Alice Marlowe

Chapter Two-1

Chapter Two

She and Douglas were married a month later. The ceremony was attended by very few people. To Alice’s disappointment, Charlotte was not invited; though she was not to know it then, Alice never saw Charlotte again. Alice’s wedding was officiated by her father. After, there was a modest lunch in the vicarage, accompanied by tea and lemonade; Alice’s father didn’t approve of alcohol. After the lunch Alice and Douglas were driven to a small seaside town twenty miles away, where they would stay in a guest house for a week on their honeymoon. The night before, she had had another nightmare. She worried about what to say if she continued to have them while sleeping in the same room as Douglas.

As bedtime approached, Alice became increasingly excited. It was not that she had any great desire for Douglas’s body in particular, but at least he was a man. Surely there would be arousal, surely she would have some sort of significant experience. Her life would change. She would no longer be a virgin.

They sat in the sitting room of the guest house after dinner. It appeared they were the only occupants; it was winter, after all. Alice grew impatient for the moment. At last she could stand the tension no longer. “Shall we retire?” she said.

“Why don’t you go up first?” Douglas said. “I’ll be up in a minute.”

Up in the bedroom Alice undressed. When she was naked she stood for a moment in the candlelight, looking at her body, combing her hair. That at least was pretty, was it not? She looked at it as the glossy brown locks cascaded over her breasts. What about the breasts themselves? Ought they to be bigger? Ought the n*****s to be pink, not brown? And what of lower down? She had often examined her cunt, exploring the delicate folds, finding out which ways to touch it for pleasure. But what about its appearance? Would Douglas like it? She had heard that some women shaved themselves there; ought she to do this? What on earth did men want in a woman? She had not much idea.

It was a little chilly in the room so she put on her new nightdress. It was not much different from her old one, made of grey flannel, with buttons up to the neck. She knew it was not very romantic, but what could she have done to obtain something more beguiling? Perhaps I won’t need to wear it much, she thought.

She sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for Douglas, At last she heard him coming up the stairs. This is it, she thought. Soon I will know everything. She remembered Charlotte telling her about feeling the boy’s c**k outside his trousers. Soon I’ll see and feel one myself, she told herself. Her heart was pumping hard.

Douglas entered the room and gave her a glance. There was a small dressing room off to one side. He went in and closed the door. After ten minutes he came out, wearing a long white nightshirt. Slowly he came towards her; he seemed uncertain what to do next. On an impulse Alice stood up, grasped her nightdress and pulled it up over her head. Underneath she was naked.

“What are you doing?” Douglas said. Quickly he blew out the candle.

“I’m your bride,” she said. “I thought you’d want to see me naked.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Douglas said. “Have you no shame?”

Alice got under the covers. After a while Douglas got into bed too. They lay side by side, neither speaking nor moving. What had she done wrong? She felt anger rising. Perhaps it wasn’t a useful emotion for a wedding night, but she couldn’t help it. Was there something the matter with her? Did he have no desire for her? Was she unattractive? After a while she spoke: “Isn’t there something you are supposed to be doing?”

“Be quiet. I’m praying,” Douglas said.

After several more minutes, in desperation she reached out a hand towards him, hoping to find his c**k under his nightshirt. He moved away. “Stop it,” he said. “Show some modesty, some decency.”

Her anger spilled over. “I’m your wife, it’s our wedding night and you’re supposed to f**k me,” she shouted. “What sort of man are you?”

“Don’t be disgusting,” he snapped back. “Where did you learn such filthy words?”

She began to cry. “Why did you marry me if you don’t want me?” she sobbed.

“Don’t cry,” he said. “Someone may hear you.”

“Is that all you care about?” she said. “Don’t you care about why I’m crying? Because my husband doesn’t want to touch me.”

“You are wrong about that,” he said, trying to sound concerned. “I do know my obligations. But it must be done in the right way. I cannot respond if my wife is lustful and demanding. You must be chaste and decorous.”

“All right,” she said, her heart heavy with bitterness. “I promise I won’t move and I won’t speak. But please do it or I shall go mad.”

She lay there waiting. After a while there was some movement in the bed. It felt like he was pulling up his nightshirt. He turned towards her and rolled on top. Despite her promise not to move, she instinctively opened her legs. She wanted to reach down and find his c**k and hold it, feel it, squeeze it, but she forced herself to stay still. She felt him moving and then it was between her legs. She had a desperate need to reach down and guide it into her; what if he didn’t know what to do? But she made herself lie still. There was some fumbling and then she felt it against her and she shifted position just a little to make sure he would find the right place. Suddenly he thrust forward and it went in, almost all the way. She grunted and then sighed. God, it felt good. After all this time, it felt wonderful. She began to move on him, wanting to feel some friction inside her.

“Don’t,” he said.

She froze. He began thrusting, not hard, tentatively. His movements got faster. Suddenly he moaned and she felt him jerk inside her and she knew it was coming. She lay quiet, letting him enjoy it. Then she felt him get soft and slip out of her. She reached out, wanting kisses and comfort, but he turned away. “Go to sleep,” he said.

