Honeymoon Hazards by Ben Boswell

throat, the rush in my head. I ordered another, a double. I drank half of it, swirled the rest in my glass, losing myself for a few moments in watching the alcohol coat the glass and then gradually flow down the sides.
    A tall, thin, blond-haired man walked in. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t quite place him. Though the bar was empty, he sat down just two stools down from me. He had a vaguely feminine look to him. I sighed. I’m not homophobic, but the last thing I needed after what had just happened was to be hit on by a man. I already felt that my masculinity was under siege.
    He ordered a daiquiri. “Alcohol free,” he added in an almost embarrassed tone. When his fruity drink arrived, I could feel his eyes on me. I looked over at him. He smiled at me. Oh no, here it comes.
    “Morning,” he said, his voice high and tight. He spoke in a slow, Midwestern drawl. Kansas? Missouri maybe?
    “Hey,” I replied curtly.
    “Mister, are you married?” he asked.
    I was about to tell him I wasn’t interested, but there was something about his needy tone that gave me pause.
    I nodded. “Yup. You?”
    He sighed in relief.
    “Just now,” he replied, waving his wedding ring at me. “That’s the problem.”
    I looked over at him, finally placing him. He was the newlywed, the one with the fertility goddess wife. The luckiest bastard in the resort, especially now that Claire’s evening with Trent had knocked me out of the running for that title. He was even younger than I had realized. Nineteen, maybe twenty, though I got the sense that his aversion for booze was grounded in more than just his age.
    I gave him a smile. Even though I was a newlywed as well, being 33, I guess he saw me as some sort of father figure.
    “What can be the problem? You’re with your beautiful wife in a beautiful place.”
    He gave me a queer look. “You know my wife?”
    Shit. Only by spying on you two fucking. “I was just guessing. All new brides are beautiful, aren’t they?”
    He regarded me thoughtfully, then nodded. “I’m sorry, mister. It’s just…”
    I looked at him expectantly.
    He hesitated then continued, “It’s just that I have this problem.”
    He was too young for ED. PE maybe? This was a problem for his dad, or rather his doctor, not me.
    I gave him a thin smile, trying to strike a balance between shutting him down and actually encouraging him.
    “See, Janelle and I… I’m Dale, by the way… we’ve been dating for… well, since high school.”
    So, two years, I thought to myself. “That’s great. Marrying a high school sweetheart is so… sweet.”
    “It’s just, you know, she and I…. Our town… it’s pretty traditional. I mean, you know, Janelle and I never….”
    He blushed such a deep red that thought he might actually burst into flame. I suppressed a laugh.
    “Dale? It’s okay. You’re both young. It’ll get better. You have plenty of time to make it…”
    I was trying to reassure him, but suddenly he was shaking his head. His eyes were red, tearing up.
    “I think Janelle…. I think she may have been…. I think she….”
    And then I realized where he was going. The girl I’d spied through the window was not a shy, little, virgin, blushing bride. She was a sexual woman, with luxuriant needs. And her husband, was terrified of it.
    “You think she’s been with other men?”
    He looked scandalized, horrified, but then he gave me a small, scared nod. He stared down into his alcohol-free beverage.
    “She’s so… so aggressive.... She wants it all the time. And it’s like she’s waiting for something to happen, and then she wants to try it again.
    I couldn’t feel sorry for him. He’s hit some sort of fucking jackpot. He’d married his innocent, little high school sweetheart. Virgins from some fucking small town in Missouri, the asshole deserved to spend his whole life dreaming of getting a hummer. Instead, he’d lucked into a gorgeous, sexual dynamo. Yeah, so maybe she’d been getting