Fall and winter are always late to come to our neck of the woods, and fickle in their intensities. And before SK had a chance to switch the thermostat to “heat,” or I thought to haul out the serious blankets, we had overnight temps dipping to the 40s. We woke up to the high 30s, and sought the warmth of each other’s bodies under our summer-weight quilt.
Feeling his strong arms snake around me and his hands cup my warm breast as I spoon into him is divine. It makes me feel safe, protected, desired, owned, enveloped in love, HIS. I tangle my feet into his and nuzzle my bottom closer. He pulls me in tighter, breathing in the sleepy scent on my neck. So entwined, we doze in the early morning light.
I eventually stretch my limbs out like a cat and make the mewling sound in my throat. Sir Knight’s hands run up my torso and pluck at my nipples through my flannel sleep shirt. I wriggle with a mixture of sleep and desire. I roll to my front and his hands persist, creeping up under the shirt, over my panties, under my panties, to that ticklish little spot at the cleft of my derriere. I giggle; he steps up his amorous assault, and I twist towards him onto my back. I love it.
He coaxes my sleepy and reluctant body to life and passionate response. “This nightshirt and these panties need to be off,” he softly commands. Yes, his commands sound like polite requests, but for me they are nonetheless expressions of his desires that I happily obey. His hands spread my legs and his fingers invade me, stroking, exploring, diving into me. He tells me I’m to get “my friend,” his code word for our powerful little vibe.
I’m a little bit hesitant. My stupid body has been out of whack lately. I don’t trust it to respond in the ways I feel it should. It might betray me, embarrass me…
Sir Knight is having none of this hesitation on my part. He doesn’t give me a chance to think about it too long. He persistently works his fingers inside me as I try to coax out that sweet spot that can be so elusive. With loving patience, I’m torn apart by one, then two, then three… then four powerful orgasms, which take my breath away.
“Good morning, sweet girl,” he chuckles into my ear and kisses my temple as I writhe with my aftershocks.
This man, I love.
It’s that time of year again where the hordes will descend upon our home and our lovely little empty nest will be interrupted by a big dose of family.
It’s a good thing, I remind myself. Having family around you, sharing in the spirit of the holidays. Yet sometimes it bears a horrifying resemblance to National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. You know– both sides of the family, trying to make it a perfect and memorable holiday? And it becoming anything but?
Christmas Vacation Movie is actually a family favorite, a tradition we watch with our kids now every holiday season. However I think we may be in for a bit of a reenactment in a few days for Thanksgiving.
SNL does a sketch called “Drunk Uncle.” I didn’t know that one of my cousins must write for SNL and decided to portray my father.
In addition to getting sloppy drunk each evening, Dad gets mean drunk, paranoid drunk, and weepy-histrionics drunk. Dad is an alcoholic and although in the past I’ve tried to clear my house of liquor during his visits, it’s actually worse when an alcoholic can’t get his fix. So, against my better judgement, we just keep him medicated rather than deal with withdrawal and DTs. My good heart got the best of me and I invited Dad, fully expecting he’d decline as he always does, unwilling to go out of his way ever. However since Mom left us, I know he’s lonely. The family nearby him are fed up. He’s run out of options. He’s desperate. And he’s coming. We’ve kept the visit as short as we can, hoping we can survive without entering the “bowels of Hell.” I was certain if we told the College Kids (CKs), they’d decline to come home, but they’re going to brave grandpa one last time… Bless their hearts.
SK’s folks will be here too. Nice folks, but you know–at 90 life isn’t always easy. SK will need to drive several hours RT to pick them up. Put 8 people spanning 7 decades in one house, and you can figure it out.
Getting the house tidy and clean has consumed my days and did a number on my back. I’ll be making myself crazy trying to cook the perfect dinner–in honor of the feast Mom could put on. The in-laws will have to make due with Yankee stuffing and New England-style cranberry sauce NOT from a can, and real pan gravy instead of that white stuff with eggs floating in it (shiver, ugh!). My vegetarian will have to figure out how to make it all work with sides. 22 year old was smartest of all, he’ll come for dinner only, meaning driving 6 hours in one day to avoid the nut house. SK and I will give up our bedroom (and REALLY hide those toys). All for family.
And within 2 weeks, all of the CKs will return for the extended holidays.
