That’s probably one of the most commonly used terms to describe my wife and me prior to our marriage. We met in December of 1998 while eating breakfast at our middle school lunch room. I caught her eye, and she caught mine, and within a month we were “going together.” Y’know— Going to Valentine’s dances in the back of mom’s car, to the movies in the back of mom’s car, or to bowling in the back of mom’s car.
That same year we both became very active in our respective churches. We became hardcore youth group Christian kids committed to saving ourselves and purity. I had a WWJD ring that I wore, and I signed a promise card stating that I would remain a virgin until I was married. We both did… and despite all the hormones and frustration of being teenagers in love (and lust), we spent eight years avoiding one another’s genitals.
Our virginity was like a badge of honor, and it was praised during our wedding ceremony by the pastor. Our virginity also got us out of the required pre-marital counseling since we obviously had Christ at the center of our lives, and of course that’s all it takes for a happy marriage. (That same pastor would later make a surprise visit after finding out that I’d left the faith. He learned then that things don’t always stay the way you want them to.)
Our wedding was beautiful, held in a small country church with standing room only. Hundreds of people were there, and I cried the entire time. (That’s something I do— cry, easily.) We felt surrounded by people who loved us, but more than that, we felt anxious and excited for the upcoming night that we had waited for so long. We didn’t know we were preparing for the honeymoon from hell.
We were going on a cruise for our honeymoon. We had a long drive, so we stopped at a fairly nice hotel about halfway to our port. My new wife made me wait in the lobby while she went to prepare the chamber of our consummation.
Here’s the scene:
We are in the honeymoon suite – complete with a fancy whirlpool tub.
I am in the business center, checking Myspace (this was 2006) and being as patient as I know how.
She decides that some bubbles would be nice and romantic, so she turns on the water, adds some bubble bath, and turns on the jets.
I’m now pacing the halls.
She is changing into some sexy little lingerie thing… and then notices that the bubbles have multiplied far more than expected. They are four feet above the top of the tub.
I’m still pacing, unaware of the bubbles.
She grabs the ice bucket, and starts running between the whirlpool and the regular tub, trying to dispose of some of the bubbles.
I can pace no more. I knock on the door to make sure she’s not trembling in fear of what’s coming for her.
“Just a minute!” she yells.
“You’re killin’ me babe–eight years I’ve waited!” I cry.
She opens the door, red faced (but in sexy lingerie!).
I see a huge mound of bubbles in the whirlpool tub, in the bathroom tub, and a slippery trail of bubbles between the two.
I turn the jets off, since she was too overwhelmed to have done this previously, drain the water, and draw some fresh water while I help her get rid of the rest of these bubbles.
We sit in the whirlpool for a bit, trying to calm our nerves and talk about the upcoming event. We are both very nervous and afraid that we are going to do this wrong since we’ve got no experience and have put sex on such a pedestal all our lives. Finally, we make our way to the bed.
Foolishly, I skip foreplay altogether – too excited to think about this vital part of the mating ritual. We are both ready and chomping at the bit.
A few minutes into “the deed” I decide to grab a bottle of lubrication from the assortment that was given to my wife at her bachelorette party.
Now, understand: we aren’t familiar with lube. We’ve never owned any. I’m 20 years old, she’s 21 — we’ve never touched the stuff.
We have three choices: regular boring lube, a mint flavored lube intended to enhance her pleasure, and a cinnamon flavored lube intended to do the same.
I go for door number 3.
She screams the instant this stuff touches her freshly inaugurated lady parts.
“What the F— WAS THAT?”
“Oh God, I ….this….it’s got like…cinnamon in it!?”
“Oh, it burns!!!!”
“I’m sorry! What do I do?”
“Just finish…just hurry up and finish”
Except I can’t.
When she screamed in pain, all my eight years of anticipation and impatience were forgotten. It was like the contents of my scrotum hit a brick wall. My boys were afraid, and they weren’t coming out.
I tried, but I couldn’t.
So, 30 minutes later I give up, and that’s when I start to feel it.
For the record, you don’t remain a virgin until your honeymoon without having experienced blue balls a time or two. Blue balls is a pain like no other, like being pummeled in the sack with a tire iron and simultaneously passing a kidney stone for hours and hours.
My wife, trooper that she is, runs to the ice machine down the hall and grabs enough for both of us.
We fall asleep, laughing and in pain, and with bags of ice on our genitals, praying that further attempts would be more fruitful and less painful.
I’ve been asked by people who were at our wedding and remember that bit about us being pure and virginal prior to that point, whether or not it was worth it. Whether or not there was some divine payback for all that patience and frustration.
Aside from not accidentally getting knocked up…
The result was inexperienced, confused, and frightened kids who were trying to figure each other out for a good year into our marriage. Unfamiliar with how to communicate about sex or talk about our desires, we were two bumbling idiots trying to master the art and science of sexuality while simultaneously losing our faith, which was the whole reason why we made that decision to “remain pure” in the first place.
Far be it from me to tell anyone how to live their life, but the guilt that my future wife and I experienced every time we got “Hot N Heavy” or came close to breaking our pact with God was unending torment. And over what? An arbitrary stance extrapolated from the Bible by controlling youth pastors obsessed with the sexuality of the kids over whom they have influence. I wouldn’t go through it again, and I think my marriage would be stronger for it.
Do you wish you had been better prepared for the honeymoon aspect of marriage? Does the religious emphasis on purity actually create more problems for marriage than it solves? Tell us what you think–weigh in below!