the wedding?" Mom asked.

"Officially, 1:00. Depends on the DS, though. He's visiting another church at some distance first. We need to hear Jen preach at 11:00."

"Well," said Deb, "it will be her last chance to say anything without your interrupting."

"You think she's going to stop preaching?"

"She's getting married."

"Which isn't retirement. She's up for a vacation, which will also be our honeymoon. Then she's back in the same pulpit for another year. I'll be commuting to Garrett, which is closer to O'Hare than this church is -- although it's a longer drive time in rush hour. We hope that she gets a church closer to Evanston after this year. Wait 'til you hear her."

Mom, who could hear an argument starting, asked about the countryside that she could see almost as well as he could. Her eyesight was worse, but his attention needed to be on the road.

At the church, a woman helped him get the corsage in the refrigerator. Weird! Jen was supposed to wear it, not eat it. But that was his directions from the florist. Then they all filed into a back pew. A couple he recognized moved out to give them room to sit together. Jen's sermon, if not great, was thoroughly prepared. She didn't sound nervous. He gave Keith the keys to his car and an introduction to a local who steered him to a burger joint. Stephen couldn't be expected to put off lunch until after the wedding. David took his tux to the men's room and dressed. He stood on the back stairs until Reverend Campbell -- Jen's DS and the man who would perform the wedding -- showed up. Well that was one less worry. Not that he'd expected a glitch.

"Sneaking away?"

"Jen's in the office, wearing what I'm not supposed to see until she enters the sanctuary. This church ain't exactly the Temple. I'm as close as I can get and still be out of sight." Then he saw that his answering the gibe seriously showed his nervousness. His smile got a huge grin in return. Well, of all that a DS had to deal with among his clergy, weddings were probably the least worrisome things. "I've probably been in a score of weddings. This is the role to make you nervous."

"A score. And did anything go wrong?" Campbell asked after looking in the kitchen to send word that he was there.

"Not really. A couple of brides nearly walked off. Neither one was the one who should have. A soloist didn't show, sending the bride's mother into conniption fits, but hardly marring the service. You think I shouldn't worry about this one?"

"Especially since you're the soloist. Do you have the license?"

"Right here." He showed it.

"And the rings?"

"Hers. I sent mine in to her."

"There will be a wedding. You don't have the reputation of caring all that much about the peripherals."

"I find that the likelihood of disaster has little influence on one's state of worrying about a disaster."

"Ain't that the truth?"

And the ceremony went off without a hitch. Jen was stunning in her white gown, but Jen had been stunning in sweatshirt and Jeans. At the reception, he met Jen's grandmother, her younger sister, and the sister's fiance. Jen met his family. Keith took the family back to O'Hare in David's car, with a promise to mail to the honeymoon hotel the description of where he'd leave it at long-term parking. They changed back into traveling clothes.

Then they exited the church to a shower of rice. Everything had been done; everything had been said. But people weren't ready to go. There were more and more photos, more and more platitudes. Kids who had been brought by their parents instead of paying a babysitter, were running around -- more fun than watching three people make long ritual speeches. Then too, the reception had been long on sugar.

One of the running kids fell down right at his feet. He began to howl. David picked him up and sang the falling-down song to him. The kid quieted down, and his mother retrieved him.

Joe Englehard, chair of Jen's staff-parish committee, drove him and Jen to O'Hare in plenty of time. Then they were on the plane together. There was a lot he wanted to do with Jen, but he couldn't think of anything he wanted to do with her before an audience. She, however, had a question.

"Where did you get that song?" Um, she'd seen it when he'd suggested it. Must mean the publisher.

"Wren has a publisher. I can't remember the name at the moment, but the license was quite reasonable."

"No. The one you sang to the kid. The falling down one." Okay. Entirely different song.

"The Ecumenical Institute is a lay-training group on the west side of Chicago. I learned about it when I was still in New York. Strange that a Chicagoan hasn't heard of it." Which was really context, not an answer. But he wasn't sure how much of a context she had.

"And they taught you that song? That's lay training?" Well, that told you how little she knew about E I.

"Well, the boy wasn't ordained, was he? Anyway, they have a live-in staff, they call it an order. An order of married couples. An original idea, though you could claim that William Booth had it first. Anyway, I digress." Ask David Blake whether the bus had gone by, and you'd get a discourse on the internal-combustion engine. Still, he wasn't sure yet what parts she needed to know.

"E I, as it is called, has families. And they make up songs to express their theology just as Charles Wesley made up songs to express his. Or to express John's. So, they make up some songs, at least that song, I can't think of any others right now. They make up some songs to express their point of view to their children. Notice that the kid stopped crying." Which is why he'd adopted the song.

"Stephen seemed to disapprove." He did. And why was Keith hanging around that late anyway? Well, they weren't at the airport when he and Jen got there; they must have caught their flight.

"Stephen has heard that song before. He stops crying, though. He knows that he'll hear the song again if he doesn't."

"Seems to me that crying after you fall down is what you'd expect from that age." That was worrisome. They would, presumably, be parents some day. Not right away, but some day. Bystanders could say: "Johnny is young enough; his crying is natural," and "Timmy is older: he shouldn't be crying." Parents had to bring the child from one stage to the other. It was something you learned, just like spelling. But, unlike spelling, schoolteachers wouldn't do the job if the parents didn't.

"Oh, it is. And the song doesn't say to stop crying. The song merely suggests a new context. The reason toddlers are built so close to the ground is so they don't (usually) get hurt too bad when they fall down." You fall; you cry; you get up and go on. Sooner or later, you learn that the second stage isn't necessary. He hadn't really cried when he'd learned he didn't make a good pastor, but he would have been much better if he'd had the 'going on' stage firmly in mind. Well, they were discussing E I. Maybe he could drop a hint.

"You should take one of their courses." She'd either love it or hate it.

"I'm not quite a layman." A little too much self-depreciation mixed in with the resistance.