All that said, I’m really looking forward to this, to having everyone (almost) under one roof, for the grandparents to see they kids (and hopefully for my dad not to get jealous and morose over the great relationship the CKs have with the other g’parents who were a huge feature of their entire childhood). We see less and less of our CKs, and I know we’re heading into an era of seeing even less of them. Our parents won’t be around forever. So time to suck it up and look for the blessings.
I’m trying mightily to put on my big girl panties of gratitude (and they will stay on, since SK won’t be intimate with a house full… and strangely enough, I’ve come over to his way of thinking… LOL, what a fine sub I am!)!
SK has been amazingly cognizant this time of how this next week and month will interrupt the groove we have… throw me off-balance–and on two separate occasions he’s laid out the makings of an exciting and wonderful scene, only to have me, near tears, confess to him of my persistent belly woes, and how this inhibits me from letting go… Oh, it’s so sad to pass up full-out play time!!! Fortunately I’m able to see to his pleasure, and that gives me pleasure. We cuddle a lot. Still, I’ve been bummed to have to miss the fun he had in store for me, and hoping I’ll rally in the next day or so, to get centered and to get my much-needed fix of kink.
SK even offered to go do the grocery shopping with me, something we never do together (I take too long, he’s an in and out kind of guy). He was ever so patient with my control freak over needing to pick out just about everything (I did tear off a corner of the list for him to get some staples…) Hey, it’s been my thing for what, 37 years?
I can tell that everyone else seems busy these days, as my WP reader seems quite sparse. So I’ll take this opportunity to say that I’m so thankful to my readers, followers, and kind commentators! You’ve made writing a joy, and hopefully I’ll soon return to meatier stuff. Right now it’s the stuff of real life, because that’s just what it is.
Except that I now get to have this “real life” with my Sir, my husband, my lover and my best friend, my dear Sir Knight. So VERY grateful for him, for us, our marriage, for This Thing We Do.
Happy Thanksgiving All!
Here’s the thing: even when you are trying to live a Traditional Marriage, love your dominant-leader husband, and enjoy your kink… Life still happens. Sometimes it’s not pretty, convenient, or even fun. It can be far from the steamy, erotic romance novels and movies we like to get caught up in sometimes. But choosing to have that Traditional Marriage underpin it all, is a God-send.
Life has gotten busy for me, which is usually a good thing. A tiring thing too… But as I read somewhere, being tired means I’m alive, and I get to go to bed and wake up every day. In SK’s arms.
I’ve done some temporary work in one former field. It affirms all I love, and all I hate about that vocation. The love part usually outweighs the hate part, but it’s a great perspective-maker. And, I feel a bit accomplished with my day if not totally exhausted from being on my feet for 8+ hours attending to the unique and diverse needs of 40 “clients.” In the end, I find myself VERY grateful that I don’t HAVE to wake up 5 days a week to go to that job. But when I get home, too tired for words, Sir Knight pulls my feet into his lap and massages them.
Wow. Lucky girl.
The diet– it’s been moderately successful. There’s been some SLOOOOWW loss (about 3 pounds first week) but loss is loss. First time I did this diet I started out with 4-5 pounds a week, a real motivator! I also had much more to lose at that time. The big thing is I got past those first 3 days of getting off the sugar and carbs, which produces a lousy feeling with headache and your body revolting from the withdrawal. After a hard day’s work yesterday, I slipped into a bit of comfort eating (Cheetos, Chips and 2 Oreos, reduced fat of course). Need to avoid that. Need to strategize to get through the holidays. I’m giving myself full-out Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners as a gift; some drinks on New Years; and I’m giving myself baking Christmas cookies with my CKs… but I need a strategy to limit myself. The down side to this diet that sugar or too many carbs sort of puts you in a start-all-over mode. But… Sir Knight is also trying to lose, stay sexy and fit, and is incredibly supportive.
I find myself in the pits of hormonal hell again, which pisses me off big time. At least that’s what I suspect is the culprit. My drive is at an all-time low, so unlike me. Sometimes my body just feels like a big blob of (very little delicate ways to say this) intestinally challenged bloat, no doubt diet-related. Not sexy at all. Sadly, if farts are threatening, orgasms will out them every time. That (unpleasantness) said, I am SO, SO, SO grateful that Sir Knight has upped his drive and that I promised I’d never say no (or ask for a rain check). We are assured at least 3 very lovely encounters a week, after which I feel so loved and completed. Lots of hugs and cuddles and teases in between. I love this man. I love that he puts up with my weird changes and isn’t giving up on me just because there’s apparently been an expiration date on my hormones.
