What’s to come of Benedict?
“These things happen, my love,” Elisângela said to comfort her husband, unable to conceal his frustration after having fallen short on their very wedding night, of all occasions.
“This is the first time that this has ever happened to me,” Benedict said in his defense. “I think it must have been all the excitement, my little angel. When I laid my eyes on that sculptural little body, those supple curves and perky breasts, no streaks, no cellulite, my heart raced. I’m still trembling, look,” he said raising his right arm, showing her his trembling hand.
She embraced him. Her warm body contrasted with his, cold and trembling. A trickle of sweat ran down his forehead, streaming down his face and framing his unconcealed look of sadness. After a moment of brief silence, he proposed:
“What if we do it differently?” He suggested, trying to find a way to satisfy the young woman whose excitement was obvious to the naked eye.
“Don’t worry about it, Dito. We still have a whole life ahead of us,” she replied, trying to hide her distaste.
“It may also have been because of the exhaustion. Today was a big day, I exaggerated on the food and drink,” he said, seeking a rational explanation for his failure that night.
“I told you not to worry. As if this was the end of the world or something!” Inexperienced as she was, continued in her attempt to comfort her new husband, “I had a boyfriend once, Tarcisio, who was a virgin. He couldn’t get it up on our first time either. Poor thing, almost died of shame. He spent the next few days running away from me. His biggest fear, he confessed, was that I would tell my friends. But that was only the first time. After that the rascal almost destroyed me in bed,” she said laughing. “You know what? I think every man, at some time or another has not been able to get it up, although no one ever admits to it.”
“With me this was the first time, I swear,” he said to further his defense. “In the later years I had some difficulty with Neide. But I’ve never botched before. After over thirty years of marriage, it was natural that we would lose interest in each other. We went one to three months without making love. I used to go out with some girls in Brasilia and they always complimented my vigor,” he said proud of himself. “Now let’s get some sleep.” He said finally, turning over to the other side.
“Yeah, let’s,” Elisângela said in agreement, wondering what had just happened.
When Elisângela woke the next day she could hardly believe her eyes: spread across the bed, breakfast as he had never dreamed of before in her parents’ house. The most diverse fruits, hot chocolate, bread, cheese, ham, biscuits. Music on low volume just enough to make the atmosphere romantic.
That morning, right there on the bed between fruit, cheeses and crackers, and a lot of effort, the two made love together, thus undoing some of the bad impression he made the night before.
They tried again that evening, but to the disappointment of the couple, Benedict did not pass the preliminaries once again. To not leave Elisângela disappointed, he gave her his affection in other ways, only stopping after she had reached orgasm. After that was over, the couple didn’t exchange a word. Dito became so worried he could hardly sleep, afraid that he might fail again. And he did. To his misfortune, the scoreboard was not in his favor; he was losing to Elisângela four to one.
In one regard, men are all totally in agreement about one thing: there is no greater shame than to not be able to get it up in bed with a woman. Benedict, who on the first night of his honeymoon had faced problems of this nature, now had a much bigger problem. Any small inclination Elisângela made towards Benedict made him break a cold sweat in fear of failure. He even considered consulting a psychologist before making the decision to take Viagra. A month later, one tablet just was not enough. For the sake of his marriage, he thought, he would need to increase the dose. And that was his biggest mistake.
(To be continued…)
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