An Afternoon with Suzie C cksucker
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ZoeChapter 7 free porn video
In the morning, Zoe's expression was shadowed. I'd thought I'd managed to dispel her concerns.
"Morning, sweetheart," I kissed her forehead and she snuggled against me. "Okay?"
"Oh, yes," she sighed, "just ... having to wait until next Friday to do this again."
"We'd better get on," I said, "if we don't turn up for church, your parents might not let us do this again. I don't want to wait until you're eighteen..."
That got a giggle. "I don't really think they'd be so mean. But perhaps we'd better not take a chance. Besides, I want to shower with you again."
The sermon was absolutely bang on. He spoke eloquently about redemption, and a new beginning. He said there were two main mistakes people made ... that either they didn't believe they needed redemption, or that they believed they were too bad to be redeemed.
"It doesn't matter who you are," he said, "you need to be forgiven ... and you can be. And when you are, it's a new start, a new life."
At the end, as everyone trooped out, Zoe headed in the opposite direction to the altar-rail where she knelt. Unsure of what to do, I sat back down in the pew. The Vicar emerged from the vestry and saw her there. He crossed the chancel and knelt beside her, resting a hand on her shoulder. They exchanged some words – I don't know what, Zoe never said – and stayed there for, oh, five minutes perhaps, before walking down the aisle. I stood to meet them. He smiled and shook my hand then went on; Zoe pressed against me, wrapped my arms around her and squeezed me to her.
"It's okay," she said, "I'm going to be okay."
We did the social bit over tea and coffee before heading back to the Traffords' quarters. That week Marjory had cooked chicken with all the trimmings – thyme and parsley stuffing, sausage meat, roast and mashed potatoes, carrots and peas, gravy. It was lovely and I was about to say so when the Colonel got in first.
"Excellent, my dear ... as always, but I think you outdid yourself today."
"I agree one hundred percent," I added.
Marjory showed where Zoe got her smile. "I hope you've got room for some apple pie?"
"Oh ... we'll make room," her husband said, looking at me and smiling.
I'm very fond of puddings, and I've eaten a fair few over the years. I particularly like apple pie. That one was really good. She'd added brown sugar and raisins to the apple and the pastry just melted in the mouth ... She didn't have to press any of us too hard to accept a second helping, with the result it was almost all we could do to carry our coffee (or in the case of Marjory and Zoe, Earl Grey tea) into the lounge.
"Well, Alex ... have you considered my suggestion over the weekend?"
"Yes, sir. I like it a lot. And after yesterday, I think it's a particularly good idea."
Zoe looked at me, then her father, suspiciously. "Any chance you'll let us know what's going on here?"
"It's like this, darling," her father said. "Your mother and I talked about things and I had a word with Alex here. I know you were talking about marrying when you finished your 'A' levels. We wondered how you felt about bringing it forward to this August."
Her jaw dropped. There was a longish pause. "Are you serious? Alex ... is this..."
"Your parents' idea, but I'm fully in favour," I said. "I'm not going to rush you though."
"You're not going to rush me! I ... I ... Alex ... I want to hit you! You've been sitting on this all weekend?"
"Well, yes, but it was for your father to suggest it."
She looked round, breathing rather hard, then laughed. "Yes, please. I'd love to get married in August."
"There was one other thing," Colonel Trafford said, "which I haven't discussed with your fiancé." He turned to me. "I know the traffic is a nightmare, but would you be able to drive up to Colchester morning and evening?"
I shrugged, "Yes, if there's something I can do. I'm my own boss."
"Well, if you like, we'll agree to Zoe living with you in the meantime."
This time, two jaws dropped hard. Zoe rushed across to her father and nearly strangled him in her enthusiastic hug, before kissing his cheek and going on to her mother, then plunking herself in my lap.
"You'd better be agreeable to that, buster," she said to me.
"Oh yes, I really am. Not that I'd dare to say anything else..."
"Oh, you!" She punched my chest lightly.
"Well! I think that's acceptable all round," Marjory commented wryly with a smile.
"We do have some conditions, though," the Colonel said. "I'm trusting Alex to keep an eye on your work and bring you back to live here if you slack," he said sternly.
"Oh, yes," Zoe said very seriously. "I want to get good grades."
"And," her father added, "we want to see you here for church Sunday mornings and lunch afterwards."
"That's no burden, is it Zoe?" She smiled at me in agreement. "Perhaps you'd like to come to us for lunch, some Sundays?" I looked at Zoe's parents, who looked at each other. "I'm not as good a cook as Marjory," I admitted.