"They teach courses for clergy, too. And courses either clergy or laity can take. I took courses from them while I was at the D School." As he'd taken them when he was studying for a PhD, he wasn't belittling her in suggesting that she take some. "Look, I don't have any of the materials with me. Just keep an open mind; that's all I ask." And she looked like she would. But she was off chasing the negativity.

"I know you don't think I'm very well educated...."

"Compared to what? You have a second degree; high school is about average for the country. If I don't think you know enough to quit learning, I don't think anybody does. I certainly don't."

"You know one hell of a lot." Couldn't she see that she, too, knew one hell of a lot. That wasn't the question. He didn't go around moping because she was prettier than he was.

"But not enough. The background for New Testament studies is daunting. You have to know the culture of the people who wrote the books. And most of them were split between two worlds, mebbe three or four. Saul was a man of the eastern Mediterranean Hellenist culture, but he was also a Jew. How did the Septuagint influence him? And there are things about Hellenist culture we don't really know. Rome had to have had some influence, and what were the peculiarities of Tarsus? We laugh about Jen's being a Chicagoan and David's being a New Yorker. But people are much more mobile today than they were in the first century, and Tarsus had its own laws and centuries of history. Certainly the Jewish heritage, of which we know a good deal, influenced Paul a lot. Anyway, I should know all of that. I should certainly be on top of what is widely known about that stuff. And I'm not."

"'Widely known' meaning maybe a dozen people know it?" Now she was defending him again. Couldn't she see that knowing wasn't something that reached 'enough.' Nobody knew enough, so she shouldn't beat herself over the head for not knowing enough.

"More than that. Thousands probably, maybe hundreds of thousands. Historians and classicists know a lot more about Hellenist culture than I do. And scholars of the Old Testament know more about the Jewish heritage than I do. Some of what they know is relevant to what I need to know. And just reading one book isn't going to help. Unless that book is the Septuagint."

"You read Greek."

"Not well enough. Which is what I've been saying about the rest of this." He thought of an example, although the name of the play escaped him. "Look, back when the Germans were occupying Paris, they had a regular censorship of the theater. A new play was submitted to the censor. These guys who read French, regularly read French plays, were fucking-well living in France, studied this play written in contemporary French. They passed it as irrelevant to the current scene. It was an adaptation of a tale from classical Greece. The play was put on, and it inflamed the audience with the spirit of resistance, just as the author had intended. Now, if those guys couldn't see the subtext of the play written in the language they shopped for groceries in, what chance do I have to see the subtext of a book written in a language which has been dead for more than a millennium?"

"And what chance do I have after having taken a few courses?" Well, yes. They were in the same boat.

"After having taken a few courses. And those were after sitting for years listening to preachers, who had only taken a few courses themselves, sermonize on that passage. And you had your formative years shaped by Sunday-school teachers who never took course one.

"You know, sometimes I think I'm a little hard on the feminists who reject Paul."

"Hey! I'm a feminist." Which wasn't the point.

"Assuming you would have chosen this career without being a feminist, and that's a big assumption, a few months of men calling up the church and asking when the pastor would be in would have made you one."

That drew a smile, but he went on.

"Anyway, I don't think you reject Paul. What happened was that generations of men told wives to be subject to their husbands as a strict commandment and that husbands should not be harsh with their wives as good advice, if that. So, when some women reject that interpretation, and reject it they should, they reject Paul along with it."

"So, you won't be harsh with me so long as I'm subject to you?"

"In the first place, that isn't what Paul said," he started off. "There ain't no conditions. I'm supposed to be loving towards you under all circumstances. Now, I'm human and you'll see my temper fairly often in the rest of our lives. But that isn't what the scripture says; that's sin dwelling within me. In the second place, it's not at all clear that you owe the same obedience as a Greek Christian wife in the first century did." Hadn't Jen taken his general course on Paul? She shouldn't have forgotten this. And she didn't look as if she was being reminded, either. But he was going full tilt. A gun in his face wouldn't have stopped him. He'd already rattled off, "When she got married, she undertook an obligation to obey. Becoming a Christian didn't mitigate that obligation. You, on the other hand..." He came to a dead stop while the situation slowly percolated through his brain. Jen was grinning at him. "...Are leading me on."

"Hey! I fell in love with my professor." Which was nice to hear, but more of this might make her fall out of love with the bore.

"Sorry. I'm a dump truck. Push the right button and I dump the whole load."

"That's fine. I asked, after all. Now, start giving tests and I'll complain real fast."

"Seems to me that you did fine when I gave tests." One of his better students, as well as the prettiest.

"Hmpf. Then why did I get a B as a final grade?" Because she learned a great deal, regurgitated it when asked, but didn't push it further. She almost never contributed in class. Her paper had shown the student she might have been. But he didn't want to be her professor; he wanted to be her lover and her husband.

When the conversation was clearly over, he held her hand. Much better than the conversation, much as he loved to talk. She was so accepting of being with him and his touch that she went to sleep. He wore that acceptance as a badge and kept her hand in his. He'd be beside her while she slept for the rest of her life, often holding something better than a hand. But, still, holding a hand was nice. He thought about his luck with Jen. It might be the only success he'd see.

She thought him extremely learned. He wasn't particularly. He was a good teacher, whatever many of his class thought. And he was conscious that a teacher who thought himself better than his students thought him was in serious danger of deluding himself. He certainly wasn't a great teacher.

He'd been a failure as a minister. He was able to give a good sermon, but hadn't inspired anyone he knew of to live a conspicuously Christian life -- as opposed to a conventionally moral life, which most of them had been doing when he showed up in town. And if that wasn't the test of a preacher, what was? He'd not been effective as a pastor, a counselor. He'd felt himself being ineffective some times; not many had come to him, and -- as his time in a particular pulpit went on -- the calls for this service had diminished. That seemed to him to be a judgement on his effectiveness, and one which agreed with his own judgement.

