the wine. Once in the room, she approached Kyle with that direct gaze, laid her hand on his crotch, and smiled. He hesitated, but only long enough for her to undo the top button of his jeans.
Kyle considered himself a moral person, but as this educated young woman whom he barely knew twisted her fingers into the waistband of his pants he allowed his mind to go completely blank with desire. Acting on an animal instinct which consumed him with alarming speed, he shoved her into the room and pulled her convenient skirt up past her panties, which he forced off her barely in time to push his erection into her vagina. The sex was violent and thrilling, and left both of them exhausted, embarrassed, and hungry to do it again.
By Sunday at 10:30, Kyle and Van had had sex four times, and were trying to figure out if they could go one more round before the inn’s stated checkout of 11 a.m. There was no question of love between them, from Kyle’s point of view, but if he was not besotted, he was at the very least drunk on sex. He had been living the last year of his life as a monk in a cell, and this blonde stranger had somehow understood how to turn the key. This considerable accomplishment was made easier by one noteworthy fact, of which the blonde stranger was completely unaware: Up until this moment, Kyle had been a virgin.
The fact of Kyle’s virginity was neither careless nor accidental. His physical appeal was considerable—many nubile young things had been attracted to him over the years, not to mention Alison, whose passion for him had been consistent, overwhelming, and doomed, in spite of the fact that he returned it. His parents had taught him to respect the church; his teachers had taught him that his destiny was to become a man of God. This he believed not as a simplistic call to vocation, which he had rejected in childhood, but as an overarching commitment to his life’s journey. He was no prude, as Rose Moore—who had caught him far too often entwined beyond the place of reason in the arms of her daughter—could attest. But he believed what he was told: Sex is a sacrament, which belongs in marriage. He loved Alison and he refused to have sex with her. For the six years on and off of their volatile courtship, they had explored every possible way to satisfy and frustrate themselves sexually, short of actual intercourse.
Evangeline Shelly’s assault on this young idealist’s sturdy vow of celibacy would perhaps have been even more assured if she had known all the facts; his hesitancy and confusion were charming enough on their own merits, as was his gratitude when she finally and simply took charge. She moved ahead solely on what she knew, which was that she was lonely, and that men like sex. Her instinctive seduction—so wildly and instantaneously successful compared to the years of Alison’s frustration—was as much a matter of timing as it was of approach. Kyle was exhausted, Van was a stranger, he was attractive, she was willing, and he wanted to fuck somebody. While he would never admit it to himself, the level of hostility he bore toward all women at that particular moment was not insignificant. She and Kyle managed to fuck each other one last time before the maid knocked on the door to remind them about checkout, and both of them were so racked with the passion of it that they almost forgot to call out and stop her from letting herself in.
—
S IX MONTHS LATER they were engaged. It wasn’t a shotgun situation; the weekend of fucking out in the middle of Lake Erie had passed by without sexually transmitted diseases or pregnancy, but what it had set in motion was irrevocable nonetheless.
The passing months had only proven to Van what she had sensed from the beginning—that Kyle was one man among millions and she would never find another to match him for intelligence, grace, and steadiness. With him in the palm of her hand she felt herself balanced uncertainly on a tightrope. She actually didn’t
Kyle considered himself a moral person, but as this educated young woman whom he barely knew twisted her fingers into the waistband of his pants he allowed his mind to go completely blank with desire. Acting on an animal instinct which consumed him with alarming speed, he shoved her into the room and pulled her convenient skirt up past her panties, which he forced off her barely in time to push his erection into her vagina. The sex was violent and thrilling, and left both of them exhausted, embarrassed, and hungry to do it again.
By Sunday at 10:30, Kyle and Van had had sex four times, and were trying to figure out if they could go one more round before the inn’s stated checkout of 11 a.m. There was no question of love between them, from Kyle’s point of view, but if he was not besotted, he was at the very least drunk on sex. He had been living the last year of his life as a monk in a cell, and this blonde stranger had somehow understood how to turn the key. This considerable accomplishment was made easier by one noteworthy fact, of which the blonde stranger was completely unaware: Up until this moment, Kyle had been a virgin.
The fact of Kyle’s virginity was neither careless nor accidental. His physical appeal was considerable—many nubile young things had been attracted to him over the years, not to mention Alison, whose passion for him had been consistent, overwhelming, and doomed, in spite of the fact that he returned it. His parents had taught him to respect the church; his teachers had taught him that his destiny was to become a man of God. This he believed not as a simplistic call to vocation, which he had rejected in childhood, but as an overarching commitment to his life’s journey. He was no prude, as Rose Moore—who had caught him far too often entwined beyond the place of reason in the arms of her daughter—could attest. But he believed what he was told: Sex is a sacrament, which belongs in marriage. He loved Alison and he refused to have sex with her. For the six years on and off of their volatile courtship, they had explored every possible way to satisfy and frustrate themselves sexually, short of actual intercourse.
Evangeline Shelly’s assault on this young idealist’s sturdy vow of celibacy would perhaps have been even more assured if she had known all the facts; his hesitancy and confusion were charming enough on their own merits, as was his gratitude when she finally and simply took charge. She moved ahead solely on what she knew, which was that she was lonely, and that men like sex. Her instinctive seduction—so wildly and instantaneously successful compared to the years of Alison’s frustration—was as much a matter of timing as it was of approach. Kyle was exhausted, Van was a stranger, he was attractive, she was willing, and he wanted to fuck somebody. While he would never admit it to himself, the level of hostility he bore toward all women at that particular moment was not insignificant. She and Kyle managed to fuck each other one last time before the maid knocked on the door to remind them about checkout, and both of them were so racked with the passion of it that they almost forgot to call out and stop her from letting herself in.
—
S IX MONTHS LATER they were engaged. It wasn’t a shotgun situation; the weekend of fucking out in the middle of Lake Erie had passed by without sexually transmitted diseases or pregnancy, but what it had set in motion was irrevocable nonetheless.
The passing months had only proven to Van what she had sensed from the beginning—that Kyle was one man among millions and she would never find another to match him for intelligence, grace, and steadiness. With him in the palm of her hand she felt herself balanced uncertainly on a tightrope. She actually didn’t
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