Morning Has Broken
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All persons here depicted, except public figures depicted as public figures in the background, are figments of my imagination and any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
Morning Has Broken
All the rest were locals, many of them nominal members of the church. It was just that almost nobody was missing. Most of the missing were probably hospitalized. Even Cathy Mitchell was there. Her husband Gary hadn't attended service since a woman was assigned as pastor. This was Cathy's second time -- she had come on Easter. Gary wasn't hospitalized, though not in the best of health. Jen got that sort of news.
The wedding was scheduled for later in the day, but Independence didn't hold with coming to church in the afternoon and claiming that you had been too busy in the morning.
Probably they wouldn't hold with getting divorced on a Friday and marrying the same guy on the following Sunday either. The only thing she could do to generate this big a crowd again would be to die and have them hold her funeral. Gary Mitchell would come for that. Then Ruth Dixon started playing the electric organ, and Jen turned her attention to the service.
She'd put a good deal of care into the sermon. It was the only sermon of hers that her grandmother or Rachel would ever hear, one of the very few that her parents would ever hear. Hell! It was one of the few that some of the parishioners present today would hear. Not that anybody would remember it.
David might. She looked fondly at her fiance during one of the hymns. He remembered the oddest things, and he did pay attention to her.
When the service was over, she headed back to her office. Her mom and Rachel, her bridesmaid, joined the two Independence matrons who were running the show. Her mom was carrying the bouquet that David had got in Evanston. The dress fit and, despite the assistance of four people -- Jen had dressed herself without assistance for decades -- finally looked perfect. Then she had to stand in it while the clock ticked.
Deborah Fitzgerald knocked on the door to tell her that the DS was here. Bless the woman; that was one more worry that could be forgotten. The other two clergy present couldn't conduct the service; they would be the bride and the groom.
The weather being clear when the time came, she walked from the outside office door to the front door of the church. Ruth Dixon started "Here Comes the Bride," she took her dad's arm, stifled a giggle -- she'd grown up singing "big fat and wide" as the second line of that song, and processed at a stately pace. Independence UMC had a rather short aisle, but what there was they walked with dignity. Aside from David's solo, and that was beautiful despite Mrs. Dixon's accompaniment, the service was straight out of the service book.
The reception, held in the church hall, was truly crowded. The ushers knew who needed chairs; they'd asked her and David beforehand about their families. Aside from those, the chairs weren't even stacked against the walls. Being in a Methodist church, the reception was dry. She got to meet David's sister, brother-in-law, and nephew.
"Unca Dave," the nephew greeted him. Somebody didn't call him 'David.' The nephew expected to be picked up, and David -- despite the occasion and his tux -- clearly expected the same thing.
Holding him, he said, "Jen, meet Stephen. Stephen say hello to your new aunt."
"Hello," said Stephen.
"Hello Stephen," she said. She bent over to kiss his cheek. Stephen didn't have his uncle's interest in kissing her, which was lucky. He'd already had some of the cake with chocolate icing. Maybe he'd just rubbed it on his face.
With Stephen still in his arms, David said, "And this is my sister Deborah and her husband Keith."
"Come, Stephen," said Deborah, after Jen had shaken her hand and been pecked by Keith. David put him down, and he scampered away.
Stephen was far from the only kid attending. Most of the others were grandchildren of fairly regular attenders. She didn't register any facts beyond those when they came through the reception line with their families.
She changed in her office again. David changed elsewhere -- the men's john? They probably would be dressing and undressing in each other's presence for the next fifty years, but Independence would have been shocked if they'd done it right then.
David was waiting for her when she came out of the office. The exit from the main doors was an event, with lots of thrown rice and blinding flashbulbs. Were those really necessary in the bright light?
The young kids were running around over the wet grass and stomping in the mud puddles. One of the running boys, not Stephen -- she did remember David's nephew -- tripped and fell almost at their feet. He began to cry.
David picked him up before the parents could get there. "I am always falling down," David sang, "but I know what I can do. I can pick myself up and say to myself 'I'm the greatest too.' It doesn't matter if you're big or small. You live now if you live at all. I am always falling down, but I know what I can do."