The story of Christianity was a story of movements. Which is why he wanted Jen to check out the Ecumenical Institute. That was a genuine movement, and a positive one. (There had been many negative, even demonic, movements in history.) Jen said that he was clear-headed, and he was. It was more a curse than a blessing. Between great movements forward, even during them, Christianity required pastors to keep the faithful relatively faithful. He wasn't equipped to lead a movement; he wasn't equipped to be a pastor. And he was clear-headed enough to see that he wasn't.

Well, enough of dark thoughts. He had his love's hand in his. And she was equipped to be a pastor. He would love her, and support her, and aid her with his clarity. Even he had a gift. He squeezed her hand lightly enough to be sure he wouldn't wake her.

Some time later, she squeezed his hand. This wasn't fondness, although he realized it was a form of trust. They were coming in for a landing, and she was nervous. The girl rode with him, even with him singing or talking, on a busy highway in perfect composure. When a trained pilot was landing a plane with clearance -- meaning no other pilots were in the way -- she got nervous. Well, nobody, even Jen with her perfect body and sweet disposition, was totally perfect.

"Look," he offered, "I'd planned for another flight. Do you want me to find a taxi which will take us the whole distance?"

"I'm fine."

"Seriously...."

"Seriously, I'm fine."

Well, there was nothing to do about this trip. Jen seemed to prefer flying to having her fear of flying pointed out. But he would see about later trips. Amtrak gave an entirely different view of the country.

The inn for their honeymoon was more-or-less as advertised. Jen looked pleased, which was more important. After dinner, they walked down to the beach. It was Jen's first view of the Atlantic, and a peaceful view. Back at the inn, he shaved and undressed. He wore the robe coming out; she'd seen him naked, but he didn't want to push intimacy on her.

Jen took a long time in the bathroom. Women tended to, at least Mom and Deb had. Still, he got anxious. This was the first entire night that they would have together, and he wanted it to begin. When she came out, she was wearing a white nightgown, a sexy one. He whistled.

"Naked?" she asked when she'd lifted the sheet. Not quite. He showed her his ring. She didn't look convinced, but she lay down and came to him for a kiss. They started chastely, mouths closed. When she opened her mouth, he let his hands rove over her. The nightgown didn't interfere with his touch. If anything, it added an excitement. This was his first time with Mrs. Jennifer Blake. He wasn't going to treat her as if he took the privilege of this access for granted.

When she removed her nightgown, he took that as invitation to enjoy all that skin. He took his time with her luscious breasts, kissing all the smoothness before he got to the nipples. As he stroked her thighs, he realized that he was rushing things. He didn't have to drive her home this night.

"I forgot. We have all night," He admitted. "Well, not all night but loads of time. We can sleep in in the morning." He went back to start over correctly. He began on her hand -- the one without the rings -- and kissed a line up her arm. He continued until he reached her breast. He kissed all of that, only holding the other one, until he got to her nipple.

As he sucked that nipple, he stroked her thighs. The beauty at the top of them was calling him. When he could no longer resist that call, he kissed across the valley between her breasts. He kissed and sucked that nipple while using his finger to cover her clit with her moisture. He didn't have that pleasure very long, though. She pulled his hand away. Had he been too rough? No. She spoke.

"You."

"Yes. Jennifer!" Then he was entering her sweet, moist, warmth. Her softness enfolded him. When she was clasping all of him, he adjusted his posture so that his weight was on his elbows and his hands were on her breasts. She wrapped her legs around him, so that even more of him was enclosed in her. "Oh, Jen." She was holding him in her arms, as well. "Oh, love." He moved through that warmth, that welcome, that love.

He was approaching his climax too rapidly, with the motion, the friction, the sensation of her in his hands and all around him. He tried to hold back. Just as he did, it was no longer necessary. The sweet girl was responding to him. "Oh Jen." He stroked through her rhythmic clasps more rapidly while his feelings peaked. He drove into her and erupted. "Oh, Jennifer!" They were pressed against each other for a moment.

Then he collapsed onto her softness. Then he moved off her, and out of her. He lay on his side holding her, and she moved back into the spoon position. He hugged her to him. He had to go to the john once during the night, but she was still in a position that allowed him to renew the hug when he returned.

He woke with a naked Jen beside him, the finest situation he'd ever woken up to. Soon, though, he had to relieve himself. Then, too, he shouldn't try to kiss her until he'd shaved again. He got into the shower. It was a splendid day, with no task before him but pleasing his new wife, and that was much more self-indulgence than chore. He burst into song. Until he heard the bathroom door open, he didn't remember that his singing was more than self-expression. He might have awakened her.

"Sorry," he said. Marriage was more than constant pleasure -- even on a honeymoon. It was another person to consider, and he'd neither experience nor talent for considering others.

"Sing it through." Well, his talent for singing was better than his talent for considering others. He sang it all through. He stopped soaping to concentrate on the song. Jen flushed right after he finished the song. He finished his wash and rinse. He shaved and then returned to the room with a towel wrapped around him to hide the incipient erection. She might be amenable, but he didn't want to look demanding, especially when he'd shown he wasn't thinking about her.

"Sorry. I felt happy and I've got into the habit of singing in the shower when I'm happy. I'll have to remember that I'm not alone anymore."

"And you'll have to remember that I like your singing. I asked for your singing." That was a sweet response. She was lying in bed, and he came over to her.

"You're sweet." And her kiss was sweeter than her words. He lay down beside her and began to caress her. She broke away when he got serious, though.

"I need to make my preparations and wash," she said. She went into the bathroom. He heard the shower running. Waste of water, he intended to get her dirty again. She came out wearing her robe, but dropped it to climb into bed with him. They kissed.

"Good morning. A much better morning than the ones after I had to drive back from seeing you." And, kissing him and welcoming his caresses, she was making it an even better morning.

"You didn't like visiting me?" But she was smiling. If she wanted more explicit compliments, he enjoyed complimenting her. For that matter, he liked to talk and this was a subject matter that was unlikely to bore her soon.

"I didn't like leaving you. I like sleeping next to you all night. I like having you in bed with me in the morning." And he liked petting her when they both were awake with empty bladders.

