Zayne stood at the front of their bedroom like a professor preparing for the most mortifying lecture of his career.
He'd changed into his reading glasses—the wire-framed ones that made him look more authoritative, more clinical, more like a doctor about to discuss medical facts and NOT like a husband about to explain sex to his innocent wife.
*This is fine. I'm a doctor. I've given countless lectures. I can explain human reproduction and sexual intimacy with clinical precision and professionalism.*
*This is just another educational session.*
*Except the student is my WIFE.*
*Who is sitting in a chair looking at me with eager, curious eyes.*
*Who has a macaron on her cheek.*
*Wait.*
"Hamster," he said, interrupting his own internal crisis. "Do you have a macaron on your face?"
Nana touched her cheek. "Oh! Yes! I was eating them for brain power! For learning! Education requires fuel!"
*She's treating this like an actual class. With snacks.*
He walked over, plucked the macaron from her cheek, and ate it in one bite.
"HEY!" Nana protested. "That was MY macaron! For MY education!"
"You've had enough sugar today," he said, adjusting his glasses. "And you don't need brain power. You need to listen."
"But—"
"Sit. Pay attention. No more snacks."
She pouted but settled into her chair properly, hands folded in her lap, looking up at him like an obedient student.
*She looks adorable. Why does she look adorable. This is serious. Educational. Professional.*
Zayne cleared his throat and began.
"Yesterday," he started, pacing slightly like he did during hospital lectures, "you asked about honeymoon activities. About what married couples do. About increased physical intimacy."
Nana nodded eagerly.
"To understand that, we need to discuss human sexual response. Starting with arousal—the physiological and psychological state of sexual excitement."
He was using his clinical lecture voice. Professional. Detached. Safe.
"Arousal involves increased blood flow to specific areas, elevated heart rate, heightened sensitivity, release of certain hormones including dopamine and oxytocin—"
"Like when you touch me?" Nana interrupted. "And I feel tingly and warm?"
*Yes. Exactly that. When I touch you and lose my mind.*
"Yes," he said evenly. "That's arousal. Your body responding to stimulation."
"And you get arousal too? When we kiss?"
*Constantly. Every time. You have no idea.*
"Yes," he admitted.
"How can I tell?"
OH NO. THAT QUESTION. NOT THAT QUESTION.
"Increased heart rate," he said quickly. "Faster breathing. Dilated pupils. Various physiological indicators."
"But how do I KNOW? Like, what should I look for?"
*You could look down. But we're not discussing THAT. Not yet. Maybe not ever. I'll die first.*
"Moving on," he continued firmly, "arousal leads to desire for increased physical contact. Touching, kissing, and eventually—" *here it comes* "—sexual intercourse."
"Sex," Nana said simply.
"Yes. Sex."
"That's what happens on honeymoons?"
"Among other things, yes."
"But," she tilted her head in confusion, "why on honeymoons specifically? Why not just do it at home? Like we're home now. Can't we just do sex here?"
*She said "do sex" like it's an activity. Like grocery shopping. Like—*
*And yes, we COULD do it here. Right now. On the bed behind me. I'm very aware.*
"You can," he said carefully. "Honeymoons are traditional, not mandatory. The location doesn't matter as much as the... readiness of both partners."
"So we COULD do it here! Perfect! Then we don't need to travel!"
*She's eliminated the honeymoon. Just... removed it from consideration. Practical.*
"We could," he agreed. "Eventually. After you understand what you're agreeing to."
"That's why you're explaining! I'm learning!" She looked proud of herself.
*She's so innocent. So eager to learn. So unaware that every word is killing me.*
"But wait," Nana continued, "why is it called HONEYmoon? Is there honey? Do we eat honey? On the moon? Do we GO to the moon?"
WHAT.
*She thinks—*
*She thinks we eat honey on the ACTUAL MOON.*
Zayne pinched the bridge of his nose.
*Why. Why is the universe doing this to me. What did I do to deserve this.*
*Oh right. I made nurses cry. Multiple nurses. This is karmic retribution. The universe has a sense of humor.*
"It's not—" he started, then stopped. Took a breath. "It's called a honeymoon because 'honey' refers to sweetness—the sweet period after marriage—and 'moon' refers to a month. A sweet month. Together. It's etymological, not literal."
"Ohhhhh!" Understanding dawned on her face. "So no actual honey?"
