An Ill Fated Tale about Rosencrantz & Guildenstern

They did not meet before the wedding.

Indeed, they barely met at it.

Many things went wrong that day. Not with the wedding, specifically. It went off without a hitch. Or, at least with the one hitch it was supposed to have. The only person that noticed anything was wrong was Guildenstern, and that wasn't until after the wedding.
She was waiting for them in their room (her room, actually, but that came later). That was problem number one, Guildenstern would tell you. He had always imagined her coming to him, and it was a little detail, but the first of many that deviated from his mental script of how things were going to go. It threw him off.
He had to have her giggling bridesmaids walk past him, and that gave him a moment too many to think about what they might have been talking about before the door shut behind him with a finality that he didn't like. She was sitting at the edge of the bed, but he still didn't look at her directly. He wanted to see her just right. He stood at the door a few moments, listening to the footsteps walk away and down the stairs. He did not want to take the chance that someone might be staying behind. But there was no tell tale shuffling, and it would be too much to open the door and check.
Guildenstern walked sideways, with his back to the fire still not looking at her. The moment of truth had come and she was already in bed. Waiting. His mental script had never included this situation, but he had tried to make some allowances for the unexpected. It didn't really affect anything, he could stand and face her instead of sitting... but it ate at him in a small way. He had been planning this too long and it was too important to allow these small details to throw him off.
She had lain down with her eyes closed when he looked at her again. She was wearing her undergarments but there was only the slightest hint of flesh. Feeling his gaze, she opened her eyes and started to sit up. He had to speak quickly, for he was quite sure that if she stood up he would lose his nerve and run out the door. There were still guests eating, talking and drinking downstairs and would be for some time and there is little doubt that a moment of panic like that would go unnoticed and uncommented upon. He looked at the floor to avoid her eyes.
"My lady, I have a proposal for you." The words tripped over themselves in their hurry to get out. He glanced up at her and she still looked at him steadily from her seated position. For the first time, he noticed that her hair was down. It was unnatural, he thought... out of order. He wasn't supposed to see a lady with her hair down, especially one he's just met. He had never even seen his (step)mother with her hair down. Every morning she stepped out of her room with every hair perfectly in place. It seemed more intimate than the sight of her undergarments. It was quite unnerving.
"My lady..." he started again, but this time she interrupted him.
"Joliana." She said correctingly.
He was stopped by the sudden realization that he didn't even know her name. He felt embarrassed that he was too thickheaded to have even asked before. This was the final nail in his ability to speak, and the moment he realized that nothing was going to go right. It was not going to happen like the script he had in his mind. She was improvising and forcing him to improvise as well. He was not going to have it. He had this script written up in his mind for too long to change it now.
"I know I am not an attractive man." He had not intended to say this. This was not part of the script. But he had read it in her face and spoke what he saw out loud without meaning to. Later on he supposed, he should have gone from there and extemporized instead of sticking to the script. But he was nervous, and she had a manner that he found unnerving. His script came out as a flat monotone. Words that had been written, perhaps as a summary or the introduction of a longer essay.
"The chaste life has been espoused as the good life for centuries... Plato... Augustine...our current leaders of theology and mental and physical health..."He was losing lines, forgetting... his argument was already falling around him in huge chunks, and as long as her gaze remained on him he was going to lose more. She had a funny look on her face as if her were telling a joke that was funny, but somewhat offensive. The next part came out more easily, but very quietly - as if someone in another room were speaking and they were just overhearing it.
"It is not too uncommon for married couples to choose physical chastity. I'm sure you must be frightened... that you must have heard stories..." She stood. "At the very least, lets take a few weeks to get comfortable with each other." His voice died away, sliding into the floorboards. It was killed by the look on her face.
She was angry. She didn't understand. His stomach felt strangely hollow.
"No." she said.
