managed to keep ourselves “ clean and pure ” .
Five years of dating, waiting, and courtship were climaxing on this winter evening. Charlene wanted to stay at the reception long after the guests had left. And with each passing moment, I shook with anticipation.
We drove thirty miles to Salt Lake City for our honeymoon. Romantic, no? But we were both pragmatic. I had a gig to play that weekend and it brought in much needed income. We went to Little America where we had chosen the perfect room. They had let it out to someone else. Admitting their mistake, they gave us another wedding suite for free. Yes, life was good. I knew that this night, above all nights, would be very special. For tonight, the Squirrel would die.
Early married life
I remember my father climbing the stairs to visit my mother. I don’t remember why they had separate bedrooms. I know that Dad laid his mattress on a slab of wood he called his bed. Both Mom and Dad snored. There could be a number of reasons they did not share a bedroom. I never asked why. But there apparently was no reason for Dad from exercising his marital rites. Now it is hard for a young teenager to make sense of all of this , well, a teenager as naïve as myself . But I had an inkling. It seemed clear to me that Dad had a libido that would not quit. And unfortunately, Dad’s genes were dominant.
We entered our wedding suite. It was very nice. I remembered that it was decorated quite nicely. But color, style, furniture? Who cares? There was only one thing on my mind.
I recalled our drive to Salt Lake from Ogden. Rafferty’s Baker Street and Al Stewart’s Year of the Cat played as my little Pinto station wagon cruised the highway late at night. Charlene, dressed in a very pretty yellow dress, leaned over the very uncomfortable and non ergonomic handbrake to hang on my shoulder. Once forbidden affections were now sanctioned. I held and embraced her as best I could with my right hand. And she snuggled up closer. My heart sank as I started feeling that I wish we could magically change places.
Check in at the hotel slowed our mood slightly as the manager found a filing error and made things right by giving us this beautiful place for free. It was so difficult to stand there for the ten minutes or so while things were sorted out. He smiled with understanding, knowing we had just been married.
It must have been very clear to the entire world that we were indeed virgins. It was a sign we wore. A sign of innocence with blazing green and blue lights. How we had made it to this point in the decade of free love was a testament to the iron clad society which reared us. We lived in the same towns; we went to the same schools, lived in the same neighborhoods. W e were the innocent, tightly protected by our families and our faith.
Charlene prepared for bed first. She asked me to close my eyes as she slipped in between the sheets. I went into the bathroom, brushed my teeth, cleaned up a bit and disrobed. I walked from the bedroom to the bed. Squirrel popped alive “Cover yourself!” And so I slipped into bed quickly.
Love restrained, feelings suppressed, dreams and schemes were now perfectly appropriate. One day it was a sin. The next day it was okay. The net result was a cacophony of confusion for me. Neither one of us could wait to consummate the marriage. Penned up love for so many years strained for release. Little did we know that breaking that dam would release a wall of pain for her and desperate anguish for me.
I lay beside her. I had hurt her. Why had it been necessary to do this the very first quiet moment we had together? Who had failed to warn us in our pre marital counseling? I had failed miserably and I had hurt my love. Was she crying? She told me that she could not bear to try again.
My life’s pain had not failed to disappoint me. It had hurt the one who I most loved and most cherished. It would be a serious physical problem for her to deal with over the next week. She
Five years of dating, waiting, and courtship were climaxing on this winter evening. Charlene wanted to stay at the reception long after the guests had left. And with each passing moment, I shook with anticipation.
We drove thirty miles to Salt Lake City for our honeymoon. Romantic, no? But we were both pragmatic. I had a gig to play that weekend and it brought in much needed income. We went to Little America where we had chosen the perfect room. They had let it out to someone else. Admitting their mistake, they gave us another wedding suite for free. Yes, life was good. I knew that this night, above all nights, would be very special. For tonight, the Squirrel would die.
Early married life
I remember my father climbing the stairs to visit my mother. I don’t remember why they had separate bedrooms. I know that Dad laid his mattress on a slab of wood he called his bed. Both Mom and Dad snored. There could be a number of reasons they did not share a bedroom. I never asked why. But there apparently was no reason for Dad from exercising his marital rites. Now it is hard for a young teenager to make sense of all of this , well, a teenager as naïve as myself . But I had an inkling. It seemed clear to me that Dad had a libido that would not quit. And unfortunately, Dad’s genes were dominant.
We entered our wedding suite. It was very nice. I remembered that it was decorated quite nicely. But color, style, furniture? Who cares? There was only one thing on my mind.
I recalled our drive to Salt Lake from Ogden. Rafferty’s Baker Street and Al Stewart’s Year of the Cat played as my little Pinto station wagon cruised the highway late at night. Charlene, dressed in a very pretty yellow dress, leaned over the very uncomfortable and non ergonomic handbrake to hang on my shoulder. Once forbidden affections were now sanctioned. I held and embraced her as best I could with my right hand. And she snuggled up closer. My heart sank as I started feeling that I wish we could magically change places.
Check in at the hotel slowed our mood slightly as the manager found a filing error and made things right by giving us this beautiful place for free. It was so difficult to stand there for the ten minutes or so while things were sorted out. He smiled with understanding, knowing we had just been married.
It must have been very clear to the entire world that we were indeed virgins. It was a sign we wore. A sign of innocence with blazing green and blue lights. How we had made it to this point in the decade of free love was a testament to the iron clad society which reared us. We lived in the same towns; we went to the same schools, lived in the same neighborhoods. W e were the innocent, tightly protected by our families and our faith.
Charlene prepared for bed first. She asked me to close my eyes as she slipped in between the sheets. I went into the bathroom, brushed my teeth, cleaned up a bit and disrobed. I walked from the bedroom to the bed. Squirrel popped alive “Cover yourself!” And so I slipped into bed quickly.
Love restrained, feelings suppressed, dreams and schemes were now perfectly appropriate. One day it was a sin. The next day it was okay. The net result was a cacophony of confusion for me. Neither one of us could wait to consummate the marriage. Penned up love for so many years strained for release. Little did we know that breaking that dam would release a wall of pain for her and desperate anguish for me.
I lay beside her. I had hurt her. Why had it been necessary to do this the very first quiet moment we had together? Who had failed to warn us in our pre marital counseling? I had failed miserably and I had hurt my love. Was she crying? She told me that she could not bear to try again.
My life’s pain had not failed to disappoint me. It had hurt the one who I most loved and most cherished. It would be a serious physical problem for her to deal with over the next week. She
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