"And I like being in bed with you in the morning, too. And I like hearing you sing in the shower. Do you think I could talk the trustees into putting a shower into the Independence parsonage?"

"You can ask. Maybe you shouldn't tell them the reason." Although they might think that reason romantic rather than erotic. She'd educated them to see that a minister could be a woman. Leave breaking it to them that a minister could be erotic to a later preacher. Anyway, one of her parishoners knew that she was quite erotic, and he was tasting all the skin he could in this position -- well not all, but all he could while resisting the greater temptation of the nipple.

While his mouth was moving slowly towards its goal, his hand was savoring a great deal of the rest. When he brushed over her thighs, the dear girl spread her legs to give him even better access. He could have reached her center, but he teased himself -- and, he hoped, her -- by keeping to the smooth, white, thighs as long as he could.

"David." So, he had been teasing her. He stroked over her lips, parted them to reach the inner ones, finally parted those to reach her moisture. When he stroked that up to her clitoris, she sucked in a breath audibly. By then, he was on her other nipple, sucking it to firm, quivering, responsiveness.

But there was a lot he hadn't kissed. He started down her breast and across her belly. When the path led under the sheet, he pulled it off and got between her legs. He kissed the inside of one thigh and then the other, every change of thighs bringing him closer to the goal and further into range of her aroma of arousal.

She clutched his hair in both hands and moved his head to her groin. He licked and kissed those lips, parting them with his tongue. Each lick started low, and went higher. Each lick ended higher than the previous one. Then his tongue touched her clit. He rested it there for a second, then went back down her slit. He alternated licking her lips and just touching her clit while her belly grew firmer and firmer under his hand. Then, she went over with a shout.

"David!" She jerked under his mouth. He could do little more than hold on as she writhed, but he sucked when he could. When she grew still, he kissed her mound and moved back to lay down beside her. He put his arm across her and clasped her shoulder. That shouldn't be sensitive. He blew into her ear once, but she shivered.

Her first voluntary move was to put her hand over the one he had on her shoulder.

"Jen. Jennifer Blake."

"That's my name." Which was why it was such fun to say.

"The Reverend Mrs. Jennifer Blake," to be precise. He kissed her mouth. She responded, and he petted her. His tongue touched hers, and he tasted her sweetness. When his tongue pulled back, hers entered his mouth. He sucked it gently before kissing a trail down her face and neck to her lovely breasts. This time, he go to a nipple fairly fast and then simply jumped to the other. Since he didn't know how much his previous sucking had irritated them, he kept to licking.

Then he moved between her legs and went back for another kiss on the mouth. Her tongue still tasted sweet. Her lovely, responsive, nipples were pressing against his chest. From this position, the breasts were more comfortable to kiss. He gave both smoothnesses their due before licking the nipples again. He needed her warmth. This time, he'd only get her ready with his tongue. When he started there, though, she spoke.

"Now, David." He agreed completely. She was pulling at his torso. He smiled at her as he complied. He spread her lips with his fingers, and placed himself in her entrance. "Yes."

"Yes!" His tip slipped between her slippery lips. She clasped his head as it entered there. Then she was caressing his shaft while his head drove deeper into her. Totally encased in her welcome, he paused to look in her eyes and smile. Then he let his desire move him through that warm clasp.

Her welcome wasn't only there. She stroked her hand all down his torso. She held his bottom, pulling him against her. She met his strokes with her own. Then, hers were ahead of his. He tried to keep moving slowly, but he wasn't sure he could.

"Oh," she said, but she didn't climax then.

"Yes, Jen, Yes, love." Come soon, darling, or I'll come without you. But he didn't. Her body writhed under him just before she clutched around him. Now, he could let himself go. But, now he wasn't holding back, the orgasm was a little beyond him. He stroked through her clutches and then through the smoother, but still warm and welcoming, tunnel as she relaxed. Then, it came. He drove into her and pumped what felt like gallons into her.

He managed to move onto his side before sleep took him far away. He woke alone, but hear the shower running. He could have told her that the first shower was a waste of water. When she came back, she started unpacking. He needed a second shower, too. She was nearly dressed before he was out. He scrambled back into his clothes, and they went down to lunch.

Their after-lunch ramble was inland. He held her hand, sometimes switching hands when they changed directions. There had been all that time in school and in front of her congregation when he'd wanted to touch Jen and couldn't. Now, they were honeymooners. Anybody who knew them, and few did, only knew them as newlyweds. Holding hands was perfectly appropriate; kissing was perfectly appropriate. Going further was for privacy, but it was perfectly appropriate, too. It would be the observers, if any, who would be breaking the social contract. They finally wandered back to the inn.

"Swim?" he asked her.

"Has it been an hour? I really need to finish unpacking." He could unpack, too. And they might get in a little innocent necking. It was too soon after the last for him to do anything serious.

"That first, then." Jen shouldn't have any 'shoulds' nagging at her. She'd have enough of them back in Independence. A pastor's duties are never done; they are, at best, prioritized. "I don't think we need to hurry. The Atlantic isn't going to leave if we're late."

But, whatever his resolutions about clearing her mind of nagging duties undone, he stopped her for a kiss. Then, he suggested the sensible division of the drawer space. It would have been sensible for the closet space, too, but there was only one closet. when he'd filled his side, there was plenty of space for Jen.

She went into the bathroom to change into her swim suit while he put on his suit and a T-shirt and shorts for the trip to the beach. Either she had some residual modesty or she wanted to make a production of the suit. If the latter, it was worth it. She came out modeling a sexy bikini. He whistled, and it was well worth a whistle. She spun slowly so he could see it all, then covered up with a beach robe. He left his glasses in the room. He didn't have another pair if these got scratched or broken.

Jen looked comfortable in the ocean. He'd worried, especially after she exhibited the phobia about plane travel. He left her and took a swim. He'd enjoyed the lake, had even enjoyed pools when he used them, but something about the ocean made swimming more fun. He went north keeping just in sight of land. When he came back, she was at the towel.

"Ready to leave?"