"No?" She walked towards him, holding him in her gaze. There was no where to run. The only thing he could do is to not show his fear. This had never been a situation that had occurred to him. Best case, she applauded his wisdom and agreed to follow him in all things. Worst case, she agree to wait a day/week/month... or two. His mind was having a hard time even processing this new development.
She would not allow him to have his eyes anywhere but her eyes. Her eyes handcuffed his soul and he was helpless. He was not the one in control here. He saw that now.
Her voice seemed to travel along a wire trembling with emotion, as she said "My parents did not give me to you for you to set upon a shelf of pseudo-philosophy. It is our sacred duty to God and our parents that we reproduce. Whether or not you desire this responsibility is not my concern, but you are not going to make up excuses to get out of it." And with that she started to remove her undergarments. She did not do it in a manner that was showy, but very matter-of-factly as if she were in a room by herself, folding them carefully and setting them on a nearby chair. He didn't feel comfortable looking at her directly, but it seemed rude to look away as the act seemed to be for his benefit; so, he watched her from the corner of his eye. She lay herself out on the bed, allowing him the full visual effect of her naked body. It made his head hum with memories of paintings he had seen of women in similar positions. He didn't like it.
"Could you please get under the covers? You're making me think of a painting I don't like." He turned away, and listened for the sound for the bedclothing creasing against itself and the frame squeaking as she moved to obey his request. Satisfied, he removed his own clothing and backed into bed covering himself quickly.
This was not what he wanted at all. It wasn't supposed to be like this, he was sure. But here he was, and this was how it was going. He was sure there was a mistake he had made, but it would have to wait until later to be figured out. There was still hope. A small part of him held the hope that she was insisting on consummating the marriage because she was attracted to him. Perhaps even desired him.
She trembled and he tried to smile comfortingly. He saw a look of disgust cross her face and the smile dropped off just as quickly. His attempt at loving comfort had somehow came across as a leer.
He was told she was beautiful. Her skin was clear and unblemished - it shone with a natural pinkness. Her eyes were large and a striking colour of blue, and her features were even. He supposed that she might be considered beautiful in some ways, to some people... but to him she appeared plain. The physical aspects were there, but they missed the life that made true beauty.
The female form was something that he had only seen hints of in real life, previously... It was rather shocking to him up close. Her skin felt thin, her shape felt unnatural... she was unpleasantly squishy in unexpected ways. He brought his lips to hers and tasted the chemical mix that created the red lips that were so admired only for a moment... before she pulled away.
"Don't..." her face twisted slightly, fighting what could only be repulsion.
He understood. And with that, his last hope died. This was not about touching and feeling or emotion. It was a task to be performed.
Afterwards, as he lay next to her the act haunted him as he stared at her naked back. He fumbled around a great deal at first because he couldn't figure out why things weren't going right. "Have you not done this before?" she asked, but he didn't answer. The mocking tone made it too embarrassing to tell the truth, and to lie would be too transparent. He didn't realize until much discomfort, squealing, and watering eyes on her part that the problem was that he was not aroused.
He thought back to when he was younger, late at night. When he used to sit at his desk, his hands flat against the wood staring into the candle that provided the only light. He would imagine that it burned away his desires much as it burned the wax of the candle. The thoughts were easily within reach, but he would not allow himself to indulge them on any level. He refused to allow himself to access them then. Now he reached for them, but everything was all wrong. Her form was wrong, her skin was wrong, even her softness was wrong. This was not what he desired those late nights. He buried himself into her neck and shoulder and focused on the muscles moving there until friction and moisture took care of things and he felt his body twitch and his breathing quicken and it was finally over.
He didn't know what he wanted, or what he expected but none of this fit with how he had planned to start his marriage. He hoped she got pregnant quickly. He wished she would at least have allowed him the illusion of allowing him to touch her. He wished lots of things.
He closed his eyes, and when she woke him up and told him not to fall asleep with her again he was not surprised. A more cynical man left the room than had entered it.