I Didn't Want to Get Married

Part 22

The days at home, prior to the wedding, seemed to pass both in a blur, yet at a snail's pace. Mother kept me on my toes with the most repugnant of imaginable possible tasks: the purchasing of my new trousseau. I hadn't even thought about the foolish convention of sending a daughter off with a whole new set of clothing, gloves, shoes, and whatnot! I made my best efforts to pitch a fit and get out of it, but Mother simply wouldn't listen, she was a slave to tradition! At the least she said she'd permit me taking my most favored items of my older clothes with me in addition.

Father had stayed behind to negotiate the legal documents of the marriage agreement with the Biersacks, which was absolutely mortifying! He'd also sent word to the Church parish to have our marriage bann read for the next three Sundays. I could scarcely believe this was all rightly happening!

Mother had frowned in disapproval when Mr. Biersack had presented his mother's wedding ring to Father the morning we had departed, informing Andrew was keen to offer it in line with a new fashion he'd heard of called 'fiancée rings.' Father was keener on innovation, however, and let me keep it. I wore it proudly. As expected, Andrew hadn't been there to see us off, as my parents were convinced I'd grow hysterical, that the news of my engagement would, "sink in," if I set eyes on him.

Though, sometimes, I thought Father took his newfangled ideas too far. He was having an extravagant dress made specifically for the wedding, with a veil attached, and I'd never heard of such a thing! When would I ever have an opportunity to wear such a monstrosity again?

My nights, on the other hand, were spent remembering the time I'd spent with Andrew, unclothed, in the guestroom. I tried to touch myself as he had, but it wasn't the same, though I managed to work myself into quite a frenzy of thought and desire.

As Andrew had suggested again before he had left that night, quite a few times I gingerly experimented with carefully putting my fingers, (and even a stolen candle), in my needy womanhood. I wanted to be ready for Andrew on our wedding night. Each time that I worked up the courage to do it, it felt somewhat pleasurable, as though the act held promise, but nothing like what Andrew had done. There were certainly no orgasms involved. I ended up flustered, unsatisfied, and consumed with thoughts of my intended. I had certainly never thought I'd find myself eagerly awaiting my own wedding day!