that nobody was watching before getting into the backseat of my car.
Like always, we shut the door and fell into each other’s arms – each of us holding on for dear life. In his arms, I felt so safe and loved. And then, my head resting on his shoulder, I looked up to him and said: “I want you to make love to me.”
He looked at me in surprise. “Are you sure?” he asked. We had talked about it in the past but had never crossed the line. I was a virgin and had every intention of remaining one until I was married. But, today, I had a different plan.
“Yes, I’d like for you to make love to me,” I repeated.
“There’s nothing more I’d want in this world than to make love to you. I’d be honored.”
“Then, let’s do it,” I said.
He cupped my face in his hand and kissed me tenderly. He then looked into my eyes and shook his head. “Not in the car. You deserve better than that,” he said.
Unbeknownst to him, I had made plans.
I was going to leave him this time, for good. I knew, I thought, that I would never find anyone else, or get married, for that matter. So, because I was leaving him, I wanted my virginity to be taken by someone I loved; a sweet memory I would hold dearly in my heart.
I was also hoping against all odds that I would get pregnant. I would then remain in Texas after the internship to raise our child alone. He needn’t know. He had a family of his own. With our child, I would have a part of him with me always.
The thought of leaving him was so very difficult; when I thought about it, I wept. But I knew one thing for certain, I just couldn’t go on living this way. The hiding and sneaking had taken its toll on me. Knowing he had a wife to go home to every time we departed confused me. I understood his need to keep his family together for the sake of his children who were a few years younger than me. But if he really loved me, how could a few extra minutes spent with me hurt his children? If he would rather be with me than with his wife, why couldn’t he find the excuses necessary to stay a bit longer?
My eyes swelled with tears, as always, as the time approached for him to go home. Our last few minutes together were spent in each other’s arms. I cried, and he tried to comfort me, telling me not to cry, and that he would try to stay a bit longer the next time we saw each other. Then, it was time for him to leave.
But not before we made plans to meet – at his home.
Chapter 35
August 1989
O ur two-tier wedding cake was not supposed to look the way it did.
I couldn’t remember when we had checked on the cake. Was it the night before, or a few hours before our wedding? But when we did, I was horrified. “This is not what I ordered,” I said. Had Peter misunderstood me when we placed an order? He was the one who voiced for me, after all.
The Italian baker, who was also the owner, had added his own touches without my permission – blue frosted flowers on the top of the cake. I wanted to tell him to scrape off the frosting and do the job all over again.
“Let’s just forget it,” Peter said. “It isn’t that bad, really.” I thought the baker’s touches ruined everything but decided to let it go.
On the top we had placed a wedding figurine that Mom and Dad had used on their wedding cake. People commented on the antique when they saw it. As people gathered around the cake to witness its cutting, I immediately noticed something was missing.
“K-n-i-f-e,” I fingerspelled, low enough so no one except Peter could see. Peter was clueless. “Knife,” I repeated. “Where is it?”
Peter whispered to a wedding attendee in the reception room and a knife was brought in. A plain standard piece of silverware from the same set with which everyone had eaten during our reception. That was not the knife I was referring to. The wedding knife that I had purchased was nowhere to be found.
We had no choice but to proceed with our agenda. We cut the cake in two slices and placed
Like always, we shut the door and fell into each other’s arms – each of us holding on for dear life. In his arms, I felt so safe and loved. And then, my head resting on his shoulder, I looked up to him and said: “I want you to make love to me.”
He looked at me in surprise. “Are you sure?” he asked. We had talked about it in the past but had never crossed the line. I was a virgin and had every intention of remaining one until I was married. But, today, I had a different plan.
“Yes, I’d like for you to make love to me,” I repeated.
“There’s nothing more I’d want in this world than to make love to you. I’d be honored.”
“Then, let’s do it,” I said.
He cupped my face in his hand and kissed me tenderly. He then looked into my eyes and shook his head. “Not in the car. You deserve better than that,” he said.
Unbeknownst to him, I had made plans.
I was going to leave him this time, for good. I knew, I thought, that I would never find anyone else, or get married, for that matter. So, because I was leaving him, I wanted my virginity to be taken by someone I loved; a sweet memory I would hold dearly in my heart.
I was also hoping against all odds that I would get pregnant. I would then remain in Texas after the internship to raise our child alone. He needn’t know. He had a family of his own. With our child, I would have a part of him with me always.
The thought of leaving him was so very difficult; when I thought about it, I wept. But I knew one thing for certain, I just couldn’t go on living this way. The hiding and sneaking had taken its toll on me. Knowing he had a wife to go home to every time we departed confused me. I understood his need to keep his family together for the sake of his children who were a few years younger than me. But if he really loved me, how could a few extra minutes spent with me hurt his children? If he would rather be with me than with his wife, why couldn’t he find the excuses necessary to stay a bit longer?
My eyes swelled with tears, as always, as the time approached for him to go home. Our last few minutes together were spent in each other’s arms. I cried, and he tried to comfort me, telling me not to cry, and that he would try to stay a bit longer the next time we saw each other. Then, it was time for him to leave.
But not before we made plans to meet – at his home.
Chapter 35
August 1989
O ur two-tier wedding cake was not supposed to look the way it did.
I couldn’t remember when we had checked on the cake. Was it the night before, or a few hours before our wedding? But when we did, I was horrified. “This is not what I ordered,” I said. Had Peter misunderstood me when we placed an order? He was the one who voiced for me, after all.
The Italian baker, who was also the owner, had added his own touches without my permission – blue frosted flowers on the top of the cake. I wanted to tell him to scrape off the frosting and do the job all over again.
“Let’s just forget it,” Peter said. “It isn’t that bad, really.” I thought the baker’s touches ruined everything but decided to let it go.
On the top we had placed a wedding figurine that Mom and Dad had used on their wedding cake. People commented on the antique when they saw it. As people gathered around the cake to witness its cutting, I immediately noticed something was missing.
“K-n-i-f-e,” I fingerspelled, low enough so no one except Peter could see. Peter was clueless. “Knife,” I repeated. “Where is it?”
Peter whispered to a wedding attendee in the reception room and a knife was brought in. A plain standard piece of silverware from the same set with which everyone had eaten during our reception. That was not the knife I was referring to. The wedding knife that I had purchased was nowhere to be found.
We had no choice but to proceed with our agenda. We cut the cake in two slices and placed
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