She Knew He Was a Virgin
Serena and Carl laughed with giddy excitement as he carried her over the threshold of their new condominium. She, with a wicked gleam in her eye. They were packed and ready to jump on the plane tomorrow to start their honeymoon, but tonight . . . ah, tonight. It was Carl’s suggestion to wait until their wedding night—a novel idea for Serena, but the prospect excited her.
Carl was different from the meatheads she had dated before. Oh, at first they seemed like artists, athletes, musicians, but in the end, they were meatheads. Couldn’t stand that she had strong opinions. Couldn’t stand that she spoke her mind. They always ended up with some mysterious urge to destroy her self esteem, and when they saw how easy it was, boy did those meatheads have a field day. But Carl was different: confident but shy, loving but reserved. He treated her right. He didn’t rock a goatee and an earring, didn’t sport a body builder’s physique, didn’t throw around wads of cash, and didn’t aspire to climb Mount Everest. He was a simple, real human being who worked steadily in an office, pushing papers and typing memos, and he just loved her. It was obvious, and she liked it that way. He didn’t try to hide his love to gain power or to seem manly. She found his honesty intriguing. Then, after several fumbling episodes of heavy petting, Serena realized the most intriguing thing about him: he was a virgin.
That night on the living room couch, when they had almost done it, Carl stopped suddenly. Things were getting hot, but there was hesitation on his part. Serena was mad with desire—her shirt unbuttoned, her skirt hiked up. She nearly clawed at him when he stood up, took a deep breath, walked to his briefcase, and took out the little velvet box. Asked her to marry him right then and there, “in flagrante delicto” as they say, and suggested that they wait. That’s when she knew for sure. He was afraid he wouldn’t be any good and didn’t want to blow it.
Despite all the champaigne he had just consumed, Carl managed to gently place her back on her feet and shut the door behind them. The click echoed in the big, empty space. Now husband and wife, the happy couple laughed and ran around their new ultra-modern home like kids in a field. Without the furniture, rugs, paintings, and bookshelves that were to be delivered in a few days, the white rooms, with their high ceilings, huge windows, and gorgeous city-lights views beckoned them to play. Serena picked up the layered skirts of her voluminous wedding gown and looked slyly back at her new husband. “Catch me!” she whispered, before kicking off her shoes and scampering away. Carl jogged after her as she ran through the open, airy living space, around the gleaming stainless steel kitchen, and past the sleek brick fireplace. She took a running start and slid on the beautifully burnished wooden floor, down the hallway and into the bedroom. “Be careful!” Carl yelled after her, then threw off his own shoes and did the same.
“Where are you?” he asked, suddenly alone in the bedroom. “Okay, I’m a little drunk, but not that drunk!” he yelled. She couldn’t have just vanished, but that’s what it looked like. He spied the sliding glass door that led to the balcony, and slid it open. “Are you out here? Sweety?” He walked out and was struck by the beauty of the stars above and the twinkling lights stretching endlessly away, ten stories below. “Sereeeeeeena!” he called.
“Here I am,” came her throaty voice in his ear, and two skilled hands wrapped quickly around his neck. She pulled at the end of his bow tie, untied it, and released it from his collar with a practiced flick of her wrist. He turned to kiss her, but she was too quick for him. Slapping the tie across his eyes, she tied it, blindfolding him.
“Hey! How did you do that?” he hollered as he reached out for her and only brushed the edge of her skirt.
“I said, catch me,” she insisted sternly from a few feet away. Carl blundered forward, laughing and flailing his arms. She darted around behind him and reached out to squeeze a firm cheek through his tux pants. He yelped and turned quickly, again groping at empty air.
“I’m right here, honey,” Serena cooed, this time from his left. He turned his head but did not reach out.
“Okay, this isn’t funny anymore,” he whined, but just then felt a certain pressure in his trousers. She had taken hold of him with a firm and knowing hand. Then he felt her warm body up against his. He touched her smooth shoulders, her slender neck, and her delicate face. Gently, with his fingertips, he felt her full, hungry lips, just slightly parted. As her hands manipulated him through the cloth, he gasped and sunk his fingers into the long auburn hair that had been so painstakingly arranged for their special day. He felt the veil, where it was attached with haircombs, then tore it off decisively, like removing a band-aid. Then, his blindfold slipped. Looking out over the tiny neon signs and glowing dots that indicated traffic rushing by, far below, Carl cast the veil over the balcony. It caught a breeze and floated away, ghostlike, until it was out of sight.
“Beautiful,” she said, having already unbuckled his belt. She gently worked his zipper, as he grabbed for the puffy clouds of skirt that seemed to hide her juicy curves from him so cruelly. She laughed while he struggled to raise the frustrating layers of tulle and satin, but he silenced her with a kiss deeper than oceans. As petticoats flew, the lovers united there above the city—joyfully, triumphantly, and finally.