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then, she fled.  At first he thought he had tugged at the lace accidentally, scaring her, and that she was fleeing his touch.  But then he heard her vomiting in the bathroom.
    She must be so nervous.  He had heard of girls so afraid that they threw up on their wedding night, spending the night on the toilet with stomach cramps, dreading what would happen when they came to bed.
    He felt sorry for any girl so delicate.  Perhaps it wasn’t a good match after all.  How could he be gentle and help her overcome her dread even as he satisfied his raw, animal desires? 
    He tried desperately not to think about her while she was being sick.  More polite that way.  He’d pretend when she came out that he hadn’t heard the horrible retching noises.  Hadn’t heard her supper – what she’d eaten of it, because like him, she hadn’t had much chance to sit down and eat – pouring back out into the toilet.  He wouldn’t say anything unless she did.
    And in bed, he would be gentle, he vowed.  He would help her overcome her fears.
    Beryl decided to get into his pajamas right here in the room.  He still needed to piss, with increasing urgency.  But there was only one bathroom; he would just have to wait.
    He pulled out his cotton pajamas, remembered the bandage wound around his maleness.  Its throbbing had barely let up throughout the evening .  Even now, though he was exhausted.  As he unwrapped himself, it burst free. 
    There was no way Beryl’s light cotton pajamas could restrain that bulge.  Once they were on, and the matching shirt – probably the first time in his life he’d slept in matching pajamas – he got into the one huge hotel bed and pulled up the covers.
    His hands strayed – oh, God, he couldn’t stop them from wandering beneath the sheets. 
    He didn’t want to make himself come, but felt himself on the verge, even as his wife knelt, just a few feet away on the other side of the bathroom wall, throwing up with a symphony of sounds, echoing off the clean hotel tiles, that he almost didn’t believe they could be coming out of such a delicate girl.
    His cock quivered, demanding attention.  Beryl rubbed the outside fabric of his pajama bottoms.  He would not reach inside.  He would save himself, this time, for Raizy.
    Through the thin wooden door, he heard her spit into the toilet.  It sounded like the worst was past.  Beryl knew the feeling from the few times he’d had too much to drink on Purim.  She flushed once, then twice.  Started brushing her teeth.
    And then the knob clicked and she was standing before him in a pink cotton nightgown, the bright light of the bathroom shining around her like a halo.
    If he got up now, he’d have to walk right past her – bulge and all.  But there was no choice.  He realized he’d only gone to the bathroom once all day. 
    If they were to truly share everything, she would have to see his maleness sometime, and perhaps this was the best introduction – through the pajama pants.  There was always a chance that she wouldn’t notice anything.
    “Excuse me,” said Beryl, getting out of bed.  Still clinging to politeness, while he had the chance.
    “Of course,” said Raizy.  She moved aside so he could get past her to the bathroom.
    She’d left it clean, of course, no trace of what she’d done there except a slight acid smell.  He pissed and pissed for what felt like half an hour.  God, that felt good – but not as good as what was to come.
    Beryl meticulously brushed his teeth, washed his hands and face and made sure he was as presentable as he could possibly be.
    It was now or never.
    Beryl was going to get laid.

CHAPTER Fourteen         
    Raizy
    Raizy had never been more embarrassed in her life.  Had she really just done that, here on her wedding night?  Alone in a hotel room with a boy?  A man, she corrected herself.
    The night she had wanted to go so perfectly, a romantic wet dream of seduction, and she’d started it out