"He does a great casserole, though," Zoe assured her parents. "Perhaps, though, we'd better put off your visit until I've had some practice cooking..."
You'd think we'd dealt with all the problems...
The ring was no problem. Pippa did a great job and when we collected it we arranged for her to make the wedding rings in a corresponding design, but yellow gold.
The shine got a bit dull after that. The grind of an eighteen mile (each way) trip daily (on the dreaded A12), along with studying and the constant temptation to overdo the ... physical element of our relationship, not to mention that, however mature Zoe wanted to be, she was still a teenager and, in some ways, a fragile one. Perhaps it was not such a good idea, after all. But we got through it. We were, after all, in love and motivated to make it work. Something that helped was applying to Chelmsford College to take her 'A' levels. Eight miles is a lot better than eighteen. We found ways of reviewing her work on the drive to and from school. Oh, and she started cooking. Her mother had taught her some of the basics, but during the two years she lost, she'd had no experience.
Then there was wedding planning. The Colonel and I knew our places, and kept to them ... except when it came to the dress. Marjory wanted her to wear white. Zoe did not want to wear white. In fact she confided to me she'd thought of insisting on a black dress.
I didn't really know how to handle it. Marjory obviously had got no-where. I toyed with the idea of 'suggesting' ... forcefully ... she go and talk to Trudy.
In the end after she sat the last GCSE exam in June, I took her to Maldon to sit on the prom. We drank, or rather I drank (Zoe had better sense) dreadful coffee from the kiosks and ate ice-cream. We watched the water rising and the wading birds retreating up the mud. We watched the boats when the water got deep enough and we watched the people coming and going.
My arm was round her shoulders and she snuggled against me despite the warmth of the day.
"Zoe, you know I love you?"
"Says he who is about to say something I don't want to hear." Her tone wasn't unpleasant. In fact, if anything, it was slightly amused.
"Not exactly. If you can, I'd like you to tell me the reasons you don't want a white dress."
"I'd like a white dress. But I'm not a virgin."
"Hm. How many brides wearing white do you think are virgins these days?"
"But that's dishonest."
"Uh huh. Okay. White isn't just about virginity, Zoe. It's the church colour of celebration; white or gold. And it's more about ... purity than virginity anyway."
"You can't say I'm pure."
"Can't I? Zoe, when you left your mother and went off with that man, you were very silly, but not immoral. Did you intend to have sex with him?"
"No, of course not."
"What about all the times he pimped you. Did you want that?"
"No, of course not."
I could feel her getting tense and I didn't want to really upset her.
"Do you remember what the Vicar said about forgiveness?"
"It was a new start, a clean slate."
"As far as I am concerned, Zoe, you're pure as driven snow. I love you. I couldn't love you more if you'd come to me a virgin."
"But ... I'm sleeping with you..."
"You are, and I'm very, very happy you are. I had a word with the vicar the other day. Do you know what he said?"
"I'm sure you're going to tell me." There was a smile back in her voice.
"Once Jesus was asked about marriage and He said, quote, 'A man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife and they shall become one flesh'. It's not the wedding in church that makes a marriage, that's just a sign of something that's accomplished when a man and woman consent together and make love. As far as I'm concerned, we were married the first time we made love. Not to say I'm not looking forward to making it official."
"Alex ... I don't know ... do you really believe all that?"
"Have I ever lied to you?"
"I don't think so."
"And I never will. I think honesty is vital between us. Okay?"
She nodded and was smiling.
"Zoe, I will happily marry you if you walk down the aisle in a sack. But it would make your mother and father very happy to see you in a wedding dress. I'd like to see you in white. If you really can't, then why not go for ivory?"
I didn't say any more. Neither did Zoe. Not, at least, about the wedding. We sat outside the Queen's Head on the quay, under an umbrella and ate salads, sipping wine and listening to the gulls squabbling. It was a good day.
When we got home, Zoe went off with the phone as I put tea on the table. When she returned she was smiling and later, in bed as we were almost asleep she drowsily said,
"Thank you, Alex."
But she didn't specify what for.
We had kept to the practice of having lunch with the Traffords except once or twice when they came to us and the following Sunday, during the tea and coffee bit after the service, Marjory sidled up to me (that's the only way I can describe it) and she, too, just said quietly,
"Thank you, Alex."
I looked my question at her, but she just smiled slightly and ... sidled away.
Back at the house, while the Colonel and I were about to enjoy a glass of whiskey while waiting for lunch, he handed me my glass and said quietly, "Well done, son." Then went on to tell a story about a very junior soldier in his battalion.
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