"Just about," she said. "I've developed some itches."

"Salt water. Give me a few minutes in the sun." He got into his non-beach clothes, and she put her robe on. They both stepped into their flip-flops, and he picked up the towel. He held her left hand for the entire trip back; he was carrying the towel in his left hand.

In the room, he helped her out of the robe and bikini. Proper removal of a bikini top required the smoothing of his hand between the cup and the flesh so it didn't come off shockingly fast. When she turned around, he scratched her back from far enough away that he could ogle her bottom at the same time. He remembered his rare glimpses of her clothed bottom back in Garrett. Those had been nice, but unconfined was even better. They had separate showers -- his third for the day although he scrupulously avoided soap this time.

"Walk before dinner?"

"Sunblock before walk?" she replied. "Although it seems the wrong time." Well, she probably should. He still considered sunburns something you either avoided by proper moderation or suffered through. On the other hand, he didn't want to suffer -- let alone have Jen suffer -- a sunburn on their honeymoon.

"Well it would come off in swimming, anyway. And it's cheaper to cover less skin."

"Maybe that's why so many of them didn't go swimming."

"Maybe." He thought that many the women came to the beach to be seen in their suits. Why some of the men were on the beach but not in the water, he couldn't say. They'd have looked better totally underwater. Maybe they were afraid that the Atlantic would overflow if they all went in at once. More likely, they were there to look at the women.

They sat on a park bench, in the shade despite the sunblock.

"Enjoy your swim?" he asked her.

"Very much, but I don't think I floated any higher."

"Somehow, swimming in fresh water takes more energy. Some of it is to stay on the surface. I can't just float."

"I float in fresh water." Of course, she had all those luscious curves, some of which were buoyant. And he'd heard somewhere that a woman's vagina held enough air to help her float -- even the uterus did. So, the parts he loved best might keep her afloat. They talked about swimming, then about other things. He was getting hungry, but he'd had plenty of exercise today. Jen hadn't done all that much swimming, and -- although she'd participated in the more pleasant exercise -- she hadn't moved so much; she might not have burned as many calories as he had. But if had been an early lunch after no breakfast. He glanced at his watch.

"Hungry?"

"Now I think about it."

"We don't have to go back to the inn's dining room. Feel like fish?"

"That's what you should have asked this afternoon. But I wouldn't mind eating some." That earned her a groan. He kissed his favorite punster, and they went in search of a restaurant. Jen ate with a healthy appetite. He liked that about her -- she lived in her body, not 'just visiting' like some women who thought that spiritual. Of course, he suddenly realized, he sometimes was just visiting when he lived in her body. But that was when he lived most vividly.

Dragging his mind out of the gutter, he asked about her food preferences.

"You've introduced me to a lot of diversity. I like that."

"And I like to watch you eat. You enjoy things."

"Are you telling me that you want me fatter, because I think I gain weight around you. That was all very well when it was a sometimes thing. It might not be for a marriage."

"Well, for a marriage we won't always be eating out. If you want to limit things, we'll do so. I'm a survival cook. I can keep myself alive in the kitchen. You've eaten a third of the recipes that I can serve to company. Maybe I'll cook some nights, and you can diet easily since what I prepare won't tempt you."

"I don't think you're that bad."

"As I said, you've eaten one of the dishes I can serve company. But it isn't getting you fat I like about your eating. It's that you treat your body as though you like it. And, since I like your body, I'm glad that you do, too. Maybe you can compensate for more caloric intake by establishing a rigorous exercise program after bedtime."

"David!" She blushed -- quite prettily. She then looked around. He didn't bother. Kids who knew they were going to be tested on the subject matter often didn't listen to what he was saying; he never expected strangers to do so.

They held hands back to the inn. This was a nice habit. He doubted that they could maintain it in Independence.

"I like holding your hand," she said in the room. Maybe they could maintain the habit.

"I like holding yours, too. Even if it is mostly euphemistic."

"Euphemistic?"

"Well." He turned her to put a hand on each breast. "If we walked like this, you might not like the attention you got from passers by."

"To say nothing of stepping on your toes." She was laughing. He kissed what he could reach of her from that position. Then he took off her blouse and bra. He kept kissing her while he figured how to remove her jeans. She was still laughing at him, but she pushed the jeans and even her panties down when he finally found the zipper. He petted her, reaching her mound and even her legs. That however, required that he bend over -- which removed much of his front from her back.

"This would be easier in bed."

"From this state," she replied, "you have to help." She had the jeans down to far too walk. He could have carried her to bed -- cave-man image, but he knelt in front of her to remove her shoes, jeans, and panties. Then, since he was right there anyway, he kissed her mound and sniffed the aroma which said that she was interested. When he let her go, she went to bed. He took off his own clothes and joined her there.

They had a nice hug and a kiss that didn't need any bending over. But she started back up.

"I have to make my preparations." But he'd had some ideas.

"I was thinking."

"About?"

"We're started on a new life together. How about trying an experiment?" Allowing her to raise the objection of 'unromantic' before he suggested the actual experiment. But he wanted to know how many orgasms she was capable of.

"What sort of an experiment?"

"Well, we know you can have more than one orgasm in a single session. What we don't know is how many. Now, once I get my jollies, that's the end. I know that; you should have seen that. So...."

"So?" Get explicit, Blake.

"So, we don't have any obligations in the morning. We don't really have any obligations in the afternoon. So, tonight, why don't we see how many orgasms you can reach...? Reach orally?" And, in doing that, he'd get repeated views -- views, feels, sounds, even smells -- of the most beautiful woman in the world in her most beautiful state.

"You really want to do that?" He shouldn't have described it as a clinical experiment. Too late now.

"Oh yes!"

"Let me make my preparations, anyway. Just in case." Which sounded favorable. And a good idea; he didn't trust himself through this experiment.

"And then experiment?" He wanted to nail this agreement down.

"And then experiment." She sounded interested as well as willing.