She waited till his breathing became slow and regular. Then she let the tears come. It was not meant to be like this, surely. Her whole body longed for kisses and caresses, and more. She wanted him to kiss her n*****s and then bite them. She thought she would go wild with passion that way. Instead, he began to snore. Once she knew he was asleep, she pulled up her nightdress and put her hand between her legs. Very slowly, not wanting to wake him, she fondled herself, stroking the lips of her cunt. She was wet; was that him, or her own juices? Her clit was swollen; it needed her tender, knowing touch. Despite her resolve to be quiet, she could not suppress a grunt of pleasure as her hips shook uncontrollably.

“What are you doing?” he said sleepily.

“Never mind,” she said. “Go back to sleep.”

But in the night she awoke him again when she screamed in her sleep. He lit a candle and stared at her.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I have these bad dreams.”

“What sort of bad dreams?” he asked.

Should she tell him? He was her husband, after all. “I dream that I am being raped, by a stranger. I think he is going to kill me.”

Douglas looked concerned. “Why should you have such dreams? What is wrong with you?”

“Do you think something is wrong with me?”

“There must be a reason,” he said. “It’s not normal. Surely no one has ever attacked you in this way?”

“Of course not,” she said. “Anyway, I’m sorry to wake you.” She saw that her nightdress was up above her waist. She saw him look at her, look down there and then take his eyes away.

“I don’t mind you looking at me,” she said. “I hope you want to.”

“Don’t talk like that,” he said. “It’s not decent.” He blew out the candle. “Go back to sleep.”

“Hold me,” she said. “Please. Comfort me.”

Awkwardly he put his arms around her. At last she fell asleep. In the morning she lay for a while, watching him as he slept. Then his eyes opened. The bed covers were back. She saw that under his nightshirt he was erect. She reached out to touch him. “Let me see you,” she said. “Please? I want to know.”

Hurriedly he pulled the covers up to his chin. “I hate it when you talk like that,” he said. “I need my wife to be pure in thought and deed.”

“But why can’t I see? It’s not impure for a wife to want to look at her husband’s naked body.”

She sat up in bed and pulled off her nightgown. “You can look at me as much as you like,” she said urgently. “Look at my breasts. Do you like them?”

She cupped her hands under them, lifting her breasts for his inspection. He averted his eyes,

She got up on her knees, straddling him, her legs apart. “Look at me, look at my cunt,” she said. “It’s all yours, you can do anything you like with it. Whenever you like.”

“Don’t be filthy,” he cried. He pushed her off him and got out of bed. “You must stop this,” he said. “It’s not how I want you to be. I want you chaste, demure, not acting like a whore.”

“Is that what you think?” she said. “Because I want to make love with my husband, I am a w***e?”

“Cover yourself,” he said curtly. He went into the dressing room. Alice lay on the bed, crying. She could not believe what had happened. She had not expected Douglas to be wanton, lustful, uninhibited. But she had imagined she could provoke his desire, could coax him into doing the things she had dreamed of doing with a man. Instead, she was in despair. How could she live like this?

He came out of the dressing room with his clothes on. “Get dressed and come down to breakfast,” he said, leaving the room. Slowly she washed herself and dressed, in a pretty skirt and blouse she had persuaded her mother to buy for her. The blouse buttoned up to the throat and was not too tight across the bust. Surely it was modest enough even for Douglas.

He was eating toast and drinking tea when she joined him in the dining room. “It’s a nice day,” he said. “There’s a very good walk along the cliffs.”

Clearly that was to be his tactic, to pretend nothing had happened. She would go along with that for the time being; having rows all the time was so exhausting. But she resolved that she would not let the matter lie. Surely as his wife she had rights; to comfort, and to pleasure.

As they walked along a grassy path, Alice took his arm. At first he flinched, as if she was about to make some sort of s****l gesture. But he allowed her hand to stay where it was. After a while, he suggested they sit for a while on a wooden seat by the path. It was a magnificent view, of high cliffs, covered in heather, with the blue sea foaming below.

Alice took his hand. She held it for a while. Then she put it to her lips.

“Not here,” he said, looking around. There was no one within eyesight. He took his hand away. “Please don’t start that again.”

“Don’t you want to touch me at all?” she said. “With affection, if not with desire?”

“I find expressions of affection in public distasteful,” he said primly.

“This is hardly in public, Douglas,” she said.

“It’s the principle.”

“What principle?”

“Please,” he said. “Can we not discuss this any more? You seem much too focused on such things. I don’t care for it.”

She fell silent. What more was there to say? Yet she would not give up. Surely it was unnatural to be so inhibited. It wasn’t as if she had demanded to be tied to the bed and flogged; though secretly she hoped for such a thing one day. All she had asked for was a caress or two, and some physical intimacy.

All day she debated with herself what her course of action should be when they went to bed. Should she try to entice him with sweet, soft kisses? Should she try to be direct? Probably not; that only seemed to enrage him. Perhaps the best thing would be to lie quietly and see what happened. Accordingly, after trying to be affable all day, she got in to bed and lay with her arms by her side, waiting. He got into bed and blew the candle out. “Good night,” he said and turned over to sleep.