The boy looked at David with wide eyes, his fall apparently forgotten. And who could blame him? She was trying not to stare herself. Who was this man she'd just married?
The child's mother arrived. Liz Albertson's daughter, Jen couldn't think of her married name right now. David put him down and the kid walked away, looking back. David's traveling clothes were all muddy, but he didn't seem worried.
"Unca Dave," said Stephen with the dismissive tone that only noncoms, headmasters, and preschool children seem to manage.
Joe Englehard drove her and David to O'Hare. When the plane was safely in the air, she turned her attention to the past. "Where did you get that song?"
"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."
"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."
She had, vaguely. Still, hearing about it and knowing that song were two different things. "And they taught you that song? That's lay training?"
"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." That could be David's motto.
"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."
Stopped crying? The kid had been gaping. She decided not to say that. "Stephen seemed to disapprove," she said instead.
"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."
"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." She'd have to think about that one.
"You should take one of their courses," David said after a period of silence.
"I'm not quite a layman." She didn't have his depth of training, but still....
"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," David's PhD program after he already had a D. Min. "Look, I don't have any of the materials with me. Just keep an open mind; that's all I ask."
She could keep an open mind. You do what your spouse asks, if it were possible. He'd sung when she asked him to, hadn't he. "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," she said.
"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." David was perfectly willing to grant that the city had its own culture; he just thought the state deserved precedence on the name. "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?" she asked.
"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. 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?"
"After having taken a few courses," David said. "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."
"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."
She chuckled. Things hadn't been quite that bad in Independence. Most people who called the church were members; and they had heard that the new preacher was a woman within the first twenty four hours. Within the first twenty-four seconds, probably.
"Anyway," he continued, "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?" Actually, she'd heard him on this subject before.
"In the first place, that isn't what Paul said. 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. When she got married, she undertook an obligation to obey. Becoming a Christian didn't mitigate that obligation. You, on the other hand..." He stopped and stared at her. She couldn't help grinning. "...Are leading me on."
"Hey! I fell in love with my professor," she said.
"Sorry. I'm a dump truck. Push the right button and I dump the whole load."
But she liked his loads. She liked pushing his buttons, for that matter. "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."
"Humpf. Then why did I get a B as a final grade?" And worked like hell to get that. She didn't think a B was doing fine.
David didn't answer that question. She looked out at the deep blue sky. Soon, he took her hand in his. It had been a busy time. She drifted off. When she woke, the pilot was announcing their arrival in Norfolk. She gripped David's hand tightly. When the plane had landed, she relaxed.
"Look," David said, "I'd planned for another flight. Do you want me to find a taxi which will take us the whole distance?"
"Seriously, I'm fine." They took a much smaller plane to the resort. She was fine. It was natural to be nervous on airplanes. They collected their luggage and took a taxi to the inn.
When David had mentioned the Atlantic, she had expected some place on the coast of New England. He was from New York State and had been to seminary in Boston. Instead he'd suggested a place in North Carolina. The room looked comfortable, if a little less elegant than the pictures in the brochure. The dinner was elegant. Afterwards they walked down to the seashore. It was a calm day, and the waves surprised her. They weren't rough or threatening, but Lake Michigan was flat as a table when the wind wasn't blowing.
Back in their room, David used the bathroom first. He came back shaved and wearing a robe. Wedding night jitters were ridiculous. She'd been to bed with David before. Still, she took her time. Inserting the diaphragm still made her feel clumsy. When she came out in her sexy nightgown, David whistled. It was the first time he'd seen her in a nightgown.
He was lying in bed covered by the sheet. When she joined him, she saw that he was naked. "Naked?" She wondered whether she should take her nightgown off, too. It was new and felt a bit scratchy. Still, she liked how she looked in it -- he had whistled.
In response, he raised his left hand. Okay, he was wearing his ring, the ring she'd put on his finger that afternoon. She didn't count that as dressed.
When he kissed her, he started gently with his mouth closed. Soon, though, his tongue was exploring her mouth while his hands were exploring her body. For the longest time, he stayed outside the nightgown. Finally, she sat up to remove it. Even with David's help, that took more time than she'd have thought.