He watched her walk away, appreciating the flex of her butt cheeks. She came out in her nightgown. Well, it was a sexy nightgown. Besides, taking it off was part of sex play. Besides, he needed to make his own preparations, too. He wanted to neither scratch her with his whiskers nor leave her in the middle to empty his bladder.

Probably petting in the middle of this would be inappropriate. So, when he came back to her, he started an elaborate petting session. Besides, the closer she was to orgasm before he got to her clitoris, the more stimulation the clitoris could take later. They kissed, and he petted her through the nightgown. When he figured that both of them found the nightgown an impediment, he helped her remove it. The kisses then only began on her lips. He kissed down to her breast and stroked down to her mound. He even stroked the labia majora. This was too soon to get to the labia minora, though.

When he'd kissed down her torso nearly to her mound, he got between her legs. She raised her knees. He began his kisses on her breasts, and kissed a different path down her abdomen. All the time, he was still stroking her mound and labia with his fingers. The second path of kisses ended at her mound. Then he moved to her legs. As her knees were conveniently raised, he could start above the knee and lick from there nearly to her loins. He did this first to his right and then to his left.

Jen was tense, and it looked like the right sort of tension. Yes. When he licked her labia, she was flowing. He alternated licks on her labia and her clitoris while her torso went rigid. Then she writhed under his mouth.

As soon as she relaxed, he thrust two fingers into her. They felt for her G-spot. He let her clit alone but rubbed directly over that little bump. When her tension seemed at another peak, he resumed licking her clit. He was rewarded with her clutching around his fingers. He sucked gently on her clitoris to continue the orgasm.

When she was no longer gripping his fingers, he rubbed her G-spot again. But he stopped moving his fingers and went back to licking her labia and clit when her legs squeezed his head. He added G-spot stimulation when he thought it would bring her over. It did. She contracted around his fingers again and gasped his name while he sucked her clitoris. This climax seemed to last longer than the previous ones had.

"Yes, Jen," he said when she'd relaxed. He wriggled his fingers to stimulate her G-spot again. "Yes, dearest." She had three more orgasms around his fingers, although they seemed to weaken from that last peak. Then she pulled him away by his hair.

No means no, even in marriage, and that seemed a fairly definite no. He pulled out his fingers and got out from between her legs. She curled into the fetal position. He lay beside her waiting for her to straighten. She'd had six orgasms, and the third had seemed the most intense, physically. That told them something. Between inhaling the odor of her arousal for what seemed like an hour and having had her writhing under his mouth, he was intensely aroused. It would have been great to have participated in her third orgasm. That was for him. Maybe she would enjoy six of an evening more. They could, of course, alternate between what pleased her most and what pleased him most. It wasn't as if she'd ever refused him. She might just now, she might even be said to be doing so just now, but that wasn't denying him. That was having had enough sex just then.

And, after all, whatever her solitary habits had been -- and he wasn't going to ask in expectation that she would accord him reciprocal reticence -- they probably didn't extend to multiples. A period of extended exercise could quite possibly improve the tone of certain muscles. Six might be her current limit. That didn't prove that it would be her limit next year. If so, he had better get his tongue in shape. He wouldn't fool himself that his phallus could handle that.

Jen relaxed in sleep. He cuddled his love in the best approximation of the spoon position that her posture allowed.

When he awoke the next morning, she was sleeping nearly straight. He cuddled her until his bladder drove him into the bathroom. This looked like a good day, a much better day than any before his marriage, even better than the day before. He sang in the shower, and Jen came in while he was singing. If she made a habit of that in Independence, the flush might cause problems. He didn't know about the water supply, but it couldn't be generous; nothing about the parsonage besides the space was. Well, worry about that when they put in a shower.

Jen was back asleep when he returned to the outer room. Well, she probably needed her sleep. A pastor had demands 24 hours a day, and he already knew that Jen was conscientious, maybe too conscientious. Not to mention that her fiance had been demanding her time as well. The drives, at least, would be fewer after this. He'd sit and watch her sleep, but he wished he had a book to read. He'd brought a Bible, but this wasn't the time to study. He did think about the expansion of his book, though. It had started out as being about Paul's teachings on marriage. Then, undergoing pre-marital counseling, he'd realized that the church's teaching on marriage wasn't quite Paul's. And he'd had enough counseling courses himself to know that this wasn't a peculiarity of Campbell's. He'd written one short paper on an entirely different subject to keep his hand in, but he'd put most of his time in reading several current books on Christian marriage -- by that time he'd been more of a scholar doing comparisons than a future bridegroom learning the rules. Now, he was going back through history. He didn't want to spend the rest of his life writing his next book, and it was already looking longer than his publisher would be willing to print. On the other hand, he was unable to abandon an intellectual problem. He wasn't even sure he wanted to be the sort of person who could.

But Jen was stirring. Even covered by sheet and nightgown, the sight was arousing.

"What time is it?" He glanced at his watch.

"Quarter to ten." She headed into the bathroom, and came out -- considerably later -- dressed. So much for his chance to get in a little morning love.

"Breakfast?" She asked. He offered her his arm and took her downstairs. They were still serving breakfast, but the waitress gave them a coy look. So they were on their honeymoon, that didn't mean that they had spent the morning having intercourse, as she obviously believed. Then he smiled. Well, it hadn't been his decision that they hadn't. And they had spent the previous morning having intercourse. And last night hadn't exactly been spent in political discussion. Let her think what she wanted.

Jen had a good meal and a second cup of coffee. she didn't look fresh as a daisy afterwards, though. Well, this was a vacation -- a beach vacation.

"Beach?"

"Okay," she agreed, "but let's take the sunblock." She changed in the bathroom while he changed in the room. Sunblock was a great idea, as he got to apply it to Jen. Even though all his favorite places to rub were covered, this was great fun. She turned face down and went to sleep soon afterwards. He'd thought enough without paper in front of him that day. He didn't want to go in swimming for the next hour; for that matter, he didn't want to go in when Jen couldn't know where he was. He should have brought a book. He spent a little time appreciating Jen's curves. Even the small of her back was sexy. As to her hips overflowing that small bikini bottom... He soon turned partly over to hide his erection. He relaxed down on the towel and gazed at her face. He might even have dozed a bit. He was alert, though, when she first stirred. It had been a good deal more than an hour.