[My Christmas gift to myself is to find a good bio-identical hormone doctor and start figuring out solutions that don’t have cancer risk side-affects (Yeah, I know EVERYTHING gives you cancer). Sorry, I’ve been watching too many close friends dealing with cancer treatments, and I know THAT is far worse than dealing with hormonal imbalances].
To celebrate the power of girl friends, I’ve planned a girls’ night with some local friends. These are not the super close kind like my college friends, but they are fun and it’ll be a good night of food, a chick flick, and maybe some girl time. Comfy PJs may be involved. Sir Knight sees this as a good thing for me… and supports it. He just needs some guys to go play with for the evening or else he’ll be in estrogen hell.
No, life isn’t 24/7 sexy with wild and crazy passion and BDSM scenes
(although SK did mention that he replaced our under-bed restraint system yesterday… and today we’ll be trying it out?). But life is happening because we have This Thing We Do (TTWD); because I want to be Taken in Hand (TIH) by my husband, my Sir Knight. What does it mean for me? Trusting him. Not arguing with his decisions. Trying to serve him. Showing my gratitude for how he leads us and takes care of me. Pushing aside my pride and letting him take care of me. Not being the lone ranger anymore. We work at it every day, sometimes it’s predictable; we’re not perfect, but the intention and the effort are sincere.
Life still happens in the best ways possible, because I am embracing this Traditional Marriage with both arms and holding tight.
…And taking his hand.
3pm 4:30 in the afternoon, and I’ve managed to meet very few of my goals for today. What can I say, I’m a late starter (OK, not a total loser here– had sleepy, sweet sex a.m. with amorous SK despite still being in an Ambien-drugged state; made it to yoga; washed and styled my hair; watched Jeopardy with SK; stayed on Medifast so far today; drank lots of water… yea, I AM pathetic).
Self-motivation has always been a bugaboo for me. I make lists, go over in my head as I fall asleep or lie awake at night with what my new-found commitment will be, the accomplishments I will meet by the time I’m back in bed 24 hours later. All to amazingly find a piddling mass of NOTHING accomplished in my day.
It was completely intentional to give myself the luxury of a week after returning from abroad to decompress, get past the jet lag, and to satisfy all the sinful desires of my appetite. While I was away, I tried mightily to focus on REAL and fresh foods, little junk, and realistic portions. Tried to drink more water and less fake stuff. I avoided snacks and junk as much as possible, even though yes, it is possible to find Oreos on the far reaches of the planet, and they don’t even have the decency to disguise the packaging with the native language. I assiduously passed by the McDs, KFCs, and Starbucks that were in my path (which aside from the latter is not that difficult as, perhaps once a quarter or every 6 months, I may stray into fast-food hell for a deep-fried something). I ate bread almost every day, and didn’t pass up the famous desserts. Every day I was walking or hiking to the tune of anywhere from 3 to 5 miles on average, in hilly terrain (each evening my return to my place of stay was a major climb, which left me glistening with perspiration by the time I unlocked the door). Happily, I came out even on the scale– no loss or gain of pounds.
Upon coming home after a month, I had a few items on my list to satisfy my home-sick taste buds, among these a decent burger (and NO, that would NOT be McDs); Barbeque; and Mexican. Snacks are another of my terrible weakness, Cheetos being at the top of the horrible list. In one week, I’ve consumed almost 2 bags worth. All taste buds have been sufficiently sated. I pushed myself to get back to the exercise routine and especially the yoga..
The week’s “re-entry” is officially over now. It’s time to GET REAL. Ugh. I’m going kicking and screaming here.
Cleaning/Organizing: give me a surface and I will clutter it in no time flat. Over time, I’ve worked hard at keeping the “public” common-area surfaces in our house cleaned off, such as counters, tabletops and furniture. But I have my clutter havens–my desk; a small work area in the kitchen; a chair and a window shelf in the bedroom; and sometimes my side of the bathroom counter. It’s time to tackle these, one day at a time. And to sincerely come up with a plan for maintenance so that it doesn’t all spiral down again. The desk was today’s goal, as I will soon have a client. It’s still a mess. I can see maybe 25% surface.
