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THE WEDDING FEAST

Michael is thirty-nine years old and has been a successful New York theater musician for more than.half his life. He sports· a sixty-dollar haircut, his shoulder-length hair carefully layered to preserve a well-groomed appearance. Its shiny black color contrasts dramatically with the steel gray of his eyes. He is lean and agile at a height of six foot-two. A one-carat diamond stud flashes in his left earlobe to call attention to his masculine good looks. When we ask about the best sex he ever had, he wistfully recalls his wedding night, ten years ago.

I started playing the drums kind of late in life. I was eleven. Most pros start before they’re seven. I learned fast, though, and was playing in a neighborhood rock band by the time I was fifteen. At nineteen, I got my first job on Broadway, in the orchestra for a hit musical. The show ran four years and I worked the whole time. When it closed, I got a gig with another musical right away. Since then, I’ve worked steadily, one show after another, with never more than a week or two between gigs. That’s how I met Sandy. It was about eleven years ago. I was twenty-eight, and she was twenty seven. A friend of mine who was playing sax in a new show invited me to a party to celebrate the opening of rehearsals. It was at somebody’s posh Park Avenue apartment, one of those open house kind of affairs with people drifting in and out all night. I noticed Sandy the minute she entered the room. You might say it was a case of lust at first sight. She had long, straight blond hair, the softest I’ve ever seen, and eyes the color of sapphires. She was tall and thin, with small breasts and tight little buns. Her curvy muscular legs tipped me off to her occupation.

I grabbed two glasses of champagne and headed straight toward her. “Welcome,” I said, handing her a glass. “I bet you’re a dancer.” She flashed me a smile that could have melted steel and looked me over carefully from head to toe. “And you must be a drummer,” she answered, sipping the champagne. “Hey, wait a minute,” I said. “One look at those gorgeous legs told me that you’re a dancer. But how did you know that I play drums?” She smiled knowingly. “Maybe I’ll tell you sometime,” she said softly. “When we know each other better.” Her voice was deep and husky, making her words sound like sexy music. “Oh? Do you think we will?” I asked. My mind was racing, trying to remember whether I had ever met her before. I knew I couldn’t have, because I never would have forgotten some one like her.

She wasn’t coy or cutesy, like a lot of women would have been in that situation. She just looked me in the eye and said, “Yes. I think we will.” She was right, of course. We talked and laughed together for an hour or so, only half aware that there was a crowded party going on around us. After what I thought was a decent interval, I suggested that we go somewhere for a drink, and she immediately agreed. We found a quiet comer in a cocktail lounge. When our drinks arrived, I said, “Well, do you think we know each other well enough yet? How could you tell I’m a drummer?” Sandy affected an expression of mystery. “It might ha ye been your hands,” she said. “Or it might have been the rhythm of your movements. But probably it was when I saw you coming toward me with those two glasses of champagne, I asked a friend who you were, and she told me.” I laughed heartily. What a great sense of humor. We stayed in the lounge for a while to continue our conversation. Although we played at courtship sparring, we both knew how the evening would end. Within hours we were writhing in bed together in her apartment.

We went out again the next night and started seeing each other a few times a week from that point on. Sandy worked in the chorus of a musical a few blocks from where I played. We would meet for drinks and dinner after work and end up at her place, where we would make love until the wee hours. We started ·spending more and more time together. I found that when I wasn’t with her, I was thinking about her and longing for her. After only three months, I asked her to move in with me, and she accepted. Because her apartment was larger and more centrally located than mine, I actually ended up moving in with her. Everything was great, right from the start. We ate together, laughed together, slept together, and enjoyed life together. Every night after work at 10:30, we both rushed home to make passionate love.