He kissed her breasts, moving from one to the other and all over them. Finally, he kissed and sucked on her right nipple. His hand stroked up the inside of her thighs towards her cleft. Suddenly he drew back. "I forgot," he said. "We have all night. Well, not all night but loads of time. We can sleep in in the morning." He took her right hand and kissed that. He continued up her arm to her shoulder.
It must have been minutes later that he got back to her breast. He kissed all over it before he reached the nipple. He stroked between her thighs, not touching her cleft. When he finally did, he kissed a line over to her left breast. She gloried in the sensations, starting to spiral higher. But she shouldn't now.
This was a special night. Her first climax as a married woman shouldn't be from his hand. She pushed it away and reached for him. "You," she said.
"Yes." He moved over her and stopped just at her entrance. "Jennifer." Then her lips were spread, she felt the smooth slide of his entry until she was filled. He shifted so that his hands were on her breasts. She ran her hands up and down his back. "Oh, Jen," he said. "Oh, love." He stroked in and out of her as he held her breasts. She clutched his moving legs with her thighs and rested her feet on his calves.
She spiraled upwards in time to his strokes. When she spasmed around him, he said "Oh, Jen," again. Then, just as she was finishing, David thrust into her harder than before. "Oh, Jen Ni Fer," he said as he throbbed deep inside her.
For a moment, he was a single rigid shape, his muscles feeling as hard as his bones under her hand. Then, he collapsed over her and gasped. He felt like his muscles had disappeared. When he collected himself enough to move off, he pulled out as well. He left one arm lying across her torso and all his juices dripping down her rump. When she cuddled back against him, he hugged her.
When she woke up, though, she was alone. The shower was running in the bathroom. "As man and woman, we were made," David sang suddenly. It was the song from the wedding. And it was even better accompanied by the sound of the shower than it had been to the accompaniment of the ancient electric organ. She snuggled down to listen. Soon, though, her bladder drove her from the bed to the bathroom.
"Sorry," said David, and stopped.
"Sing it through," she said.
He started at the beginning again, and sang it through. She sat there after wiping herself and listened until the end. "Praise the love that never ends," he finished. She flushed and washed her hands. She was back in bed when the shower stopped. He came out with a towel wrapped around his waist. "Sorry," he said, "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."
"You're sweet," he said and came over to kiss her. The kiss was deep, exploring her mouth. His hands passed all over her in a most arousing fashion.
When he started to stroke her cleft, though, she broke the kiss. "I need to make my preparations -- and wash." She took a terrycloth robe and the bag which held all the materials for the diaphragm in with her. She renewed the diaphragm before showering. When she had put on her face and come back out, he was waiting in bed for her. She shed her robe before joining him.
"Mmmm," he said and kissed her. "Good morning. A much better morning than the ones after I had to drive back from seeing you." His hands were fondling her as he spoke. He kissed her again, tongue meeting tongue.
"You didn't like visiting me?" she asked when he drew his head back. Not that she didn't know what he meant, but she could tease him.
"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." The movement of his hand over her torso suggested one reason he liked that.
"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," David said. "Maybe you shouldn't tell them the reason." He stopped talking because his mouth was needed for a more important task. It was minutes, though, before his kisses got down to her breasts, and more minutes before his kisses on her breasts reached her left nipple.
His hand, likewise, distributed its caresses widely. Finally he stroked up and down her inner thighs. She needed more direct stimulation, and spread her legs to invite it. He ignored that invitation for the longest time. "David!" she begged.
In response, he stroked her cleft and switched nipples. Every touch, every suck, warmed her more. Then he kissed down over her belly. She knew where he was going, but he still took his own sweet time getting there. When he threw back the covers and knelt between her legs, she raised her knees in anticipation. He kissed her thighs, though.
This was arousing, and then it was torture. She grabbed his hair and pulled him where she needed him. His licks on those lips were wonderfully soothing after all that teasing. They, too, were arousing. As she spiraled higher, he finally reached her clitoris. It was wonderful; it was agonizing tension.
"David!" she said. Then she spasmed, spasmed again clutching him to her center. She couldn't control her movements at all while she spasmed again and again.
Then she couldn't move. He climbed over her leg. He pulled the sheet over her and hugged her lightly. His hand was on her left shoulder. When he blew across her ear, she shivered violently.