Writing: I have decided that this is a legitimate item in my life. I suppose I always viewed it as a hobby or pastime, something I dabbled in for fun. No more. I keep 3 blogs, and have written a novel that I’m dragging my feet to E-publish. I need to make all of this a priority and give myself permission to take it seriously. My friend said something to me during my trip that served to firm my resolve in this area. She said (after reading some of the other blogs/writings), “You are a writer…” For once in my damned life I’m not ducking my head modestly, guffawing “aw shucks,” and denying it’s true.
Diet: This can be a major time-consumer. If I remotely want to lose the excess pounds that have crept back since the BIG LOSS of 2012, I need to make planning and tracking a priority on my to-do list. My Fitness Pal is amazing and there is no reason I shouldn’t employ its resources daily. But DAMN, am I hungry today. Went back strictly on Medifast, I’m going to do this…
Continuing Education: This involves pushing myself to get back to reading again. Re-reading the classics. Reading in the foreign languages I know.
Spiritual Growth: To my great shame, I blow hot and cold on my faithfulness to daily devotions, scripture study, memorization, and meaningful, conscious prayer (“Oh My God” in the throes of ecstasy doesn’t really count… “God, I love you, great day, and thank you for all my blessings… zzzzzzzzzz…snore…” is a pretty lame attempt; and Sunday worship is more about a faith high for me…). For the most part, I abandoned it on vacation in spite of my intentions not to. I need to build it back into my mornings, every morning. My days go so much better with it. Happily there’s a weekly Pastor’s study going on and I’m prepping for that by reading the assigned book.
Exercise: I love my yoga, but I think it’s time to also branch out into a few other cross-fit areas. I brought the exercise class schedule home today and am ready to mix it up. SK wants me to do Body Pump with him and I know that even though
Yoga/Pilates involves a lot of weight-bearing moves, I need this. I think there’s even a HIIT class now, as well as a Barre class (time to channel my inner ballerina).
Volunteer: No issues there right now. I’m thick into the season of my volunteer activities.
Part-time work: I’ve accepted a few jobs (good to stay up on my game, and short-term cash flow can stand an infusion). I may even be temporarily full-time by the early part of 2016 to fill a vacancy. It will be enough to keep me sharp, and more than likely VERY grateful that I don’t HAVE to do this permanently.
Planning: The fact remains, we are “technically” retired. We still plan to do more travel; we plan to relocate. This requires a lot more planning, otherwise I’m stuck here.
Heath: I hate this one. Partly the weight impacts my numbers (such as cholesterol). I’m having joint and nerve issues that I really don’t want to deal with right now, but I must. Finding a hormone optimization care provider that I can afford is another priority.
Marriage: This is something that should be up at the top of this list. It’s definitely not intentional that it’s residing here at the bottom. It’s just that at this time, SK and I are doing well, and often it seems effortless. That’s good, right? There is more sex in my week, initiated by SK, than ever before in our married life. There is more patience, more leadership on his part, possibly more following and submission on my part (alas, a work in progress ;-) ) He is making the best effort ever to touch, cuddle, fondle and affirm me. We are working on more fun. I’m happy. I’m content. I trust. Do I still wish for more of a D/s dynamic? Kink? Scenes? Yes, I do, I think I always will. Ironically, on a couple of occasions in our past week (where SK was keeping up a daily, delicious, sexcapade), the play items and impact items have been laid out– and then not used because we found ourselves going to other places in our intimacy– and seriously, not terribly missed. SK has made some great efforts at taking his time and unabashedly exploring ways to unleash my stubborn orgasms, all of which are wonderful and delicious and so welcome. After a one of these sessions, I recall standing up afterwards (quite weak in the knees) and almost being surprised to see the flogger, paddle, blindfold and other items still lying, unused, at the foot of our bed. And it was OK. I mentioned to SK that the under-bed restraint system that was removed when we replaced our mattress several months back, has gone missing… he said it would be put back. I think possibly I’m just “centered enough” that a true spanking beyond the reminder pops I get daily hasn’t been required. Yet, as far as I’m concerned, maintenance never hurts (figuratively…). Anyway, I am happy to go tra-la-la-ing along here with this comfy and effortless marriage, but I also know that I need to continue putting conscious efforts into feeding what we have and practicing my submission with more vigor.