There was something about our sexual communication that made it clear that we were right for each other. I’d been with a lot of sexy women before that. You know how show business is. But no other woman ever satisfied me the way Sandy did. For one thing, I have a powerful appetite, always hungry for sex. Every night. Every morning. And in the middle of the day too, if I can get it. None of the other women I knew could keep up with me. Most of the time, after their first orgasm, they were ready to roll over and go to sleep. I always wanted more. Oh, some would try to accommodate me, but I could tell that their hearts weren’t really in it. With Sandy it was different. She had the same urgent sexual drive as I did. When she came back for seconds, I knew that it was because she wanted it as much as I. I didn’t usually go to work until evening, but she was rehearsing a new show and had to work all afternoon. Some .. times she’d call me from rehearsal to say that she was getting a break and heading home. When that happened, I’d wait for her, naked, in our apartment. As soon as she opened the door, I’d pounce on her, stripping off her clothes and scattering them around the room as I pulled her to the bed or dragged her to the floor. She didn’t usually get more than twenty or thirty minutes off, so we’d start making love immediately and keep it up until the last possible second.

At night, we would have more time for leisure. Sometimes our foreplay would last for hours. We would take turns at massaging each other or kissing each other’s bodies, until the kisses turned to oral sex. We would bring each other right to the edge of orgasm before stopping to switch roles. She satisfied all my urges, all my wants, all my erotic desires. And I knew I was satisfying her. It wasn’t just sex, either. We were deeply in love with each other. We both knew that it was only a matter of time before we got married. I brought up the subject of marriage after we had been living together for eight months. Sandy agreed at once, her eyes shining with tears of happiness. We set the date, reserved a ballroom in a Midtown hotel, and started inviting friends and families.

One night, about two weeks before the wedding, Sandy surprised me. As usual, I hurried home right after work, looking forward to several hours of steamy sex. But my fiancee had other ideas. When I arrived, she Was still fully dressed. I noticed a suitcase in our apartment’s entrance hall.

I was horrified. Was she leaving me? Had she changed her mind about the wedding? “Sandy,” I asked nervously. “What’s going on?” “Don’t worry, my love,” she said in a voice that calmed me. “I’ve been thinking about something and I want to tell you about it. “You see,” she continued. “Like every girl in the world, I always dreamed about my wedding night. I always wanted it to be something special. But the way we’re living, it won’t be special at all. We’ll wake up together, have breakfast together, and get dressed together just like we do every day. Then we’ll go to the wedding together and come home together afterward. Now what’s special about that?”

I saw her point, but I couldn’t imagine how she intended to change things. “I guess you’re right,” I said. “But that’s life in the modem world. After all, we’ve been living together for almost a year. There’s nothing we can do about that now.” “Well, in a way there is,” she answered. “If we don’t live together between now and then, our wedding night can seem like something special.” Now I understood the suitcase that I had seen when I came in. In a strange way it made sense, but I didn’t like it. ”My friend Kathryn has a lovely apartment overlooking the river,” she continued. “She left for Europe this morning and gave me her key. I’ve arranged for you to house-sit for the next two weeks.” I was stunned. “What?” I stammered. “You mean you’re kicking me out?”

“Don’t look at it that way, Michael,” she said in a soothing voice. ”Think of it as an investment in our future. After two weeks of not sleeping together, our wedding night will be so hot and sizzling that we’ll remember it for the rest of our lives.” As she spoke, she undid two of the buttons at the front of her blouse. I became hard at once. “I don’t know,” I said, trying to sound logical. “Maybe there’s a better way. I mean, two weeks seems kind of drastic.

Suppose we just agree not to have sex for two or three nights before our wedding.” “No, no,” she said in the husky whisper that had helped hook me on her in the first place. “I promise you a night that’ll be worth waiting for. After two weeks without it, we’ll be so turned on that there isn’t anything we won’t be ready to do.” She undid another button and leaned over to lick my ear with the tip of her tongue. “Let me tell you some of the things I have in mind,” she whispered, reaching for my hand and placing it inside the open front of her blouse. I cupped her breasts, feeling her erect nipples poking against the inside of her bra. I was painfully hard, throbbing inside my pants.