"No actual honey."
"And no moon?"
"No moon."
"That's disappointing. I wanted to eat honey on the moon."
*Of course she did. Because she's Nana and that would make perfect sense to her.*
"Can we get back to the actual topic?" he asked, feeling a headache forming.
"Yes! Sex! Intercourse! Education!" She pulled out a NOTEBOOK. "I'm ready! I'll take notes!"
*She actually brought a notebook. She's taking notes on sex education from her husband. This is my life now.*
"Right," he continued, trying to ignore the notebook. "Sexual intercourse involves—" *clinical clinical clinical* "—the insertion of the male reproductive organ into the female reproductive canal, resulting in physical stimulation that can lead to climax, also known as orgasm—"
"Why?" Nana interrupted, scribbling in her notebook.
"Why what?"
"Why do people want to do that? What's the point?"
*Oh god. The 'why' question. The inevitable 'why'.*
"Multiple reasons," he explained, still pacing. "Reproduction—creating children. Physical pleasure—orgasm releases endorphins, creates intense pleasurable sensations. Emotional bonding—the intimacy creates psychological connection between partners. And—"
"Does it hurt?"
He stopped pacing.
*Direct question. Clinical answer. You can do this.*
"It can," he admitted. "The first time, for women, there's often discomfort due to the breaking of the hymen—a thin membrane. But with proper preparation, patience, and care from the partner, discomfort is minimized."
"Preparation like what?"
*Like foreplay. Lots of foreplay. Making sure you're ready. Making sure you WANT it. Making sure—*
"Like ensuring both partners are sufficiently aroused," he said clinically. "Adequate natural lubrication. Gradual progression. Communication about comfort levels."
"Oh!" She scribbled more notes. "So it's like... a process? Not just—" she made a vague gesture, "—immediate?"
"Correct. It should be gradual. Especially the first time."
"When will our first time be?"
WHAT.
SHE JUST—
CASUALLY ASKING WHEN WE'LL HAVE SEX.
LIKE SCHEDULING A DOCTOR'S APPOINTMENT.
"When you're ready," he managed. "When you fully understand what you're agreeing to. When you WANT to, not because you're curious or because Mina suggested it."
"But I DO want to!" She insisted. "You touch me and it feels good and I want to know what comes next! That's wanting it, right?"
*Yes. But also you're innocent and I'm terrified of hurting you and once we start I don't know if I can be as gentle as you deserve and—*
"Eventually," he said, which was becoming his default answer to everything.
"You keep saying eventually! WHEN is eventually?"
*When I can trust myself. When I know I won't lose control. When—*
"Soon," he conceded. "Relatively soon. After you've had time to process this information."
"Okay!" She beamed, returning to her notebook. "So! Next question! When are WE going on honeymoon?"
*She's planning already. Of course she's planning.*
"We haven't discussed—"
"And WHERE should we go? Beach? Mountains? City? Oh! Can we go somewhere with squirrels? I want to introduce you to international squirrels!"
*International squirrels. My wife wants to meet squirrels in other countries.*
"We can discuss location later—"
"I'll start packing!" She jumped up excitedly. "I need swimsuits! And dresses! And comfortable shoes for walking! And—"
"NANA. Sit. We're not done with the education yet."
"Oh right!" She sat back down, notebook ready. "More questions!"
*Of course there are more questions. There are always more questions.*
"Do you like my lips?" she asked suddenly.
WHAT.
"My lips. Do you like them? You kiss them a lot. So I assume you like them? Rate them. One to ten."
*Rate her lips. She wants me to RATE her LIPS.*
"That's not—that's not a relevant question for—"
"And my tongue! Do you like my tongue? You said it tastes like curiosity. Is that good? Should I do something different with it?"
*She's asking if I like her tongue. If she should DO SOMETHING DIFFERENT with it.*
*I'm dying. Multiple deaths. Sequential deaths.*
"Your lips—" he started, removing his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose, "—and your tongue are perfectly adequate—"
"ADEQUATE?!" She looked offended. "Just adequate?!"
"I mean—exceptional. Very good. Excellent. Top tier. Gold standard of lips and tongues."
*Did I just give her lips a gold standard rating. Yes. Yes I did.*
"Really?" She brightened.
"Really."
"So you LIKE kissing me?"
