Anonumous: The prodigal virgin

They entered the elevator and ascended, both striving to appear unconcerned, both seeing in the exchange of glances between the bellboy and the elevator operator that the two boys were secretly elated by the fact that here was a newly wedded couple. Marion, feeling the obscene implication of the message, blushed a crimson hue, and turned her face toward the elevator wall.

Herbert had taken a suite of two rooms and a bath. As they entered the living room Marion trembled with the realization that here she was, a bride, no longer a child or an innocent young girl, but a grown woman, soon to receive the final initiation into life, the process by which she would lose forever the treasure that is held up temptingly as a prize for the man who wins a maiden’s hand.

Herbert paid the bellboy, dexterously steered the inquisitive youth through the door, and turned with a look of suddenly released eagerness to Marion, who stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, still holding her pocketbook. He reached her in two strides and clasped the trembling girl in his arms. She melted, almost collapsed into his embrace, clutching him around the neck.

“At last we are alone!” Herbert cried. “Oh, my dear little Marion, I thought the time would never come when we would be safe from the gawking of all those people. Every minute has seemed like a day since we left the justice’s office. At last, dear, we are alone to enjoy ourselves as husband and wife, to become more fully acquainted with those sides of ourselves that are not readily apparent.”

Marion did not answer. Her mind was occupied with sudden fear. What if she did not succeed in portraying the role of an innocent girl? What if she betrayed, by some lapse into casualness, that she was no stranger to the intimate gestures of an amorous man? Would Herbert perceive the guilt which she would strive to conceal?

All these thoughts disturbed Marion as she felt herself being led adroitly toward the door that led into the bedroom, but soon she was to learn that her fears were uncalled for. For Herbert had no more than closed the door when he grasped her again in his arms, but not with tenderness. He seized her roughly, his right arm circling her waist, the hand cupping itself boldly over her breast. His other hand pressed her thigh, squeezing it firmly. The look of genuine shock in Marion’s eye brought a short, cynical laugh for the now fully aroused Herbert, a laugh that conveyed to her troubled mind the knowledge that Herbert knew something. What was it? Had Stan or Mildred told him the shameful story of their initiating her into the elementary facts of life? Or had he guessed that Marion was not so chaste and unsullied as she was reputed to be. Was he one of those cynical young men who suspect the worst of every woman? Although she was aware of Herbert’s sudden change of attitude, suspecting that his dropping of all pretense was indicative of something of the sort, she was not prepared for the disclosure contained in his next words:

“Come, Marion, my girl, I think it high time we dropped our pose of bashful swain and innocent maiden. Although you doubtless do not suspect it, I was a spectator to a scene in which you were one of the leading participants. The tableau I saw makes me fully aware that you are by no means a stranger to the naked body of a man. Let us put our cards on the table, my little wench.”

Marion felt both thrills at the masterful, cave-mannish tone of Herbert’s voice had assumed and horrified guilt in the face of the knowledge that Herbert had observed one of the “lessons” she had received from Stan in that secluded nook near the beach. She waited, breathless, for him to make the next move.

Without speaking Herbert began removing her clothing with an ease that betrayed a more than passing skill at undressing a lady. First her jacket, which he slipped from her arms, letting it drop to the floor; next, her skirt-a finger inserted at the waist band released the hook-and-eye fastener, and the garment was pealed downward off her hips, collapsing on the floor at her feet. The lacy slip that completed her ensemble was easiest of all to the desecrator: it buttoned all the way down the front, and the flying fingers made short work of these obstacles. It too fell to the floor, and Marion, speechless with excitement and fear, buried her face against her husband’s chest, as he peeled the slip from her breasts and started it over the same journey traveled a moment before by the outer skirt, over those delicately curved and dimpled mounds whose explorations by Stanley Cochrane had given Marion such thrills of shameful lechery, had excited her to the point that she had at length succumbed to his most bold caress.

At last, stark naked except for her stockings and shoes, Marion felt Herbert’s arms relax their grip and, unsupported, she sank weakly to the floor. She looked up at Herbert and gave a little cry when she saw that he was divesting himself of his own garments even more rapidly than he had stripped her. She watched, fascinated, as he ripped off his shirt, exposing a muscular chest, well grizzled by hair, and beneath it the trim waist of a man well conditioned by exercise. Although Herbert was not the giant physically that Stan Cochrane was, Marion noted, he was no less firmly constructed in build, and as he slipped off his shorts the rampant organ, already fired with energy, burst into view, giving her the happy tidings that Herbert could well take care of the duty left undone by her brother-in-law.

Gone now was her modesty, although less than a month ago she had never given serious thought to a woman’s married life-less than twenty-four hours ago, in fact, she would have been blushing furiously at the thought of the impending ordeal. Now she lay supine on the thick carpet, her naked body posed seductively against the rich red cloth, One arm, bent at the elbow, supported her head, the other lay at her side, making no attempt to cover as best it could the charming spot, even more enhanced by its protective tuft of curly hair, from which Herbert had not wrested his gaze as he stripped for action. Now, as he sank to the floor beside her, although her face colored, this was not so much a blush as a surge of passion-heated blood rushing up from her febrile body to dizzy and intoxicate the girl with its lustful yearning. Still, as she felt the contact of his bare flesh against hers, she could not abandon from her mind a thought that had come to her with Herbert’s exposure of her interludes with Stanley Cochrane. Eluding his burning lips as they sought her own, she asked, falteringly, for she had not yet acquired the nonchalance of other young women of the colony in discussing matters of sex:

“But, Herbert-you know, it wasn’t-nice to let myself be treated so by a man. If you saw-us, you must despise me. How could you marry me? You seemed to like me at first because I was unsophisticated-at least that’s what Mildred said-so how could you still want to marry me after you found out?”

Herbert laughed. “Nonsense, dear I determined to have you the first time I saw you, and the sight of you giving such enjoyment to Cochrane only increased my desires, giving me the added pleasure of stealing you away from that young stud. Why should he have two women, particularly when one of them is desirable to me?”

“But, Herbert, darling,” Marion persisted, “you seemed so reserved, so noble, compared to most of the people we know. You seemed positively ascetic!”

“Oh, ho!” Herbert said. “So that’s it? Because Herbert Allison reserves his amours for his bedroom, for actual enjoyment rather than topics of conversation, he is considered to be an old fogy? Well, well, and how could a little pupil of Stan Cochrane’s and your lascivious but charming sister think of marrying such a pious man? Answer me that?”