Still, in spite of her firm resolve not to weaken, somewhere in the back of her mind were excited nerve-endings that lewdly reveled in the spewing warmth of his semen. His pulsating cock pressed rhythmically against the smooth, rippling walls of her helplessly contracting pussy. Those sudden, uncontainable spasms of delight had scared her breathless, and she redoubled her promises to resist the slightest sign of prurient pleasure for fear of becoming no better than a sluttish whore.

The next few nights were even worse for the newly-wed couple, no matter what Ralph did to try to overcome her resistance. Lisa's inability to rid herself of her mother's image and actively enjoy his love-making made her stiff and rejecting, until she was almost driven insane with guilt. It got so that in her mind's eye, his hardened erection was the symbol of all she was supposed to hate, and the sight of it projecting thick and spear-like from his hirsute loins was enough to set her trembling with witless anxiety. The blood-rigid rod of male flesh was too big, too lustful and overpowering for her to accept, and she groaned beneath its thrusting and surging with undisguised repugnance.

Months passed, and even talking out their problem was too painful to do any good. It was a time of hellish agony for the young woman, and she lay awake at night, listening to her husband toss and turn in his frustration. Even during the day, life was becoming increasingly unbearable for them – for Ralph, because his wife's apparent repulsion to sex made him feel sexually inadequate for the first time in his life; and for Lisa, because her own fears and frigidity made her hostile not only to her husband, but to herself as well.

Eventually her consistent denial of sexual pleasure reached the point of no return. Over a night-club dinner on their first anniversary, Ralph drank a bit too much and blurted angrily: "I want a divorce. I want out, you cold-cunted icebox, so I can find me a real woman…"