*More than breathing. More than surgery. More than anything.*
"Yes," he said simply.
"And you'll like the sex thing too?"
*Oh god yes. Definitely. Almost certainly too much.*
"Presumably."
"Presumably? You don't KNOW?"
*I know. I know I'll like it. I know I'll probably lose my mind. I know—*
"I'm confident it will be mutually enjoyable," he said clinically.
She studied him for a moment, head tilted.
"Zayne?"
"Yes?"
"Are you nervous about the sex thing?"
*YES. TERRIFIED. ABSOLUTELY TERRIFIED.*
"I'm cautious," he corrected. "It's a significant step. I want to ensure your comfort and—"
"But you WANT to do it?"
*More than I've wanted anything ever.*
"Yes," he admitted quietly.
"GOOD!" She clapped her hands together. "Then we agree! We both want to! So we can do it! Soon! On our honeymoon! Which we're planning! To a place with squirrels!"
*She's negotiated sex into the honeymoon with squirrels. This is happening. This is actually happening.*
"We'll discuss—" he started.
But then he felt it.
The pressure.
The absolute absurdity.
The complete mental breakdown that had been building since he agreed to give this lecture.
*I can't. I can't continue. This is too much. The questions. The notebook. The lip ratings. The squirrels.*
He swayed dramatically.
*You know what? I'm done. I'm just... done.*
He let himself fall backward onto the bed, arm over his face, playing dead.
"ZAYNE!" Nana shrieked, jumping up. "ARE YOU OKAY?!"
*No. I'm not okay. I'm having a crisis. Multiple crises. A crisis cascade.*
He didn't respond.
Stayed perfectly still.
Playing dead.
"ZAYNE!" She rushed over, shaking his shoulder. "HUSBAND! SPEAK TO ME!"
*This is nice. Quiet. No questions about sex or squirrels or lip ratings.*
"OH NO OH NO!" Nana panicked. "IS THIS A HEART ATTACK?! DID I GIVE MY HUSBAND A HEART ATTACK WITH QUESTIONS?!"
*Technically yes. Metaphorical heart attack. Ongoing.*
She scrambled onto the bed, positioning herself over him.
"I KNOW CPR!" she announced. "MINA SHOWED ME! WAIT NO THAT WAS A DRAMA—DOESN'T MATTER! DOING IT!"
*Oh no. What is she—*
She placed her hands on his chest.
"STAYING ALIVE! STAYING ALIVE!" she started singing, pumping his chest in rhythm.
*She's doing CPR. To the Bee Gees. This is happening.*
"AH AH AH AH STAYING ALIVE!"
*Incorrect rhythm. Also I'm not actually dying. Also—*
Then she leaned down.
*Oh no. She's going for rescue breaths. She's going to—*
She pinched his nose and pressed her mouth to his.
Breathed into his mouth.
*This is the worst CPR I've ever received. Also technically assault. Also I'm not complaining.*
She pulled back, pumped his chest more.
"STAYING ALIVE! STAYING ALIVE!"
More pumping.
"DON'T DIE HUSBAND! I STILL NEED TO DO SEX WITH YOU! AND MEET INTERNATIONAL SQUIRRELS!"
*She's motivating me with sex and squirrels. This is my life.*
Another rescue breath.
*Her lips taste like the macaron she ate. Sweet. Perfect. I should probably stop this.*
"LIVE!" she commanded, pumping again. "LIVE FOR THE HONEYMOON! LIVE FOR THE—"
Zayne caught her wrists, stopping the chest compressions.
Opened his eyes.
"I'm not dying."
She stared at him. "WHAT."
"I'm fine. I was just... overwhelmed."
"YOU—" her face turned red, "—YOU WERE FAKING?!"
"I needed a moment."
"I WAS DOING CPR!"
"Technically incorrect CPR, but I appreciate the effort—"
She smacked his chest. "YOU SCARED ME!"
"You were asking about squirrels on our honeymoon. I had a mental breakdown."
"THAT'S NOT A REASON TO FAKE DIE!"
"It felt like a reasonable response at the time."
She glared at him—cheeks puffed, adorable fury.
Then she started laughing.
Actual laughing.
Fell forward onto his chest, laughing uncontrollably.
"You're ridiculous!" she managed between laughs. "I was SO WORRIED! And you were just LYING THERE! Because of SQUIRRELS!"