She put her right hand up to hold his. "Jen," David said, "Jennifer Blake."
"That's my name." It hadn't been for long, but it was now.
"The Reverend Mrs. Jennifer Blake." He leaned on one elbow to give her a kiss. His erection rubbed against her thigh when he did.
When his tongue retreated from her mouth, hers followed it. The kiss was long and sweet, and his hand caressed her while it was going on. On leaving her mouth, he kissed all over her face, working down her neck slowly.
He licked her nipples instead of sucking them. He alternated from one to the other and then back. When he climbed between her legs, he gave her another kiss on the mouth. She could feel his erection against her belly while his tongue was in her mouth. She expected his entrance as soon as he broke the kiss, but he went back to her breasts, kissing all over both of them before resuming the licks on her nipples.
When he started kissing lower, her patience broke. "Now, David," she said pulling him up her body. He was grinning as soon as his face was visible, but his hand was busy at her cleft. Then he was right there, pressing warmly against her lips. "Yes," she said.
"Yes," he replied. He entered slowly, spreading her, filling her. Once all the way inside, he smiled at her before beginning his motions. She rubbed her hands down his sides all the way to his rump.
When her tension rose, she used that to pull him harder against her, more deeply into her. She began her own motions pressing against him as he came in and withdrawing as he went out. Then she had to move faster than he was moving. "Oh!" she said.
"Yes, Jen, Yes, love." He sped a bit, but not enough. Then she was spiraling upward. Something raised her center at the same time she pulled him against her. She shuddered and climaxed.
David kept driving in and out through that climax and afterwards. Then he pressed into her and had his own. He came out when he moved to his side.
She'd had plenty of sleep, didn't need any. She was rather surprised when she woke up that she'd gone back to sleep. She felt hungry, famished, as a matter of fact. She also felt sticky. She headed into the bathroom and used the toilet before the shower. She had to unpack before she could get dressed. David woke in the midst of her activity. He had his own shower, but donned his traveling clothes from the night before. No wonder she was hungry, she'd missed breakfast entirely. They went down for an early lunch.
Afterwards, they took a walk in the direction away from the sea. David held her hand for almost the entire walk, kissing her left hand 'goodbye' and taking her right when they reversed directions. "Swim?" he asked when they got back in sight of the inn.
"Has it been an hour? I really need to finish unpacking." Getting the swimsuit out of the suitcase wouldn't take long, but all this going into suitcases for her clothes each time was ridiculous.
"That first, then. I don't think we need to hurry. The Atlantic isn't going to leave if we're late."
In their room, he held her for a kiss before they divided up the closet and dresser. He suggested that she have more drawers. "I didn't bring all that much," he said, gesturing to his single suitcase. He did hang a suit on the right side of the closet along with two pairs of slacks and several shirts. By the time she'd hung her clothes on the left, the dividing line between their clothes was way over on his side.
They changed into their suits separately. She used the bathroom. When she came out in her bikini, he whistled. She turned around to model it for him, then donned her beach robe for the trip through the inn. He was wearing a T-shirt and a pair of cutoffs. But no glasses. His face looked a little different without his glasses.
The beach was full, the water much less so. She'd noticed that behavior before. People who "went swimming" often did very little swimming on their excursions. Some lovely tans around them, though, especially for June. Her suit looked right in style. David's didn't. It was baggy, not a Speedo. The buoyancy of the water was greater than she was used to, but it was barely noticeable. The waves, on the other hand, were longer than you got on Lake Michigan on a swimming day. The water got deeper faster than she was used to, but that was good. She wanted to swim.
So, obviously, did David. When he'd seen that she was enjoying herself, he started off on a long swim parallel to the shore. She decided not to try to match him, and it was lucky she didn't. She played around for a while and got her fill of the first day. She returned to the towel they had left with her wrap and his cutoffs and shirt. She'd got nearly dry and was starting to itch when he returned, breathing heavily. "Ready to leave?" he asked.
"Just about. I've developed some itches."