"Want to go swimming now?"

"Do they have ladies' rooms here?"

"On the beach?" It seemed a strange idea. For that matter, people less ladylike than Jen would go out in the ocean a little and pull their suit bottoms aside.

"Let's go back to the inn." On their way, he noticed a drug store with a PB rack. When he'd let Jen into the room -- her suit didn't have any place to store a keycard -- he went down and bought a Tom Clancy. It looked like the sort of book that would keep his eyes busy without taxing his mind. She was in blouse and slacks when he got back; they weren't going back to the beach. He held up the novel.

"I figured that this would do for beach reading."

"Did I abandon you?" she asked.

"Not in the least. You were right there, and dressed quite revealingly. I ogled."

"Still, I should have stayed awake." The girl had too many 'shoulds' in her life already. He didn't want to be another, and -- if he were to be one -- there were things he wanted more than her staying awake.

"Why? This is our honeymoon, but it's also your vacation. If you need to sleep, then sleep." But he had another thought. "It's just that sleeping on the beach might lead some people to ask themselves what you'd been doing in bed that you hadn't gotten enough sleep there."

"Oh you! Can't you keep your mind out of the gutter." Well, since she put it that way, no.

"My mind was not on a gutter. You might call it a valley or a groove, but not a gutter."

"Do you want to go out to lunch?" Point for his side. She'd changed the subject.

"Sure. But are you ready for lunch yet?" He'd be happy, but she'd just worried about gaining weight.

"I was thinking of exploring the town to

find where we'd want to eat."

"Fine." It was her time. "I should change." When he'd dons so, they went out. They identified a couple of restaurants that looked interesting. They ate in a fish place and returned to their room. They had a nice kiss, but swimming wasn't the only thing you shouldn't do the first hour after eating. he stepped back.

"David..."

"Yes?"

"Your experiment." That sounded bad. It had been 'your experiment', not 'our experiment.'

"Yes?"

"I don't want to repeat it." Well, it was an experiment. "It was delightful at the time. I don't want you to think that it wasn't. But I've felt wrung out all day." That sounded definitive.

"All right. I already knew it wasn't the sort of thing we could do while you were at the beck and call of your parishioners." Keep a little possibility open without threatening her. "If you want to try again, let me know. Otherwise, we'll put it away."

"I know you wanted to do this for me." Which was understanding of her. At least she wasn't calling him selfish, which maybe he was.

"I wanted to do it. But my pleasure comes from seeing your pleasure. If your pleasure doesn't last into the next day, neither will mine."

"I'm glad you understand."

"Two is our limit?" That way, when he'd given her an orgasm, he could share the second.

"Two is a special occasion."

"Well, a honeymoon is a special occasion. But, somehow, I get the impression you don't want to go for two tonight."

"How perceptive of you."

"Why is it that any description of David Blake as 'perceptive' sounds sarcastic?" Which got a laugh from her -- not a denial, which he wouldn't have believed anyway, but a laugh. He might not be perceptive, but he was clear-headed.

After a bit, they went back to the beach again. They went swimming, or at least dipping, instead of sunning. The exercise was fun, but he missed his ogling. When he was sure an hour had passed, he challenged her to a race -- a point where the land jutted out which could be seen from where they were and back. He specified breast stroke coming back. She demurred at first.

"Race you? No way." That was all right; he intended to trail her, after all.

"How much of a lead do you want? But back to here. Free style going, breast stroke coming back. Go out to where you think it would be fair. Then stand up, wave, and start off." Her swimming wasn't bad, but he knew he had her on endurance.

She got out a good distance, waved, and took off. She was pushing herself too soon. He got close on the out leg. On the return, she used the breast stroke, as agreed. That meant a frog kick. He got as close as he cared to get to a kicking swimmer, and ogled her through the water. The view of a frog kick from directly behind, especially in that bikini, especially Jen in that bikini, was arousing in the extreme. He, however, didn't want to end the race with an erection. When they got close enough to their starting point that this was a danger, he moved to the side and overtook her. The breast stroke, dirty puns aside, was his best stroke.

He was standing in the water when she puffed up to him. She clung to him, which started to give him the erection problem again.

"That's more effort than I want to make again soon. You should compete in the triathalon. How do you do running?" Well, she wasn't teasing him about the erection. Maybe it wasn't obvious in this suit.

"I'm okay in all of it. I'm not prize material, though."

"You can sure beat me."

"But you're prettier."

"You could have passed me earlier," she said.

"But that wouldn't have been as much fun to watch."

"Humpf!" She went back to the towels, and he swam the course again. By the time he got back, he had had enough exercise, and the erection had disappeared.

"You know," she said when he joined her at the towels, "Garrett is full of people who think that you're an adult."

"Growing old is mandatory; growing up is optional."

"You're impossible!" Which was what Deb said. But it was much more fun to hear from Jen. He got the sun block and looked at her. "I've already put it on."

"Bet you end up with a diamond-shaped sunburn on the small of your back." That got her to turn over. He applied the sunblock to her back. He went from there to her legs, in case she'd missed the backs of her legs. As he started in on the inside of her thighs, however, she stopped him.

"We're in front of all the world."

"They don't know us." But he went back to Tom Clancy until Jen wanted to return to their room.

He helped her out of her suit, and then she showered off the sunblock. She came out in bra and panties. She accepted two kisses and a cuddle before she pushed him away for his own shower. She was lying, fully dressed, on the bed reading the novel when he came out.

"I didn't know you were a Tom Clancy fan."

"I'm not, really." But she didn't offer to give him back his book.

"I know. It was the only book available. The Gideons are slipping these days."

"I'd prefer Tom Clancy. I'm on vacation." Well, so was he, but he could read scripture even so.

