21. Chapter 21
Talmage
I should be paying attention to the instructions from our teacher about the field trip, but I can’t stop staring at Mack. The dress she’s wearing must be new, and it looks so beautiful on her, I don’t know how I’m going to pay attention to the musical we’re going to. I only want to look at her.
A feeling low in my gut starts to stir, something unfamiliar to me, and I don’t know if I like it.
If it’s what I think it is, it’s something I shouldn’t be feeling. Not until I’m married.
I snap my face forward so I can focus and pinch the side of my thigh, willing my heart rate to slow down.
The church warns spending too much time with someone of the opposite sex could cause lustful thoughts, but I thought Mack and I were in the clear. We’ve been spending a lot of time together, sure, but never alone. We never go past kissing. Our hands don’t roam to forbidden places .
My face heats as I remember the kiss backstage last week before they turned the lights on.
No more kissing in the dark.
We make our way to the buses, and—to my relief—the teacher says boys have to sit with boys and girls with girls.
Mack and her friend Tessa sit in front of me and Jacob, but we hold hands between the gap in the seats as we make the journey. Her touch lights up my bloodstream, but I don’t want to let go.
I think my brain is still buffering. Still trying to process the expanse of skin I saw. The whorls of ink etched onto Mack’s body.
I’m sure I’ve seen a naked woman before. I must have in my twenty-eight years. Right?
If I have, every memory is now erased and replaced by the image of my wife’s naked butt and lovely breasts.
After I quickly unpack my clothes and place them in the drawers or in the closet, I make my way to the bathroom.
It still smells like whatever bubble bath or soap Mack uses—only it smells more like lavender and vanilla than her usual citrus scent.
The bathroom is spacious, with a separate shower stall and large bathtub.
White marble countertops and white painted walls with a large black vanity beneath a big mirror.
There are plenty of drawers underneath, and I find an empty one to put my toiletries in before I strip off my clothes and turn on the shower.
I grab a clean towel from beneath the sink and sling it over the shower door before stepping inside.
I’m surrounded by Mack. Her shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. Her loofah and face wash.
Images of Mack washing herself flash behind my eyes, and I shake my head to try to clear them. She hasn’t given me permission to think about her in this way.
But still, the images come in rapid succession. The image of her ample backside is burned into my memory, and my body responds accordingly.
All the blood rushing south makes me dizzy.
My brain recalls what Lizzie said. The Mormon rules don’t apply anymore.
Now that I’m officially married, masturbation is up to the discretion of the couple. If Mack and I aren’t going to be intimate, there’s nothing wrong with touching myself.
Right?
I look down at my penis, hard as a steel rod, and for the first time in my life, I give in to the urge to touch myself.
I pump some of Mack’s body wash into my hand, and I swear I get even harder as the scent meets my nostrils. My erection pulses with need.
An unbidden whimper escapes my throat as I wrap my hand around myself and tug once.
This feels so good, how have I gone this long without doing it?
I have to brace myself with a hand on the tiled wall when my knees buckle at the sensation. All I see when I close my eyes is Mack’s body. Her lips. Her smile. The swirls of green in her mossy eyes.
It doesn’t even take a whole thirty seconds of thinking about our brief kisses before I’m shooting white ropes onto the floor of the shower and watching it wash down the drain.
I expect to feel relief. Satisfaction. I just orgasmed on purpose for the first time in my life. But I don’t feel satisfied. All I feel is… hungry.
Not for food.
For Mack. For her kisses. Her affection. For… more.
I want her in all the ways a husband and wife can have someone. I want her to be the first—and only—person I make love to.
I want to know what it feels like to have someone else’s— Mack’s —hands on me, not my own.
But she’s made it clear it’s not what she wants. And I’ll respect her wishes.
I guess my hand and I will be getting very acquainted.
Hopefully purposeful masturbation will put an end to the wet dreams.
I quickly rinse myself off and get out of the shower. I dry off and start to put on my usual underwear of the church issued garments when I pause.
This day signifies new beginnings. A chance for me to start living how I want and not how the church tells me to.
I haven’t worn regular underwear in ten years—I don’t even own any. But I can buy some tomorrow. I can go commando for a few hours, right ?
I slip on my gray sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt before I grab the rest of my garments from the drawer and take them upstairs.
Mack’s standing at the stove, stirring something in a pot.
“Do you have a pair of scissors?”
Mack turns around, and when she sees the pile of white cloth, her eyebrows shoot up. “What are you doing?”
I plop them on the couch. “I’m starting my new life! The first step is to get rid of the garments. I need to cut the symbols off.”
Mack tilts her head. “You know if you just… throw them away, nothing bad will happen, right? They teach you to cut the symbols off because they think people will use them for evil.”
Huh. That never occurred to me. “You’re right. I guess I don’t have to cut the symbols off. Should I just go toss them in the trash?”
Mack shrugs. “They make excellent cleaning rags if you’d rather get some use out of them. There are scissors in the drawer by the fridge. The food should be ready in about ten minutes.”
I grab the scissors and start cutting my garment tops into rectangles. It feels symbolic to be doing this. Like cutting them up is cutting the last ties to the religion that has caused so many people harm.
I know it’s not true because I have to remove my records, but still. It’s cathartic, and I feel lighter with every piece I cut .
When Mack tells me the food’s ready, I’m about eighty percent through my pile, so I stop and sit next to her at the island.
“Will you help me pick out underwear tomorrow? It’s been a long time since I’ve worn something other than garments, and there are so many options, I don’t know what I’ll like.”
Mack’s head whips to me. “Are you… not wearing underwear right now?”
I shrug. “No. I didn’t want to put the garments on, and I don’t have any other underwear. I figure I’ll be fine until tomorrow morning.”
Mack blinks her big green eyes at me. They dart down, like she’s trying to verify, but the counter blocks her line of sight. Blood rushes south at the idea of her checking me out.
She clears her throat and turns back to her food, shaking her head slightly. “Right. Yeah. Okay. Sounds… good. I can definitely help you shop for new underwear.”
I grin. “Thanks, Mack. I appreciate it.”
Once I’m finished with my food, I place my bowl and spoon in the dishwasher and find a pad of paper and a pen. “All right, wifey. Let’s make a grocery list.”