"Salt water. Give me a few minutes in the sun." And he donned the cutoffs and t-shirt while his suit was still wet. She wrapped her beach robe around her for the trip back to the inn. In their room, he 'helped' her take off the swimsuit. It was about as necessary as the four helpers she'd had at her wedding, but much more fun. He scratched her back before she took a shower. He took one after her.
After they had dressed, they applied sunblock and went out for another walk. This time, they found a park bench to sit on. "Enjoy your swim?" he asked.
"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."
She looked at him. He wasn't skinny, but there didn't seem to be a pound of excess fat on him. That might be just enough to make him sink in water. And, if so, he wouldn't sink in the ocean. "I float in fresh water," she said.
The discussion wandered from swimming now to swimming when they were young to other experiences of their youth. She felt she knew him much better when he finally looked at his watch. "Hungry?"
"Now I think about it." Actually, she was very hungry.
"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." He groaned. He must have forgiven her, though. He kissed her after they got up.
He held her hand again on the walk from the restaurant to the inn. "I like holding your hand," she told him after the first kiss up in their room.
"I like holding yours, too. Even if it is mostly euphemistic."
"Well." He spun her around and pulled her back against him while he held a hand on each breast. "If we walked like this, you might not like the attention you got from passersby."
She laughed. "To say nothing of stepping on your toes."
He kissed her left ear and down the side of her neck. He started to unbutton her blouse. When it was loose, he held her belly. She stood straight when he let her go to take the blouse. He draped it over a chair back and unhooked her bra. Then he kissed her right shoulder and up the neck on that side. He held both breasts under the bra while he kissed her ear. She shivered.
At a pull on her ribcage, she leaned back against him. She felt his erection pressing into her back while his fingers played with her nipples. After a minute, she felt him fumbling with her waistband at the front. His hand trailed around to her right side, tickling her belly as it went. Then he switched hands. This time he found the zipper of her jeans on her left side. He pulled it down. This pair of jeans was tight enough on her legs that unzipping them wasn't going to make them fall. She could have removed them easily enough, but the present position was too enjoyable.
She did, though, push the waist down a bit, the panties along with the jeans. That let her feel his trousers against her rump.
One of his hands left her breast and strayed lower. He ran his fingers through the hair on her mound and tickled the insides of her thighs. "This would be easier in bed," David said.
"From this state," she answered, "you have to help." She was effectively hobbled.
He walked around her and knelt to untie her shoes. When she stepped out of them, he helped pull her jeans and panties down. He held them while she stepped out. Before she could get to the bed, he held her rump with both hands and kissed her mound. When she was in bed, David put her jeans on a chair. Then he stripped and followed her.
They had a nice kiss. His hands went no lower than her face. The chaste effect of that was rather spoiled by his erection pressing against her thigh. Then she remembered. "I have to make my preparations," she said.
"I was thinking." This wasn't news. David was always thinking.
"We're started on a new life together. How about trying an experiment?" Did he want to start a baby now?
"What sort of an experiment?" she asked.
"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?" Not that she couldn't see where this was headed.
"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?"
"You really want to do that?" What was in it for him?
"Oh yes!" Well, he sounded like something was in it for him.
"Let me make my preparations, anyway. Just in case." At the height of her excitement, she was as likely as not to want him in her, fertile or not. (Not that she was likely to be fertile right then.) David might resist. He'd spent long enough resisting, God alone knew. But still it sounded risky to her.
"And then experiment?"
"And then experiment." She could think of worse experiments than seeing how many orgasms she could reach. So she went into the bathroom to insert her diaphragm. While there, she cleaned off her makeup and did all the other night-time rituals. She took the nightgown in with her and debated whether to wear it. Considering she'd walked in here naked with David watching her, that would be a little silly. But she'd spent a lot of time selecting a sexy nightgown for her trousseau; not wearing it seemed a waste.
When she came out in the nightgown, he went in. She could smell his aftershave when he came to bed. If he'd brought pajamas or robe, she hadn't seen them yet. He leaned over to kiss her and caressed her during the kiss. After a few minutes of kissing her and caressing her, though, he helped her take the nightgown off.
When he left her lips, he kissed a trail down to her left breast. Soon, his hand was at her mound. When he got to her right breast, he stroked her outer lips, not parting them even when she spread her legs in silent invitation. He kissed a trail across her belly. He ended up kneeling sideways on the bed with his face down close to her belly button.