"Go ahead. I brought a Bible." He'd also brought a wife, however, and she was much more interesting. He lay down where his mouth was close to her arm. So he kissed that.

"Hey! Read your own book and let me read mine." She was laughing. Maybe a less desirable reaction to his kisses than a moan of pleasure, but a good reaction, nevertheless.

"Okay." He found the Song of Solomon and read "'I compare you, my love, to my mare harnessed to Pharaoh's chariot. Your cheeks show fair between their pendants and your neck within its necklaces.'" It wasn't the sexiest passage in the book, but he'd been in a hurry.

"Where did you get that?" Showed the difference between girlhood and boyhood.

"Song of Songs. Didn't you read it?"

"It wasn't covered in any of my courses."

"You weren't an adolescent boy. One of the first books of the Bible I read all the way through. Before some Gospels." He tried to think back. "Maybe before any Gospel."

"No wonder you're a biblical scholar. Your two interests coincide." She was laughing again. Maybe laughing still.

"See? I may not be perceptive, but I am consistent." But she wanted to read and rest. He let her -- only touching her bottom with his leg. He even reread the Song. Some OT scholars thought it had been a series of songs for wedding celebrations. Sure fit. When he grew hungry, he watched her page turning. When she seemed to be at a stopping place, he spoke.

"Dinner?"

"Mmm? Sounds like a good idea."

"The place specializing in southern food?"

"Let's." They had a late supper as they'd had a late breakfast followed by a late lunch. Even so, Jen didn't want to finish the generous portions they were served. He vacuumed up what she left.

June or no, it was dusk when they got out, and the streetlights were on. They had no obligations. They wandered the town, kissing when they were in deep enough shadows. The drug store where he'd bought the PB was closed by the time they passed it, but it brought to mind the problem of two readers with but one book between them.

"Is the Clancy all right, or do you want another book?"

"You want your novel back?" Well, that or another book. But why get two books for him and none for her?

"That's okay," he told her. "I figure I can finish it back in Independence. It's not as if you were going to take it far from me."

"That's right. We'll be living in the same house." This was a thought much more important than reading matter.

"Sleeping in the same bed." And, to remind himself -- to remind both of them -- that they'd be sleeping in the same bed quite soon, he put his hand on her bottom to feel it flex as she climbed the stairs in front of him.

In the room, she let him help her off with her clothes until she got to the underwear. Then she went into the bathroom, but she took the bag with the diaphragm with her. She came out naked, but he went into the john instead of taking advantage of the situation.

When he returned to bed, she asked, "Did you even pack pajamas?" Of course he had. Did she think he didn't consider contingencies?

"Pajamas and a robe. If I have to, I'll wear them. What if one of us comes down sick?"

"That's your idea of when to wear pajamas?"

"Yep! Or there is some problem that requires a maintenance man." Somehow, a conversation about pajamas had become a conversation about nudity. "I figure that there is no reason to cover myself around you. I..." he pushed back the sheet "...have nothing to hide from you."

"Except your sense." The lovely girl gave him such openings. He'd been thinking about verbal openings, but his cock twitched when he thought of the word.

"That's what I said." She smiled. Even better, she kissed him. It wasn't even a joint effort; he was lying flat on his back, and she was leaning over to reach his mouth. When she lay back, he reciprocated. From her mouth, he kissed down to her breast. When he stroked her delta, she spread her legs. He responded by caressing her thighs.

He kissed a trail down her breast, down her torso. He kissed all the way to her thigh while kneeling on the bed to her side. Then, he had to shift position entirely. 'Swinging from the chandelier' no longer sounded so funny; crawling around a shifting surface avoiding all the best supports because it would hurt her was a pain. Between her legs, he kissed her thigh again, and then trailed kisses up the thigh to her delta. He spread her labia majora and licked her juices from her labia minora. Then he slid his arms under her thighs. He reached up her body all the way to her sweet breasts. With one in each hand, he went back to licking up her juices. He'd promised that this would be a one-orgasm night for her, and he ensured that by just avoiding her clitoris with his tongue.

"David," she moaned finally. He raised his head.

"Yes?"

"David, please!" Well, it wouldn't be polite to ignore a lady's invitation. He slid his arms out from under her legs and lifted himself from the bed. He moved up above her body until he was almost in position. He shifted his weight onto his left arm to free his right hand to open her and place himself.

Then he slid into her warmth, her moisture, her welcome. He kissed her eyebrows and returned his hands to her breasts. Then he took smooth strokes, as slowly as he could manage, through her wonderful slickness. Her nipples were firm under his fingers. Her face was responsive in his sight. He felt all of her soft, warm, grasp slide over the head of his cock; she looked pleased. He felt her entrance slip along the entire length of his shaft; now, she looked worried. the friction was driving him to move faster and faster, and the speed was increasing the friction. She was moving her bottom, lifting it as he drove down, retreating as he rose up. Her face expressed pain.

She clutched his bottom and pulled him tighter as he drove into her. She clasped along his length, clasped again. He took one more stroke through that clutching.

"Jen!" he cried. He pushed into her and throbbed although he was already in as far he could get. He pumped his essence into his love. When she collapsed an instant before he did, he dropped his left arm and thrust with his right. He lay panting on his side facing her.

Soon, she turned and spooned back against him. He held her in his arm. His breath hit her neck, and she wiggled. That moved her bottom across his cock in a way which would have been arousing at any other time.

"Sweet Jen," he said. "Sweet Jennifer. This is the way it is supposed to be. Sweet Jen in my arms all night." And they went to sleep like that.

June or no, two bodies or no, it was chilly when he woke up in the night. He got up and managed to get the top sheet out from under her. When he came back from the john, he covered them both and hugged her again.

The next time he woke, it was morning and Jen was still in his arms. When he needed to go to the john, he tucked the sheet around her. Once in the bathroom, he shaved and showered. This was the ideal morning. He sang about it, remembered that this might bother Jen, remembered that she liked his singing, even his shower singing.

"Morning has broken, like the first morning. Blackbird has spoken, like the first bird...."