She started describing the most exciting sex acts I could imagine, promising me a night filled with bliss. She told me exactly where she would put her fingers and her tongue. She told me about an erotic dance she was creating especially for the occasion, a dance that would arouse me more than I had ever been aroused. She promised to do things I had always dreamed of, and some I had never dreamed of. She alluded to positions so unusual that we had never even tried them before. All the while, she was blowing her hot breath in my ear and nibbling it. I was so turned on that I would have gone along with anything. “Okay, my love,” I murmured. “It’s a crazy idea, but if that’s what you want, I’ll do it.” As I spoke, I slipped my fingers inside her bra to search for the glowing ember of her nipple. Before I found it, Sandy pulled away from me, leaving my empty hand poised in midair.

“Quick,” I said. “Let’s go to bed right now. If it’s going to be the last time until the wedding, I want to get started right away. I’ll pack in the morning.” “No, my darling,” Sandy said, re buttoning her blouse. “This morning was the last time until the wedding. Your suitcase is already packed. Here’s the key to Kathryn’s place. The address is on this slip of paper.” “What?” I sputtered. “Why tonight? Why can’t we just sleep together once more before this prison sentence begins?” “No,” she repeated firmly, opening the door. “You’re out of here right now.” “But … ” Without quite knowing how it happened, I found myself standing outside the closed door of our apartment with a suitcase in one hand and her friend’s key in the other. I turned to ring the bell but stopped myself, realizing that her mind was made up and there was no chance of changing it. For the next two weeks, I went slowly crazy. We talked to each other on the phone two or three times a day, but never for more than a few minutes. She always managed to find some excuse when I asked her to meet me, saying that she was very busy at rehearsal or that she had too many other things to do. I missed her terribly and I was counting the days.

To make matters worse, I was horny as hell. Without any warning, I had gone from feast to famine. Sandy and I had been having sex several times a day, and suddenly I was on a sexual starvation diet. I tried jerking off, but that just didn’t fill the bill. Once I even tried doing it while talking to her on the phone, figuring that it would be a little like making love. She knew instantly, though, from the sound of my breathing. ”Now, you cut that out,” she said. Embarrassed, I stopped. As soon as we were off the phone, I finished what I had started, but it just wasn’t enough. I was beginning to find it difficult to sleep at night, tossing and turning for hours between twenty- or thirty-minute snatches of slumber. My erection never seemed to go away, and when I rolled around restlessly in my solitary bed, it pressed painfully against the mattress. I lost my appetite and was losing weight as a result. I never realized how sexual starvation could gnaw at a person day after day, night after night.

I couldn’t even concentrate on my work. I beat out my rhythms mechanically, relying on reflexes that I developed in the year or so that the show had been running. Instead of thinking about the music, I was thinking about my erotic needs. The worst part was knowing that they wouldn’t be fulfilled when work was finished or when the night was over. It seemed that I had been living like a monk for centuries, although it hadn’t been quite two weeks. It was sheer agony. By the time our wedding day rolled around, all I could think about was making love to Sandy. Never mind the ceremony. Never mind the reception. I wanted the honeymoon to start right away. I was obsessing. I was so hungry for sex that my body ached. I wasn’t at all sure that I’d be able to get the pants of my wedding suit on over my hard-on. I think I lost contact with reality for a while. In my mind, the wedding had turned into a night of lovemaking on a bed of passion. When I arrived at the hall and saw the room filled with guests, I realized that the consummation of our desires was still several eternal hours away. My brother, who was acting as my best man, thought I had the jitters because I was having second thoughts about getting married. Boy, was he mistaken. I wanted that ceremony more than anything I ever wanted before.