Then, he had to change his position. He crawled into a position parallel to hers and then moved each of his knees between her legs. He kissed her nipples again, but then licked and kissed downward across her torso again. When he got to her mound, he kissed only briefly before skipping to her thighs. First, he licked upwards on her left thigh from its middle to the juncture. Then he repeated this on her right thigh.
Before he actually touched her lips, she was clenching her fists to keep from grabbing his hair and pulling him where she needed him. He licked one lip, licked the other, finally just touched her clitoris with his tongue. A thrill shot through her.
She stiffened. His mouth kept exciting her until she spasmed. Then his fingers entered her. She knew she was unable to feel arousal again. She was so sensitive there that the passage of his breath over her clitoris was nearly painful. Still, his fingers moved in and out, rubbed over the top of her tunnel.
Then, impossibly but inexorably, she was aroused again. From some level which hadn't really been relaxation, she spiraled upward and upward. At the peak, when her body was rigid -- so rigid it hurt -- he licked her clitoris once more. Her feelings shot upward and she spasmed again.
She spasmed and spasmed around his fingers and under his mouth, but he didn't relent. Finally, she grabbed his hair and pushed his head away. He withdrew his own fingers before she could force that. She curled up into a ball and panted. He lay beside her with his chest pressed into her back. She could feel his erection just touching her thigh. It was good she'd thought about taking care.
She barely woke up that morning. She could hear him singing in the shower again, the same song as the day before. She had to go, had to go real bad. She grabbed the nightgown on the way. She sat on the toilet while he sang the second stanza. Once relieved of the pressure, she was sleepy again. She flushed and went back to bed in the scratchy nightgown.
The next time she woke up, David was dressed. "What time is it?" she asked him.
"Quarter to ten."
She took her stuff into the bathroom to shower and put on her face. When she came back she was dressed. "Breakfast?" she asked. He offered her his arm. She drank two cups of coffee at breakfast, but still felt logy afterwards.
"Beach?" he asked.
"Okay, but let's take the sunblock." They did. She put it on David's back and he put it on her. The application felt more like a caress to her, probably looked more like a caress to the others around them, too. On the other hand, nobody knew them, and nobody seemed to be paying them the slightest attention. They stretched out on the towels, and she went back to sleep.
"Want to go swimming now?" he asked when she woke up.
What she really wanted was to go back to the room. Indeed, she might need to go back to the room. "Do they have ladies' rooms here?"
"On the beach?"
Why not on the beach? The Park District provided them all along the lakefront. "Let's go back to the inn."
He went up to the room with her -- she hadn't carried her keycard -- but he was gone when she got out of the bathroom. She changed into blouse and slacks in the bathroom again. He came back a few minutes later with a paperback novel. "I figured that this would do for beach reading," he said.
"Did I abandon you?" This was supposed to be a honeymoon, after all.
"Not in the least. You were right there, and dressed quite revealingly. I ogled."
"Still, I should have stayed awake."
"Why? This is our honeymoon, but it's also your vacation. If you need to sleep, then sleep. 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!" David liked playing the dirty little boy. "Can't you keep your mind out of the gutter."
"My mind was not on a gutter. You might call it a valley or a groove, but not a gutter."
It was time to change the subject. "Do you want to go out to lunch?"
"Sure. But are you ready for lunch yet?"
Really, she wasn't. Breakfast had been recent, and she'd slept most of the time since. "I was thinking of exploring the town to find where we'd want to eat."
"Fine. I should change." He changed right there in front of her. They were married; they had one room; she'd seen him naked plenty of times. Still, it showed her the difference between their standards of modesty.
They walked for an hour through the town. By then, she'd worked up an appetite. They had found two places which appealed to both of them, but the Southern specialty place looked like its portions were more than she wanted right then. They went to the seafood one. They returned to the inn hand in hand, but something was preying on her mind.
He kissed her when they got into their room. He must have felt her lack of response because he stepped back. "David," she said.
"I don't want to repeat it." He didn't say anything. She felt she had to go on. "It was delightful at the time. I don't want you to think that it wasn't." Actually, it had been agonizing at the time -- great pleasure, sure, but great tension, too. It was like running a marathon, and she wasn't in shape for marathons. "But I've felt wrung out all day."
