Stolen Innocence - Lisa Pulitzer [80]
After checking into our room in Phoenix, I scurried to the bathroom for a long shower. My plan was simple: I would take as long as possible in the bathroom each night, hoping that Allen would be asleep when I returned. That first night, I had no such luck. When I came out of the bathroom, he was in his shorts. The only thing I could think was, “Put some pants on.” I had never seen a man with so little clothing, except a few in swimming suits, and even that had made me uncomfortable. Now, seeing my husband in his underwear made me cringe.
Allen came over to my side of the bed and sat down beside me. Slowly, he began inching his hand up the back of my pajamas and unhooked my bra.
I whipped around instantly to face him with fire in my eyes. “Don’t touch me.”
“Well,” he said, “we’re gonna have to do it sooner or later.”
I just looked at him blankly. I had no idea what “it” was. All I knew was that I didn’t want anything to do with him.
I moved into the other double bed to sleep that night, but the same thing happened the next night, with Allen touching me even more. Petrified, I grabbed his hand as he slid it down to my lower body. “Please don’t,” I begged, my voice shaking with fear. I had never been touched like that by anyone, and there was nothing about what he was doing that seemed right. He tried to kiss me, and I avoided his lips as best I could.
The next day I continued to avoid Allen when we were out with the other couples. They teased us, trying to get me to kiss my new husband.
“If you kiss him, I’ll give you one hundred dollars,” Nancy’s husband, Tim, offered one afternoon.
“No,” I said firmly. “No, I’m not doing it.”
Tim smiled. He’d been kind to me, and in some way, I felt he understood my hesitation. He was nothing like Lily’s husband, Martin, who was constantly making fun of people. Even as I insisted that Allen not kiss me, my fellow honeymooners managed to snap off one or two shots of him seizing a hug. I hadn’t been expecting Allen to grab onto me at that moment, as he suddenly pulled me toward him and pressed his lips to mine. Even now when I look at the photo it pains me to see how I had to block him with both arms. As he held me in his tight grip and forced me to kiss his sloppy lips, I fought to contain my anger. The only benefit of this disgusting and embarrassing kiss was that Tim considered it legitimate enough to give me a hundred dollars, which was the most money I had ever had at one time. But sadly, it wasn’t mine for long. My “priesthood head” made me give it to him later during our honeymoon.
That forced kiss was the only time I kissed Allen during the honeymoon. I did my best to not even talk to him. To prevent Allen from holding my hand, I found a small paper bag and pencil and kept my hands busy by logging the trip’s events on it. I almost felt bad when Allen started to cry from the teasing he was getting from Lily and Nancy over my reluctance to get near him, but the fact that he continued to touch me in spite of my protests prevented me from having compassion for him.
On the last night of our honeymoon, I woke up to the sensation of my skin being touched beneath my nightgown.
“What are you doing?” I demanded.
“I’m doing what I have a right to,” Allen replied with an air of entitlement. “I’m your husband,” he announced, as if that gave him rights to my body.
“Please don’t touch me” was the only response I could muster. I had no idea why he insisted on feeling my most private areas. It was clear that I would have to be on alert, even at night when I was supposed to be asleep.
The next morning, while we cruised along the highway toward home, I overheard Nancy and Lily whispering and giggling about “physical relations” with their husbands. Even though