Wedding Night

smells musky and sensual and gorgeous. I inhale pleasurably as he covers me all over with it, using firm, sweeping gestures which make me shiver.
    “You know, you’re very talented, Mr. Parr,” I say, my voice jerky with lust. “You could set up a spa.”
    “I want only one client.” He starts to rub the oil into my nipples, over my stomach, lower down.… At once I’m whimpering with desire. I have so, so wanted him.…
    “You like this?” His eyes are intent.
    “I’m tingling all over. It’s unbearable.”
    “So am I.” He leans in to kiss me, his hands moving down with purpose, between my thighs.…
    “Oh God.” I’m breathless. “I really am tingling.”
    “Me too.”
    “Ow!” I can’t help wincing.
    “I know you like it a bit rough.” He chuckles, but I’m not sure I can join in. I’m tingling too much. Something’s wrong.
    “Can we stop a moment?” I push him away. My skin feels like it’s crawling with insects. “I’m a little sore.”
    “Sore?” His eyes glint with amusement. “Babe, we haven’t even started.”
    “It’s not funny! It’s painful!” I stare agitatedly at my arm. It’s turned red. Why is it red? Ben moves in on me again, and I try my hardest to moan with appreciation as his lips nuzzle their way down my neck. But, truthfully, they’re moans of pain.
    “Stop!” I say at last, in desperation. “Time out! I feel like I’m on fire!”
    “So do I,” pants Ben.
    “Really! I can’t do this!
Look
at me!”
    At last Ben moves back and surveys me, his eyes cloudy with desire. “You look great,” he says briefly. “You look awesome.”
    “No, I don’t! I’m all red.” I survey my arms with mounting alarm. “And I’m swelling up! Look!”
    “These are swelling up, all right.” Ben cups one of my breasts appreciatively. Isn’t he
listening
?
    “Ow!” I wrench his arm away. “This is serious. I think I’ve had an allergic reaction. What’s in that oil? Not peanut oil? You
know
I’m allergic to peanuts.”
    “It’s just oil.” Ben seems evasive. “I don’t know what’s in it.”
    “You must! You must have looked at the label when you bought it.” There’s a short silence. Ben looks a bit sulky, as though I’ve caught him out.
    “I didn’t buy it,” he says at last. “Nico gave it to me, compliments of the hotel. It’s their signature blend or something.”
    “Oh.” I can’t help feeling disappointed. “And you didn’t check? Even though you know I’m allergic?”
    “I’d forgotten, OK?” Ben sounds thrown. “I can’t remember every tiny little thing!”
    “I hardly think your wife’s allergy is ‘every tiny little thing’!” I say furiously, feeling an uncharacteristic urge to hit him. It was all going so brilliantly.
Why
did he have to slather me with evil peanut oil?
    “Look, maybe if we get the right angle it won’t hurt you so much.” Ben looks around desperately and pushes aside the curtains. “Try standing on those rocks.”
    “OK.” I’m as eager as he is to make this work. If we minimize actual contact … I clamber onto the rocks, trying not to flinch too much. “Ow—”
    “Not like that—”
    “Ouch! Stop!”
    “Try the other way.…”
    “If you could rotate a bit … Oof!”
    “Was that your
nostril
?”
    “This isn’t working,” I say, after slipping off the rocks for the third time. “I could try kneeling on the rocks if we had some padding.…”
    “Or on the edge of the bed …”
    “I’ll go on top.… No! Ow! Sorry,” I wince, “but that’s really painful.”
    “Can you put your leg behind your head?”
    “No, I can’t,” I say resentfully. “Can you?”
    The atmosphere has totally disintegrated, as we try one acrobatic position after another. I keep gasping, and not in a good way. By now my skin is seriously inflamed. I need some soothing aqueous cream, urgently. But I also need to have sex. It’s unbearable. I want to weep with frustration.
    “Come on!” I say to myself crossly. “I’ve had root-canal surgery. I can do this.”
    “Root-canal surgery?” Ben sounds mortally offended. “Sex with me is like
root-canal surgery
?”
    “That’s not what I meant!”
    “You’ve been avoiding sex with me all holiday,” he snarls, suddenly losing his temper. “I mean, what kind of a bloody honeymoon is this?”
    This is such an unfair accusation that I recoil with shock.
    “I haven’t avoided sex!” I cry. “I want it as much as you do, but