I’m blessed. There’s so much good. So, with the greatest of care to not frustrate myself with unrealistic goals (LOL, LOL, LOL) here I go again. Trying to get real.
Sir Knight’s new obsession is the boobies.
At every opportunity, his hands are there.
Sneaking up behind me.
Sliding over my shirt.
Under my shirt.
I think Sir Knight doesn’t want me to be apart from him again anytime soon.
Since my return from our two week separation, every morning he’s making that abundantly clear to me. There’s a new delight when I wake each day.
The best was the morning that jet-lagged me was wide awake at 4:00 am. I got up, I wrote, I read, I had something to eat. Sir Knight came out of the bedroom at about 6:00 am.
“I want you back in my bed, now.”
THIS is what I love hearing. Not, “Would you come back to bed please?” or “What’s wrong… can’t sleep?” I mean, those are nice things to say… but…
I want you back in my bed, now.
Them’s words that feed a submissive’s soul.
Over the past week there have been several allusions made to our honeymoon.
Or, should I say, what I considered to be our “non-existent” honeymoon.
Not one for embellishments or fictionalizing real events, SK’s memory has surprisingly gone a little fuzzy on the facts of our so-called honeymoon. This leads him to recount what I consider a very altered reality of what really happened.
Now, I’m not talking the wedding night details or the raptures of the marriage bed. I’m talking the answer to the question of “Where did you go on your honeymoon?”
[Warning, purge ahead… proceed at your own risk.]
Here are the facts. I lived there. He lived here. I wanted our wedding there—my home town, closer to my friends and extended family. He wanted to have “two weddings,” a second one for all his friends and family here. I do recall him mentioning this, and I do recall carefully not shooting it down outright, but in my head saying this was not going to happen. I did not want a “his and hers wedding.” And, turns out, without me having to debate this consideration, it didn’t happen. Airfares were at an all-time low, and all of “his people” were delighted to make the trip to “my” town, which also offers lots of attractive tourism possibilities.
Part of my transitions at that time involved not only planning a wedding in less than 5 months’ time pretty much all on my own (while working and traveling full-time); it involved: all of the transitions one needs to engineer when shutting down your life in a place; a tough battle at my workplace to qualify for a leave of absence (instead of a resignation); and the sale of my home. With all of this sudden (but happy) upheaval in my life, I needed a home base, and I decided to set the closing date of my home sale for a few days after the wedding. I wanted a place to get ready for my day; my folks would be traveling to town and it was convenient to have them stay in my home, so that I could have my mother close by on “The Day.”
This was perhaps one of the first toe-to-toe “skirmishes” that SK and I ever had (because the two-wedding thing resolved on its own). SK wanted me unfettered and free of my home and obligations before the wedding day. I just couldn’t go there. It would only involve a couple days more of my time to close on the house, oversee the movers, and to drive my car the 3 days to my new home with SK.
He claimed that my plan meant there couldn’t be a honeymoon—he couldn’t take the extra time from work. I admit I also wondered if he also meant the extra expense.
That hurt. It stung. For a bride, the honeymoon ranks right up there with the “dream wedding.” It’s the decompression after months of stressful planning to finally, once and for all, focus in on your spouse alone, in the splendor of some lovely and relaxing paradise. To truly consummate your union. Focusing on your spouse alone on your wedding day of course is important, but tricky. As any bride will tell you, a wedding is a stressful time when you might not feel your most lovely and romantic best. I wanted my new husband to desire to happily, joyfully, selflessly plan the honeymoon of my dreams, full of champagne wishes and caviar dreams (ok, I hate caviar, but you know what I mean), and satin sheets, and naked moonlit frolics in the sea, and passionate romance. You know, something memorable. In a good way. With lovely pictures of sunsets and sweet smooches (who exactly takes these photos, I don’t know…)
I felt “punished” for my desire to keep my home through my wedding day, even though I didn’t want to feel this way. The days that followed the wedding were stressful (for which I take some blame—I had gotten behind on my packing and cleaning). No plan for transporting all of the valuable wedding gifts. There was no real plan for our travel route to his hometown. After a couple of stressful days of a wedding and then negotiating boxes and moving vans, we set out towards our destination in my tiny, sporty little two-seater with standard transmission—SK didn’t drive standard. Wanting to be the submissive and happy bride, I went along with SK’s decisions for our road trip to my new home—the route to take, where we would stop, etc. Our lodging was cheap motels with vacancies along the road. Our stops included a tour of Elvis and Pigeon Forge (although I had to endure Graceland, I was spared Dollywood). An attempt to go for a little luxury netted a once grand but now tired and worn-out hotel with separate “hot tubs” for men and women. My new-bride buzz was killed. There was little romance for me, especially since SK seemed to revel in the humor of it all (a humor I now feel blessed to have in our lives, but at times still vexes me!). This was not how I had envisioned any honeymoon. It just seemed farcical to me. Sort of like the honeymoon from hell. So, I never really could call it a honeymoon. It was the road trip to my new home with SK.