I don’t remember much about it other than some hastily mumbled “I do’s” and a voice pronouncing us man and wife. I had reserved a room in that very hotel and wanted to rush up to it as soon as the ceremony ended. But there was still that endless dinner and reception to sit through. All the guests were eating and drinking and having a ball. Everyone but me. Food and dancing were the last things on my mind. All I wanted was to roll my bride in my arms, kiss her, and make wonderful love to her. When the band struck up “A Groovy Kind of Love,” everyone called for Sandy and me to dance alone. As we glided across the floor, I held my wife tightly against me, fearful that the bulge of my erection would embarrass me. “Let’s get out of here,” I murmured. “Everybody’s having a good time. No one will notice if we slip away. Isn’t that what newlyweds do?”

“Oh, silly,” she said, giggling like a virgin. “We haven’t even cut the cake yet.” I could tell that she was enjoying the wait, pleased by my hunger for her. Later, as our friends took turns proposing toasts to the newly married couple, I asked her again if we could leave. She shook her head coquettishly, saying, “Our guests, Michael. We mustn’t forget our guests.” Finally, as the waiters were pouring coffee, she leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Now, my darling husband. Take me to our room and make love to me.” My knees were shaking as I stood and took her hand. Trying to be unobtrusive, I led her through the double doors to the elevators. My heart was pounding. I held her and kissed her as the elevator whisked us to the honeymoon suite. Opening the door, I lifted her and carried her inside. “Oh, God,” I said. ”Those ·were the longest two weeks in my life. I never want to go through anything like that again.” Sandy just smiled. “It will be worth it, darling,” she said. “You’ll see.” With that, she stepped back and lifted the skirt and petticoats of her wedding gown, exhibiting the lacy garter belt that held up her stockings. I gasped. She was not wearing panties.

“I’m yours now,” she said. “Come and take me.” I fell to my knees and pressed my lips to the milky skin at the tops of her thighs. As I kissed and nuzzled, she lowered the skirts so that I was inside the dress with her. Famished, I devoured her sex flesh. The moment my tongue touched her sensitive button, I heard her begin to groan rhythmically. She was coming already. Obviously, my bride was as hungry as I. Without waiting to catch her breath, she stepped away from me as soon as her orgasm was finished and unzipped my fly. Holding my erection tenderly in her loving hand, she bent forward and took it into her mouth, bringing me to climax within seconds. Then she led me to the bed and guided me down onto it. “We’ve finished starving,” she said. “Now the real banquet will begin.”

She began to dance for me, slowly and tantalizingly stripping off her clothing as she undulated to music playing in her head. The movements of her body were intensely erotic, bringing me to renewed erection almost instantly. When all her garments were removed, she danced naked, making age old gestures with her hips and pelvis that seemed to say, “Fuck me, fuck me.” Her body swayed, arousing us both until we were ready to. begin making love slowly and patiently, time after time, till night turned to day. Sometimes we came singly, one of us passive while the other gave pleasure. Then, immediately, we changed roles so that passive receiver became active giver. Sometimes we came. together, striving in rhythm until the ecstasy of simultaneous orgasms made us fill the air with cries and sobs of satisfied desire. Even after that, we continued making love, moving without stop from one thundering climax to the next.

Sometime the following morning, we drifted off to sleep. We clutched at each other as if we both feared another separation like the one we had endured. When we woke, we loved again, trying desperately to make up for all we had missed. That evening, we left for a short honeymoon· in the Caribbean. During it, neither of us saw much of anything outside our honeymoon bedchamber, where we spent hours and hours each day and night satisfying our undying appetites. Our wedding night and the days that followed it were filled with the best sex either of us ever had.

There’s no doubt that the period of sexual starvation prior to our wedding sharpened our desires and honed the cutting edge of our passion. Although we’ve been married for ten years, we haven’t lost any of our sexual hunger. Sometimes, though, when we want to add a special spice to our life, we deliberately starve ourselves for a week or two. We talk about sex but refrain from all sexual contact until a predetermined day. Then we feast, indulging in an erotic banquet that always begins with Sandy’s dance of the veils and never ends until our rapacious cravings are satiated.

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