He found himself laughing too—actual, genuine laughter.
*She's ridiculous. I'm ridiculous. This whole situation is ridiculous.*
"I'm sorry," he said, wrapping his arms around her. "The questions were... a lot."
"Were my questions too much?" She looked up at him, suddenly concerned.
"No," he said honestly. "You're perfect. The questions are fine. I'm just... not used to discussing this topic so directly."
"But you're a doctor!"
"I discuss it with patients. Not with my wife who wants to rate honeymoon locations based on squirrel populations."
She giggled again, nuzzling into his chest.
"So," she said after a moment, "do you actually want to go on a honeymoon?"
*With you? Anywhere? Yes.*
"Yes," he said simply.
"Where should we go?"
"Somewhere quiet. Private. Where we can... focus on each other."
"Without squirrels?"
"The squirrels are negotiable."
She smiled, pressing a kiss to his chest through his shirt.
"Thank you for the education," she whispered. "I learned a lot."
*Did you? Did you really? Because I feel like we got derailed by honey moons and lip ratings.*
"You're welcome."
"Can we do more education tomorrow? Practical education? Hands-on?"
*HANDS-ON EDUCATION.*
*SHE WANTS HANDS-ON SEX EDUCATION.*
*I'M DYING AGAIN.*
"We'll see," he managed.
"That means yes!"
*It definitely doesn't mean yes. It means I'm stalling. Buying time. Preparing myself.*
"Eventually," he corrected.
"EVENTUALLY!" She threw her arms up in victory. "I WIN!"
*Win what? What did she win?*
"I'm taking that as a promise!" She declared. "Soon! Very soon! We're doing honeymoon activities! With hands-on education! And then ACTUAL honeymoon! With or without squirrels!"
*This is my life. My enthusiastic wife planning our sexual debut like a military operation.*
*And I... I'm not even upset about it.*
*I'm just... ready.*
*Whenever she is.*
*Soon.*
*Very soon.*
*God help us both.*
.
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.
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🌻🌻🌻
ZAYNE'S INTERNAL MONOLOGUE - 10:34 PM
Medical log - Day Fourteen:
Gave wife clinical sex education. It went... poorly? Well? Chaotically? All of the above.
Topics covered:
- Arousal (briefly)
- Sexual intercourse (clinically)
- Orgasm (mentioned)
- First time considerations (discussed)
- Honeymoon etymology (explained)
- Lip ratings (gold standard)
- Squirrel-based location selection (apparently relevant)
Topics NOT covered:
- Actual techniques
- Positions
- Duration
- All the practical details
- Basically everything important
Reason for incomplete education: Mental breakdown. Faked death. Received CPR to Staying Alive. Questioned life choices.
Wife's takeaways from education:
- We're having sex soon
- We're going on honeymoon
- Location must have squirrels (negotiable)
- My lips are gold standard
- She wants "hands-on education"
My takeaways:
- I'm not ready for this
- I'm absolutely ready for this
- She's adorable when doing CPR
- I need better coping mechanisms
- Soon is approaching rapidly
- I'm doomed but happy about it
She wants hands-on education.
HANDS-ON.
Which means touching. Demonstrating. Experiencing.
Which means everything I've been thinking about for weeks.
Everything I've been wanting.
Everything I've been terrified of.
She said "soon."
I agreed.
This is happening.
Actually happening.
Prescription for self:
- Prepare mentally (impossible)
- Prepare physically (buy... things? what things? condoms? oh god)
- Prepare emotionally (laughable)
- Research (NO bad idea)
- Just... survive until "soon"
- Don't fake die again (embarrassing)
She took notes.
She has a NOTEBOOK.
With notes.
About sex.
From me.
My wife has homework notes about sexual intercourse.
This is real. This is my reality.
But also...
Also she wants it.
Wants ME.
Wants "everything."
And I want to give her everything.
Soon.
Very soon.
After I recover from fake dying.
And the CPR.
And the squirrel discussion.
And the lip ratings.
Soon.
Probably.
Definitely.
God help me.
I love her.
My ridiculous, CPR-performing, squirrel-loving, note-taking wife.
And soon I'm going to show her exactly how much.
In practical terms.
Hands-on terms.
Oh god.
I'm not ready.
But also I've been ready since day one.
Soon.
.
.
.
.
.
🌻🌻🌻
To be continued.