"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. If you want to try again, let me know. Otherwise, we'll put it away."
"I know you wanted to do this for me."
"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?"
Actually, she'd be just as happy with one as their limit. But he'd brought her to two climaxes in one session several times in their courtship. "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?"
She laughed. He was perceptive sometimes, though. And sensitive sometimes, too. Those just weren't part of his image of himself, not part of the image he liked to project. 'Intelligent,' or 'silly,' now; those were major parts of his image. He was often silly and he never seemed to turn off that brain.
Maybe she felt better for clearing the air. Maybe she'd finally had enough rest. The afternoon went quite pleasantly. They went back to the beach and actually into the water. "Race you," he said. "That point" (a place where a hill projected out into the water) "and back."
"Race you? No way."
"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."
She wasn't as bad a swimmer as he must think, unused to salt water or not. She took what she thought was a generous lead. She got a little closer to shore so she could stand up. Then she waved, turned, and surface dived. By the time she got to the point, he was too close. She'd never beat him all the way back.
Indeed, he got about two of her lengths behind her on the return trip. And he was directly behind her. She put all of her energy into the stroke, and that seemed sufficient. He stayed right at that distance for most of the swim. When they got close to their starting point, though, he swam a little to the side and far past her. He was standing up and breathing easily when she got to the starting point.
She grabbed him as an anchor. Then she stood in the water herself. "That's more effort than I want to make again soon," she told him, panting. "You should compete in the triathlon. How do you do running?"
"I'm okay in all of it. I'm not prize material, though."
"You can sure beat me."
"But you're prettier."
A light dawned. 'Breast stroke back' then he spent most of the return trip right behind her. "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 towel they'd left. He swam the course he'd set out again before joining her. "You know," she told him, "Garrett is full of people who think that you're an adult."
"'Growing old is mandatory; growing up is optional.'"
"You're impossible!" But he was fun. If her husband was going to ogle some woman, and the frog kick gave plenty of possibilities for ogling, then it was nice he chose to ogle her.
He reached for the sunblock and looked inquisitively at her. "I've already put it on," she told him.
"Bet you end up with a diamond-shaped sunburn on the small of your back."
Well, there was part she had problems reaching. She turned over. He applied the sunblock thoroughly to that area. He also applied it to the back of her legs; she was certain that she'd covered them adequately. When his hands started trailing up the inside of her thighs, she said "Stop!" He was laughing. "We're in front of all the world."
"They don't know us." He went back to his book.
After she began to itch, however, they returned to the inn and their room. After he had 'helped' her out of her swimsuit, she showered the salt off. When she came out in panties and bra, he greeted her with a nice kiss. He was still wearing his swimsuit, but nothing else. His hands were on her skin all the while his tongue was in her mouth. When the kiss ended, she cuddled into his arms. The suit was a bit clammy against her hip and belly, but the rest of him was warm and comforting. She raised her face for another kiss and then let him go. She dressed in slacks and blouse while he was washing off the sunblock. She lay down on the bed and dipped into his novel.
"I didn't know you were a Tom Clancy fan," he said when he came out dressed except for his feet.
"I'm not, really."
"I know. It was the only book available. The Gideons are slipping these days."
"I'd prefer Tom Clancy. I'm on vacation." She'd go back to Bible reading when she went back to work.
"Go ahead." David dug into his top drawer. "I brought a Bible." He lay down behind her with it in his hand. Instead of opening it, however, he began to kiss her arm.
"Hey," she said, suppressing a laugh, "read your own book and let me read mine." Of course, she was reading his book, but he'd brought a Bible with him.
"Okay. '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.'"
She put the Tom Clancy down. "Where did you get that?" She'd accuse him of making it up, but the language and comparisons did sound biblical.
"Song of Songs. Didn't you read it?"
"It wasn't covered in any of my courses." One hell of a lot of the Old Testament wasn't covered.
"You weren't an adolescent boy. One of the first books of the Bible I read all the way through. Before some Gospels, maybe before any Gospel."
She laughed. "No wonder you're a biblical scholar. Your two interests coincide."
