Page 59 of Choosing a Forever
I snap my face forward so I can focus and pinch the side of my thigh, willing my heart rate to slow down.
The church warns spending too much time with someone of the opposite sex could cause lustful thoughts, but I thought Mack and I were in the clear. We’ve been spending a lot of time together, sure, but never alone. We never go past kissing. Our hands don’t roam to forbidden places.
My face heats as I remember the kiss backstage last week before they turned the lights on.
No more kissing in the dark.
We make our way to the buses, and—to my relief—the teacher says boys have to sit with boys and girls with girls.
Mack and her friend Tessa sit in front of me and Jacob, but we hold hands between the gap in the seats as we make the journey. Her touch lights up my bloodstream, but I don’t want to let go.
I think my brain is still buffering. Still trying to process the expanse of skin I saw. The whorls of ink etched onto Mack’s body.
I’m sure I’ve seen a naked woman before. I must have in my twenty-eight years. Right?
If I have, every memory is now erased and replaced by the image of my wife’s naked butt and lovely breasts.
After I quickly unpack my clothes and place them in the drawers or in the closet, I make my way to the bathroom.
It still smells like whatever bubble bath or soap Mack uses—only it smells more like lavender and vanilla than her usual citrus scent.
The bathroom is spacious, with a separate shower stall and large bathtub. White marble countertops and white painted walls with a large black vanity beneath a big mirror. There are plenty of drawers underneath, and Ifind an empty one to put my toiletries in before I strip off my clothes and turn on the shower. I grab a clean towel from beneath the sink and sling it over the shower door before stepping inside.
I’m surrounded by Mack. Her shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. Her loofah and face wash.
Images of Mack washing herself flash behind my eyes, and I shake my head to try to clear them. She hasn’t given me permission to think about her in this way.
But still, the images come in rapid succession. The image of her ample backside is burned into my memory, and my body responds accordingly.
All the blood rushing south makes me dizzy.
My brain recalls what Lizzie said.The Mormon rules don’t apply anymore.
Now that I’m officially married, masturbation is up to the discretion of the couple. If Mack and I aren’t going to be intimate, there’s nothing wrong with touching myself.
Right?
I look down at my penis, hard as a steel rod, and for the first time in my life, I give in to the urge to touch myself.
I pump some of Mack’s body wash into my hand, and I swear I get even harder as the scent meets my nostrils. My erection pulses with need.
An unbidden whimper escapes my throat as I wrap my hand around myself and tug once.
This feels so good, how have I gone this long without doing it?
I have to brace myself with a hand on the tiled wall when my knees buckle at the sensation. All I see whenI close my eyes is Mack’s body. Her lips. Her smile. The swirls of green in her mossy eyes.
It doesn’t even take a whole thirty seconds of thinking about our brief kisses before I’m shooting white ropes onto the floor of the shower and watching it wash down the drain.
I expect to feel relief. Satisfaction. I just orgasmedon purposefor the first time in my life. But I don’t feel satisfied. All I feel is… hungry.
Not for food.
For Mack. For her kisses. Her affection. For… more.
I want her in all the ways a husband and wife can have someone. I want her to be the first—and only—person I make love to.
I want to know what it feels like to have someone else’s—Mack’s—hands on me, not my own.
