Grace had known instinctively that Stan was going to ask her to be intimate that night. She had fought him off long enough, she decided. Now she no longer cared or had the strength to fight. She wanted it as much as he did. And, after all, the marriage was scheduled for the following weekend. They had come so close so many times. There had been nights when they had actually lain completely nude together in the back seat of his father's Chrysler station wagon, their hands and fingers running all over each other's body. She had stroked him to fulfillment several times with her hand curled warmly around his hardened penis, and minded not that his hot impatient love liquid had spurted all over her. Always though, she had resisted any penetration, wanting to save it until their wedding night. Stan wasn't a virgin, and that didn't matter to her. What Stan had done before he met her was his business; what he did after their engagement was announced was all that mattered to her.

Lying there with him that night, their nude bodies rapidly drying in the warm air, Grace knew that tonight she would not resist if he insisted again. She wanted him. She wanted him so badly that she actually hurt inside with a pain that was intractable.

With a low moan, Stan rolled over on his side and propped himself up on his elbow staring at her in the dimness of the Montana night.

"What's wrong?" Grace asked, knowing exactly what was troubling him.

Stan didn't answer for a second, then in reply he merely took her hand and placed it on his erect and throbbing penis.

"That's what is wrong," he said, his voice hoarse with desire.

Beneath her fingers, Grace marveled once again at the feeling of his hardened penis in her hand. There was an awesome power there, a living viable thing that seemed to have a heart and mind of its own.