"See!" he said. "I may not be perceptive, but I am consistent."
She turned away from him and went back to the novel. Aside from his leg against her rump, he let her read in peace. "Dinner?" he asked when she had finished a chapter. Now that she thought about it, she was hungry. They put on shoes, and went out.
They went to the southern restaurant. As the had guessed, the portions were large; he finished up her plate when it was more than she wanted. Well, he'd gone more than twice as far as she had when they were swimming. Even so, she wondered where it went.
They walked around the town for a bit, ambling and holding hands. When they got to a dark spot where the trees obscured the streetlights, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
When they got back to the inn, he asked her, "Is the Clancy all right, or do you want another book?"
"You want your novel back?"
"That's okay. 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."
"Sleeping in the same bed." That was a nice thought, but they had a bed to share much closer and much sooner. They were alone on the stairs going up to their room, and he rested his hand on her rump. In the room, after a long kiss, he undressed her. When she was down to her bra and pantyhose, she escaped into the bathroom. She cleaned off her makeup and inserted the diaphragm.
She thought about the nightgown again, but it was scratchy. She came out naked. After his own bathroom time, David joined her in bed also naked. "Did you even pack pajamas?" she asked. She'd seen his robe hanging in the closet.
"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. I figure that there is no reason to cover myself around you. I..." he pushed back the sheet "...have nothing to hide from you." Among the things he revealed, all during the conversation but especially with that gesture, was a penis which was beginning to become erect.
"Except your sense."
"That's what I said," David said. Okay! His sense was nothing. She couldn't argue with that.
She leaned on her right elbow and gave him a kiss. His tongue entered her mouth and he began to stroke her. When she lay back, he rose up to kiss all around her face. He revisited her mouth for another deep kiss before he began to trail down to her breasts. When his mouth reached her right nipple, his hand stroked her mound. She spread her legs wider.
Instead of her labia, though, he stroked the insides of her thighs. His fingers were feather-light, tickling as much as arousing. He kissed down the bottom of her breast and down, and down. When he got to her mound, he kissed her right hipbone and then her thigh.
He stopped to get himself between her legs. He kissed her thigh once more, up that thigh towards her lips. He used his fingers to spread her outer ones, and his tongue to part her inner ones. he licked each one, licked them both, licked everywhere but her clitoris.
He shifted so his hands could reach her breasts. He cupped both, but all the motion was down below. The sensations were delightful until they were agony. "David," she said.
He stopped all his attentions. "Yes?"
"David, please!" Please lick my clitoris; please take me over.
Instead, he moved up her body. His fingers spread her lips again and he poised at the entrance. Then he moved within, spreading those lips further, filling her, resting his weight on her. He kissed her once on each eyebrow and shifted his weight. Then he moved in and out. His hands were still no her breasts, and he caressed them as he moved.
Her arousal spiraled upward. She pressed against him as he moved down, dropped to the mattress as he moved out. She ran her hands up and down is back as he moved above her. As the feelings peaked, she grabbed his rump. She soared, throbbed.
He stroked out once more, thrust in, and had his own orgasm. "Jen!" he said. When she relaxed, he rolled off her and out of her. He was breathing like a steam engine; probably so was she. As she caught her breath, she turned on her side away from him. She cuddled back against him, and he put his arm around her.
They lay together in a spoon. When he blew across the back of her neck, she shivered. "Sweet Jen," he said. "Sweet Jennifer. This is the way it is supposed to be. Sweet Jen in my arms all night."
It was the way she wanted it to be, as well.
But she was alone in the bed when she woke up. She heard the shower, then David's voice. "Morning has broken," he sang, "like the first morning...." Lying in bed, no duties impinging on her morning, after a night of love, listening to David sing in the shower. It couldn't get much better than this. Maybe she could talk the trustees into installing a shower in the Independence parsonage.
The End Morning Has Broken Uther Pendragon firstname.lastname@example.org 2003/08/28 Thanks to Denny for editing this. Some further adventures of Jen with David: "In the Morning" The first adventures of Jen with David: "Blake" Another story about another couple entering marriage. "Oh Canada!" The index to almost all my stories is: Index to Uther Pendragon's website