I'm sitting on the side of my bed. Remembering the day my future husband was killed. Thinking back, I can’t believe it has been a year.  A year ago, I was three months short of becoming Mrs. Peter Thornton.  But I am still Patricia Singleton and Patricia, Patsy, Singleton I will remain until I lay next to my intended husband, Peter.  It was the fault of Sammy Casey.   He was in the middle of one of his drug deals when Peter happened into the bar.  Clone’s bar was a dump and the name fit, but it was the only one in town.  Peter was on his way home and decided to stop for a beer.  As Peter was walking to the bar, a fight broke out, fists were flying, and finally, a gunshot rang out.  Peter was the one who got the bullet, not Casey.  I will hate him until the day I die.

My friend, almost my sister in many ways, Cindy has never left my side.  It is almost like she was part of me that loved Peter.  She stayed with me for quite some time after the funeral.  Everyone in town stopped to pay their last respects and marked the day with flowers, mass cards, or donations to the local boy’s group.  Peter tried to help them with baseball, but he was not good at it. Reverend Missey had a wonderful service recounting his life.

The day I visited the grave, turned into a chilling March night.  I felt like it was embracing me, preparing me for a night of romance. The night I was deprived of feeling my future husband’s soft tender fondling of my wanting breast and needing touches of a man. I return from the gravesite and wanted a hot shower. But as I got out of the shower and began drying myself, reality set in and I knew I would be greeted by an empty bed.  I hoped the glass of Merlot would speed sleep.

As I slept without a dream in my mind, I felt the slightest brush of a warm breath against my neck.  I just brushed it off as imagination and pulled the covers over me.  But after a while, it happened again.  Then a third time.  The last was on the other side of my neck which was nestled in the pillow.  That one was followed by a slight nip, a sexual nip on my neck. 

Now I was awake wanting to find out what prank life was playing on me.  My breathing was short and my heart was beating like a woman that is being teased by a dream.  That was the end of sleeping for that night.

Several nights passed without my being aroused.  I slept better than I had in a year or more.  The glass of Merlot and I went to bed and sleep arrived quickly.  As I lay there in the twilight of awake and asleep, the soft warm breath returned.  This time it was more intense.  I have got to be having some erotic dream.  I have got to stop this, it is not healthy.  Tomorrow, I will buy something to “relax” my mind and body.  And I did.

My “toy”, if you will, arrived and I was very anxious to implement my idea.  The shower was wonderful, the room was at an almost perfect temperature and my glass of Merlot chilled just the way I like it.  The scenario was just the way I had hoped for.   I put my head on the pillow imagining my knight in shining armor would be there arousing me and making my heart pound. 

The wind started to rustle the leaves on the tree by my window and the rain began tapping gently trying to gain entrance and interrupt my love session.  And then it began.  Just as I had hoped.  I felt the warm breath on my neck.  The soft rush of warm air in my ear.  Then I felt the gentle nibbling on my neck.  But this is crazy, it was the side against the pillow.  It was so sexual.  But then, I could feel the sensation slowing engulfing my hard nipples.  Soft, but firm, pressure-like lips and gentle teeth arousing my breasts.  It lingered on my breasts for quite some time, and then slowly moved onto my stomach.  I could feel the same warm, wet kisses on my stomach that just left my breasts.  My heart was beating out of my chest, and I could not stop panting.  Every nerve ending was so sensitive. 

For a short time, I felt nothing more, but then the warm breath returned.  This time it engulfed my very womanhood. The warmth excited my deepest part.  I was responding as though there was another in the room, but in the sexual haze of my fantasy, I knew I was alone.  Then the fantasy went way beyond any form of reality.  The feeling of sharing the very part that would only be given to my husband was being given freely.  The sensations were taking me to an arousal I had never thought possible.  The hypersexual feeling seemed as though it would never end.  After what seemed to be an eternity at the precipice of love, my orgasm finally ended.  I lay there trying to regain my senses, wet from the droplets of sex and the exhaustion of enduring such amazing feelings. 

I regained my mind and strength and sat up on the side of the bed, still trying to catch my breath and lower my heart rate.  I kept thinking; I don’t remember opening my toy.  I reached for the toy, but it was gone.  In its place was a daisy and the fragrance of the cologne Peter always wore. My favorite flower. A flower Peter would give me for no reason. 

Did I just consummate my wedding night?