Three days later we rolled into his town, my new town. The next morning he headed off to work and his routine and his friends. His customs. His schedule. I was alone, sort of feeling a victim of a hit-and-run wedding, and wondering where the romantic marriage was. It felt like he had “dropped me off” and went on with his life, and not only did I not know where I figured in, I didn’t feel very important.
About 6 months later SK tried to make it up to me and took me to a lovely ski resort (although we went with another couple, friends of his), actually splurging on luxury accommodations (I distinctly recall searching for Tampax on that trip… clearly not his fault). It was a great trip and I really loved and appreciated it. But the fantasy of the lovely hidden-away luxury hotel, perhaps a powdery beach and turquoise waters in which to frolic in our honeymoon bliss, topped off with memorable romantic candlelit dinners of fine wines and delicacies, never figured into my honeymoon realities.
So, when the topic of honeymoon comes up, it’s a sore point for me. I know it shouldn’t be. When SK’s memory seems to falter on the facts, it causes me to bridle and fume within. As much as I’d like otherwise, it’s not a happy memory for me. Humor and Honeymoon generally don’t fit into the same sentence, paragraph, or even story. I had a hard time telling people my honeymoon included Graceland and Dollywood, 2-star motels with stained carpets, and chicken fried steak. I know. I need to learn how to laugh. Why is it still so painful? Isn’t more important where the marriage is now? I know I need to let this go, learn to laugh with him; we can’t rewrite history.
I don’t exactly know what I expect him to say. Last night the straw to break my back came. Earlier in the day with a group of people, Memphis had come up. That alone raises the hairs on the back of my neck… especially when this present conversation was about the lovely, luxurious Peabody Hotel, and not a smarmy road-side motel. I held my breath and hoped it wouldn’t fire up SK’s memory banks of the dreaded “honeymoon.” It did. We later were at a restaurant with a family member and SK answered the question of our honeymoon as if it had been a wonderfully planned sojourn with a carefully crafted theme (tacky?). I was fuming. As we left the restaurant, I finally let it out, in a discreet aside whisper, “It’s a sore point for me, SK. I always felt ‘punished’ that you wouldn’t consider a real honeymoon for us… that I didn’t matter enough.” The stricken look on his face led me to believe he’d want to discuss this thing that had stuck in my craw all these years later. I quickly added, “I know you made up for it with the ski trip… but it was hard at the time.” And apparently at THIS time too.
I know I need to let this one go, and we both need a story to tell that we can agree on. I believe we both “blame” each other for our lack of a real honeymoon, and SK’s normal instinct is to bathe it in good humor. I also am very aware that many honeymoons turn out to be a disaster, and certainly no indicator of a good marriage to come. Fabulous weddings and honeymoons don’t a good marriage make. I know many people don’t have the time or the resources to have luxury honeymoons and perhaps not even nice weddings. And that these things aren’t so important in the whole scheme of a marriage. I know that I need to just be grateful for what I have NOW. I am grateful. I want to let it go…
STILL… it matters.
My word of advice for any young couple—these are the things you don’t get to do over again. Going all-out on that wonderful ring she’ll wear a lifetime; having the wedding of your dreams; making that video tape (SK refused to do this); spending time on a memorable, romantic honeymoon. Your first months together. Within your abilities and resources (please don’t go into debt), it’s worth putting forth the efforts to make these little things happen, to start out your story in the best possible way. All the while, never losing sight of why you are marrying this person. For me, a nice relaxing honeymoon can help that.
Yes, I know the marriage is more important than the wedding and the honeymoon; and that what counts most is how the rest of the story goes, and how it ends.
Still, I think we’d all like the beginning of our stories to have a nice opening line, and a honeymoon gives that.